18th Century History

Among all the learned matters one tries to cram into a child’s head when one is in charge of his education, the mysteries of Christianity, though doubtless one of the most sublime elements of that education, are nonetheless not among the easiest to explain clearly to a young mind. Try to convince a young man of fourteen or fifteen, for instance, that God the Father and God the Son are one and the same, that the Father is consubstantial to the Son and vice versa, etc., all that, however necessary it may be in ensuring a person’s happiness here below, is far more difficult to make a person understand than it is, say, to teach someone algebra. And when you really want to get your point across in a meaningful way, it is sometimes necessary to resort to physical examples, certain concrete methods that, however disproportionate they may seem, nonetheless make it easier for a young man of reasonable intelligence to grasp.
No one was more profoundly practiced in this method of instruction than Abbe Du Parquet, tutor to the young Count de Nerceuil, who was about fifteen years of age and possessed of one of the handsomest faces imaginable.
”Father,” the young count was wont to say virtually every day to his tutor, “the truth is, the whole notion of consubstantiality is completely beyond my powers of comprehension. For the life of me, I just can’t figure out how two people can be one. Could you be kind enough to clarify this for me, or at least bring the mystery down to my level.”
The good abbe, anxious to leave no stone unturned in making sure his student’s education was complete, and pleased by the thought that he might make it easier for his student to comprehend anything that might someday be an important factor in his life, seized upon a rather pleasurable means of overcoming the difficulties the young count was having in understanding the concept, figuring that an example taken from real life might just do the trick. Accordingly, he had a young nubile girl brought forth and after having instructed her as to what was expected of her, conjoined, as it were, the girl and his young student.
”Now,” said the abbe to his student, “do you understand more clearly the mystery of consubstantiality? Do you see how it is quite possible for two people to be but one?”
“Oh, good heavens, yes, my dear Abbe,” the randy young count responded, “I now understand everything with amazing clarity. Nor am I any longer surprised if this mystery, so people maintain, provides as much pleasure as that reserved for those in heaven above, for when two people become one ‘tis pure pleasure, I find.”
A few days later the young count asked his tutor if he wouldn’t mind giving him another lesson, for the more he thought about it the more he realized, he said, that he had not fully plumbed the depths of the mystery but that he was sure that if he tried it one more time everything would become crystal clear. The obliging abbe, who had in all likelihood been just as amused by the scene he had concocted as his student had been, called the same girl back and the second lesson got under way. But this time the abbe, especially moved by the vision offered to him by the sight of young de Nerceuil as he was consubstantiating with his companion, could not refrain from involving himself as a third party interested in the further clarification of the evangelical parable, and the beauteous backside upon which his hands were compelled to roam in the process of his explanation ended up exciting him uncontrollably.
”It is my studied opinion,” said Du Parquet, “that things are progressing at far too fast a pace. Much too much buoyancy in all the movements, as a result of which the conjunction, not being as intimate as it ought to be, does not conjure up a proper image of the mystery. Let me demonstrate… If we set about it just so, this way…” whereupon the scoundrel did unto his student precisely what the student was doing unto the young lady.
”Oh! Good God above! you’re hurting me, Abbe,” the lad exclaimed. “Nor can I see that this whole ceremony is serving any useful purpose. In what way, may I ask, does this further clarify the mystery?”
”Oh, ventrebleu!” the abbe mumbled, overcome as he was by the pleasurable lesson, “don’t you see, my dear boy, that I’m teaching the whole thing in one fell swoop. That’s the trinity I’m demonstrating in today’s lesson. Another six or seven lessons and you’ll be as learned as any doctor at the Sorbonne!”

Mar 08

Mar 06

A very dear friend is in Florence right now and I couldn’t resist sharing this photo.
Check out her blog for amazing photographs.

Mar 04

Mar 02

Only history majors would drink copious amounts of alcohol and then talk about the history of alcohol.

It’s times like these which make you realize - there might not be a great job market for us, our governments are cutting funding left and right, but damn it’s good to be a history major.

Feb 29

Entrance to the Valley of Grande Chartreuse in Dauphiné - John Robert Cozens
1783

Feb 26

Gin Lane Gazette - Support Needed

The fabulously talented Adrian Teal is working on a project that needs your help. The Gin Lane Gazette is:

You can lend your support through the website Unbound. There you can also watch a video of Adrian explaining the project much more eloquently than I. There are also some wonderful rewards for supporting the book, so be sure to check it out!

Feb 24

angelisherdiary asked: I really like your blog does your blog also go to the victorian era? keep it up oh and I am following you by the way.

Thanks for the email! We do not cover the Victorian era, as that is not in the 18th century. For Victorian tumblrs visit:

18th Century Careers: Interview with Anni Sairio, a historical sociolinguist

Tell us a little about you and your research.

I’m a historical sociolinguist and something of a philologist at the Department of Modern Languages in the University of Helsinki. I study the interrelatedness of language and society in historical texts, and my research has largely focused on the language and letters of the Bluestocking circle in eighteenth-century England. I’ve edited some 200 letters of Elizabeth Montagu (1718-1800) and some of her correspondents from manuscripts at the Henry E. Huntington Library, British Library, and Houghton Library, and compiled these letters into an electronic database that’s designed for linguistic research; I’ve had the good fortune to be able to visit wonderful libraries for this purpose. Editing is time-consuming work, but very rewarding – you make constant progress, and get to know your research material thoroughly.

I’m interested in issues such as eighteenth-century spelling variation in private writing and how that variation is patterned in terms of e.g. gender and social rank, intertextuality in letters, social and linguistic prestige, and the relationship between 18^th-century linguistic prescriptivism and actual usage. I’m currently working on a linguistic biography of Elizabeth Montagu, and some shorter projects dealing with social dimensions of page layout and orthography, verbal irony in letters, identity, and intertextuality.

Have you learned anything unusual/fascinating about Elizabeth Montagu?

I find it interesting (though perhaps not all that surprising) that Elizabeth Montagu reacted strongly to the increasing stigmatisation of preposition stranding between the 1730s and 1770s. Here’s an example of this severely criticized construction:

My Brother Morris & his family are going to Sandleford, which I am very glad of, for I think it is a Good air for ye sweet little man. [Elizabeth Montagu to Sarah Scott,1760, MO 5779]

This feature all but disappears from Montagu’s letters as the years go by, and I think it happens because of her increasing awareness of her literary reputation and what was considered proper style and good language use. Montagu published the Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakespear in 1769, albeit anonymously, and towards the end of the 1770s she had established herself as an influential social hostess and a patron of arts. Interestingly the initial decline of preposition stranding in Montagu’s letters precedes the influx of grammar writing which took off in the 1760s, so she must have been influenced by the earlier 16^th-century comments (particularly of John Dryden) which were more elite-oriented and less accessible to the common audience than grammars. This decline of preposition stranding could be considered as language change from above, initiated by the upper strata of society. Nuria Yáñez-Bouza has done interesting research on the history of preposition stranding.

I’ve also been impressed by Montagu’s early letters to Lady Margaret Bentinck, the Duchess of Portland, written when they were in their twenties. Elizabeth is amazingly cheeky and satirical in these letters and openly makes fun of third parties. She was a sophisticated and skilled letter-writer from an early age, and elegantly weaved quotes from Shakespeare and other literary references in her texts.