Dec. 10th, 2016 06:45 pm
tempestsarekind: (i am my father's daughter [elizabeth])
V&A acquires earliest picture of Henry VIII's lost palace of Nonsuch

The palace itself was sold by Henry’s daughter Mary, then came back into royal ownership when her sister Elizabeth acquired it to settle a debt. It became one of her favourite residences, and Thomas Tallis’s heart-stopping composition Spem in Alium, a motet for 40 voices, is said to have been first performed to mark her 40th birthday by choirs singing from the towers.

The diarist Samuel Pepys saw Nonsuch in 1665, and wrote that “all the house on the outside is covered with figures of story … and most of the house is covered with lead and gilded”. Within a few years it was rubble: Charles II gave the building to his lover Barbara Castlemaine who pulled it down and sold off anything worth salvaging.

aw, Pepys.

Jul. 18th, 2016 09:31 am
tempestsarekind: (martha at the globe)
Up, and after doing some business at my office, Creed came to me, and I took him to my viall maker’s, and there I heard the famous Mr. Stefkins play admirably well, and yet I found it as it is always, I over expected.

Same, Sam, same.
tempestsarekind: (corset pout)
My favorite parts of Pepys' journal are when he gossips about other people's marriages; they're so immediate, in a way that brings to life some of the abstractions of conduct books and sermons, or the oversized figures of ballads. Just a short mention in one of the most recent entries on the Pepys feed:

...Becky Allen is married against all expectation a fellow that proves to be a coxcomb and worth little if any thing at all, and yet are entered into a way of living above their condition that will ruin them presently, for which, for the lady’s sake, I am much troubled.

He also mentioned her just the day before (which may be why he was gossiping about her the next day with someone else):

With Sir J. Minnes to church, where an indifferent good sermon. Here I saw Mrs. Becky Allen, who hath been married, and is this day churched, after her bearing a child. She is grown tall, but looks very white and thin, and I can find no occasion while I am here to come to have her company, which I desire and expected in my coming, but only coming out of the church I kissed her and her sister and mother-in-law.

…uh, Sam?

Jun. 7th, 2016 12:28 am
tempestsarekind: (your strange behavior puzzles martha)
So I've been watching the Pepys diary feed a little more closely lately because Pepys is basically wracked with jealousy that his wife might be having an affair with the dancing master who has been coming to their house. (His reasoning is basically, "well, I would, with a woman, so how can I believe that she wouldn't?" The thing is, he knows that this is terrible reasoning; he just can't stop doing it.)

But that context is not entirely helping me figure out exactly what he's thinking here:

Up betimes, and my wife and Ashwell and I whiled away the morning up and down while they got themselves ready, and I did so watch to see my wife put on drawers, which poor soul she did, and yet I could not get off my suspicions, she having a mind to go into Fenchurch Street before she went out for good and all with me, which I must needs construe to be to meet Pembleton, when she afterwards told me it was to buy a fan that she had not a mind that I should know of, and I believe it is so.

I feel like I've missed something. Is he thinking that if she doesn't put on drawers, she is preparing for illicit sexytimes? But I thought that it was wearing underwear in this period that was scandalous? So puzzled!

oh, Pepys

May. 4th, 2016 10:53 pm
tempestsarekind: (facepalm)
This whole entry, man (various emphases mine):

So made myself ready and to church, where Sir W. Pen showed me the young lady which young Dawes, that sits in the new corner-pew in the church, hath stole away from Sir Andrew Rickard, her guardian, worth 1000l. per annum present, good land, and some money, and a very well-bred and handsome lady: he, I doubt, but a simple fellow. However, he got this good luck to get her, which methinks I could envy him with all my heart. Home to dinner with my wife, who not being very well did not dress herself but staid at home all day, and so I to church in the afternoon and so home again, and up to teach Ashwell the grounds of time and other things on the tryangle, and made her take out a Psalm very well, she having a good ear and hand. And so a while to my office, and then home to supper and prayers, to bed, my wife and I having a little falling out because I would not leave my discourse below with her and Ashwell to go up and talk with her alone upon something she has to say. She reproached me but I had rather talk with any body than her, by which I find I think she is jealous of my freedom with Ashwell, which I must avoid giving occasion of.

…well yeah Samuel, who wouldn't be jealous when you're eying up ladies at church and teaching girls how to play the triangle (by which he apparently means the virginals, according to the note*) instead of spending time with your wife? You goober.

Trust Pepys to always give you the hard-nosed pecuniary details about a potential match, though.

*The Shakespearean in me is very "wink wink nudge nudge" about this detail. Saucy jacks, still virginalling upon his palm, etc.


Jan. 30th, 2016 08:09 pm
tempestsarekind: (elizabeth bennet is amused)
From the Pepys' Diary daily feed:

A solemn fast for the King’s murther, and we were forced to keep it more than we would have done, having forgot to take any victuals into the house.

People are people, even across the centuries.
tempestsarekind: (corset pout)
From Pepys' diary:

I went away […] to my Lord’s lodgings, where my brother Tom and Dr. Thomas Pepys were to speak with me. So I walked with them in the garden, and was very angry with them both for their going out of town without my knowledge; but they told me the business, which was to see a gentlewoman for a wife for Tom, of Mr. Cooke’s providing, worth 500l., of good education, her name Hobell, and lives near Banbury, demands 40l. per annum joynter. Tom likes her, and, they say, had a very good reception, and that Cooke hath been very serviceable therein, and that she is committed to old Mr. Young, of the Wardrobe’s, tuition.

Good lord, for alliance!


Jan. 30th, 2009 07:50 pm
tempestsarekind: (london flower of cities all)
I'm not sure why I'm posting this--maybe because I'm morbid, maybe because I just checked out Vanessa Harding's book on the dead in early modern Paris and London last week (not that these are mutually exclusive), but something about this bit interests me. From the Pepys diary feed:

This is the first time I have been in this church since I left London for the plague, and it frighted me indeed to go through the church more than I thought it could have done, to see so [many] graves lie so high upon the churchyards where people have been buried of the plague. I was much troubled at it, and do not think to go through it again a good while.

You read about how the early moderns had a different attitude toward death, they were more comfortable with it than we are--and that might be true, but sometimes? Maybe they were just as frightened as we can be.

(hee, I am also listening to Neil Gaiman, right now, talk about how he was terrified of walking through graveyards at night, on NPR. Serendipity is funny.)

Also, Googling Vanessa Harding (with the modifier "early modern london," since apparently there is a wrestler by that name) turned this up, which I'll have to take a look at later:
"People in Place: Families, households and housing in London 1550-1720"


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