She Did It Entirely From Modesty

In the yéere of Christ 1030, Robert, the second sonne of Richard the second duke of Normandie, and brother to Richard the third duke of that name there hauing with great honour and wisedome gouerned his dukedome seuen yéeres, for performance of a penance that he had set to himselfe, appointed a pilgrimage to Jerusalem; leauing behind him this William a yoong prince, whome seuen yéeres before he had begotten vpon his paramour Arlete (whom after he held as his wife) with whose beautifull fauour, louelie grace and presence, at hir dansing on a time then as he was tenderlie touched, for familiar vtterance of his mind what he had further to say, would néeds that night she should be his bedfellow, who else as wiuelesse should haue lien alone: where when she was bestowed, thinking that if she should haue laid hir selfe naked, it might haue séemed not so maidenlie a part: so when the duke was about (as the maner is) to haue lift vp hir linnen, she in an humble modestie staid hir lords hand, and rent downe hir smocke asunder, from the collar to the verie skirt. Heereat the duke all smiling did aske hir what thereby she ment? In great lowlines, with a feate question she answerd againe; "My lord, were it méet that any part of my garments dependant about me downeward, should presume to be mountant to my souereignes mouth vpward? Let your grace pardon me." He liked hir answer: and so and so foorth for that time.

--The Historie of England, Volume 8 of 8, by Raphael Holinshed

Bartholomew Oliver Dreams of India

Heralded by the impetuosity of the Afghan hound, the old man entered. He had read his paper; he was drowsy; and so sank down into the chintz-covered chair with the dog at his feet--the Afghan hound. His nose on his paws, his haunches drawn up, he looked a stone dog, a crusader's dog, guarding even in the realms of death the sleep of his master. But the master was not dead; only dreaming; drowsily, seeing as in a glass, its lustre spotted, himself, a young man helmetted; and a cascade falling. But no water; and the hills, like grey stuff pleated; and in the sand a hoop of ribs; a bullock maggot-eaten in the sun; and in the shadow of the rock, savages; and in his hand a gun. The dream hand clenched; the real hand lay on the chair arm, the veins swollen but only with a brownish fluid now.

The door opened.

"Am I," Isa apologized, "interrupting?"

Of course she was--destroying youth and India. It was his fault, since she had persisted in stretching his thread of life so fine, so far. Indeed he was grateful to her, watching her as she strolled about the room, for continuing.

Many old men had only their India--old men in clubs, old men in rooms off Jermyn Street....

--Virginia Woolf, Between the Acts

Fair Rosamund

He [Henry II] was out of measure giuen to fleshlie lust, and satisfieng of his inordinate concupiscence. For not contented with the vse of his wife, he kept manie concubines, but namelie he delited most in the companie of a pleasant damsell, whom he called the Rose of the world (the common people named hir Rosamund) for hir passing beautie, propernesse of person, and pleasant wit, with other amiable qualities, being verelie a Rosamund his concubine. rare and péerlesse péece in those daies. He made for hir an house at Woodstocke in Oxfordshire, like a labyrinth, with such turnings and windings in & out as a knot in a garden called a maze, that no creature might find hir nor come to hir, except he were instructed by the king, or such as were secret with him in that matter. But the common report of the people is, that the quéene¹ in the end found hir out by a silken thread, which the king had drawne after him out of hir chamber with his foot, and dealt with hir in such sharpe and cruell wise, that she liued not long after. She was buried in the nunrie of Goodstow beside Oxford, with these verses vpon hir toome:

Hîc iacet in tumulo, Rosa mundi non Rosa munda,
Non redolet sed olet, quæ redolere solet.

--Holinshed's Chronicles Volume 2: Henrie the Second

¹Eleanor of Aquitaine

A Submissive Temper, and a Forbearing Spirit

But, notwithſtanding girls ſhould not be treated with unkindneſs, nor the firſt openings of the paſſions blighted by cold ſeverity; yet I am of opinion, that young females ſhould be accuſtomed very early in life to a certain degree of reſtraint. The natural caſt of character, and the moral diſtinctions between the ſexes, ſhould not be diſregarded, even in childhood. That bold, independent, enterpriſing ſpirit, which is ſo much admired in boys, ſhould not, when it happens to diſcover itſelf in the other ſex, be encouraged, but ſuppreſſed. Girls ſhould be taught to give up their opinions betimes, and not pertinaciouſly to carry on a diſpute, even if they ſhould know themſelves to be in the right. I do not mean, that they ſhould be robbed of the liberty of private judgment, but that they ſhould by no means be encouraged to contract a contentious or contradictory turn. It is of the greateſt importance to their future happineſs, that they ſhould acquire a ſubmiſſive temper, and a forbearing ſpirit: for it is a leſſon which the world will not fail to make them frequently practiſe, when they come abroad into it, and they will not practiſe it the worſe for having learnt it the ſooner. Theſe early reſtraints, in the limitation here meant, are ſo far from being an effect of cruelty, that they are the moſt indubitable marks of affection, and are the more meritorious, as they are ſevere trials of tenderneſs. But all the beneficial effects, which a mother can expect from this watch fulneſs, will be entirely defeated, if it is practiſed occaſionally, and not habitually, and if it ever appears to be uſed to gratify caprice, ill-humour, or reſentment.

--Essays for Young Ladies by Hannah More

The Gipsy Bar, Paris 1928

The Gipsy Bar was a little foul-smelling boîte on the boulevard Edgar-Quinet, full of hardfaced young lesbians and desperate looking old women whose spotted, sinewy arms rattled with jewelled bracelets. We were hailed by a tableful of the latter, one of whom, rather younger than the rest, was wearing male evening dress and a monocle. They insisted we sit with them. The conversation, incredibly dull, was carried on with a superfluity of cant words and indecent euphemisms.

'Are you shocked, little bird?' the woman with the monocle asked me, raising her artificially thickened eyebrows.

'Indeed I am.'

'Your health, little mouse! What will you drink? But not beer, it's so bloody English.'

I was then obliged to drink a diablo, a sickening mixture of port and grenadine that I had thought was drunk by nobody except prostitutes, and to dance with the monocled lady. She took the lead and I found it rather awkward to begin with. But she was a fine dancer and I soon found myself being waltzed around very pleasantly. There were a few other couples, each arranged in a similar reverse dispositin, but most of the other dancers were women, with the male types leading.

A new arrival suddenly evoked screams of joy. A curvaceous squat man in black, with blue shaven jowls covered with violet talcum-powder and eyes loaded with mascara, he held his hands in front of him like a dancing dog.

'Dan! Dan!" everyone shouted.

This was the famous Dr Maloney, the most-quoted homosexual in Paris, a man who combined the professions of pathic, abortionist, professional boxer and quasi-confessor to literary women. He waddled forward and a place at our table was made for him at once.

'I have just had a marvellous experience,' he murmered to the old women in the purple velvet hat who was our hostess. 'Such a divine piece of rough trade, my dear, with wooden shoes, velveteen trousers and a gorgeous three days' beard. Not until out encounter--if you will pardon the expression--was over did I learn he was a genuine grave-digger! I was furious. If I had only known...' He snapped his fingers with extraordinary force, and two waiters came running. 'Champagne, champagne, to celebrate the victory of vice over the grave!'

Dr Maloney then treated us to an astonishing harangue revolving around unmentionable subjects and indescribable practices.

--Memoirs of Montparnasse, by John Glassco

Ethelred the Unready's Unhappy Childhood

Dunstane also long before prophesied of the slouthfulnesse that should remaine in this Egelred. For at what time he ministred the sacrament of baptisme to him; shortlie after he came into this world, he defiled the font with the ordure of his wombe (as hath beene said:) whervpon Dunstane being troubled in mind, "By the Lord (saith he) and his blessed mother, this child shall prooue to be a slouthfull person." It hath beene written also, that when he was but ten yeeres of age, and heard that his brother Edward was slaine, he so offended his mother with wéeping, bicause she could not still him, that hauing no rod at hand, she tooke tapers or sizes that stood before hir, and beat him so sore with them, that she had almost killed him, whereby he could neuer after abide to haue anie such candels lighted before him.

The Historie of England, Volume 7 of 8, by Raphael Holinshed (circa 1573)