The Good Old Gentleman

Thomas Allen had "a great many mathematicall instruments and glasses in his chamber," which meant that "the vulgar did verily beleeve him to be a conjurer." Once, when he went on vacation, "he happened to leave his watch in the chamber windowe - (watches were then rarities) - The maydes came in to make the bed, and hearing a thing in a case cry Tick, Tick, Tick, presently concluded that that was his Devill, and took it by the string with the [tongs] and threw it out of the windowe into the mote... It so happened that the string hung on a sprig of an elder that grew out of the mote, and this confirmed them that 'twas the Devill. So the good old gentleman gott his watch again." John Aubrey's BRIEF LIVES.

Viper-Wine

I'm taking the other versions back to the library. It's clear that the 1898 edition of BRIEF LIVES is the way to go. It seems to transcribe meticulously almost every little scrap of Aubrey, marginalia and all. The editor, Andrew Clark, warns us: "Some things in Aubrey's writing offend not merely against our present canons of good taste, but against good morals. The conversation of the people among whom Aubrey moved, although they were gentry both in position and in education, was often vulgar, and occasionally foul, as judged by us." The story of Venetia Digby is not TOO racy. It does have a sad and morbid ending. "She was a most beautifull desireable creature... it seems her beauty could not lye hid. The young eagles had espied her, and she was sanguine and tractable, and of much suavity... Her face, a short ovall; dark-browne eie-browe, about which much sweetness, as also in the opening of her eie-lidds. The colour of her cheekes was just that of the damaske rose, which is neither too hott nor too pale... She dyed in her bed suddenly. Some suspected that she was poysoned. When her head was opened there was found but little braine, which her husband imputed to her drinking of viper-wine; but spiteful woemen would say 'twas a viper-husband who was jealous of her that she would steale a leape." Aubrey isn't as kind to poor Bess Broughton, though he says "She was a most exquisite beautie, as finely shaped as nature could frame; and had a delicate witt." It seems "Her father at length discovered her inclinations and locked her up in the turret of the house, but she getts downe by a rope; and away she gott to London, and did sett-up for her selfe... her price was very deare... At last she grew common and infamous and gott the pox, of which she died." Then he lists some various songs and jokes that people made about Bess Broughton and her pox.

"Blog" Mail "Bag"

Time once more to take a peek into the "blog" mail "bag." Lee Durkee writes in to take up for his beloved Edward de Vere (from the shadow of whose ancestral castle he writes). No way, says Lee, did Edward de Vere have that unfortunate accident in front of Queen Elizabeth. "John Aubrey was famous for getting things wrong," Lee says. Edward de Vere did, however, Lee admits, "set an entire village on fire while orchestrating a mock battle for [the Queen's] entertainment (he heroically helped douse the flames)." Does that count as heroic, though? If you started the fire to begin with? But I don't want to get into another Edward de Vere argument with Lee. Meanwhile my brother-in-law David writes in with an interesting real estate listing. If you scroll down all the pictures of the property, you will see that there is a skeleton in the basement!

Much Chicken

"Red-haired men never had any kindnesse for him." So writes James Aubrey about James Bovey, a businessman. Also: "In all his travells he was never robbed." And, "His dyet was always a fine diet: much chicken." Bovey shows up again in Aubrey's sketch of Richard Head: "his true name was Head (Mr. Bovey knew him)." About this Mr. Head: "He had been amongst the gipsies. He looked like a knave with his gogling eies. He could transforme himselfe into any shape." (Note: WHAT?) "Was at last a bookseller, or towards his later end."

A Great Upholder of Coffee

According to John Aubrey, Sir Henry Blount once made a bet with Colonel Betridge - "one of the handsomest men about the town," who always "bragged how much the woemen loved him" - that if they went together to a bordello, Colonel Betridge "without money, with his handsome person, and Sir Henry with a twenty-shilling piece on his bald [head], that the wenches should choose Sir Henry... and Sir H. won the wager... Drunkeness he much exclaimed against, but wenching he allowed. When Coffee first came in he was a great upholder of it." His favorite coffee house was called The Rainbowe. "He was heretofore a great Shammer... [saying for example] that at an Inne in St. Albans, the Innekeeper had made a Hogs-trough of a free-stone coffin, but the pigges after that grew leane, dancing and skipping, and would run upon the topps of the houses like goates. Two young Gents that heard Sir H. tell this sham so gravely, rode the next day to St. Albans to enquire... 'twas altogether false. The next night as soon as they allighted, they came to the Rainbowe and found Sir H., looked louringly on him, and told him they wondered he was not ashamed as to tell such stories, etc. Why, Gentlemen, sayd Sir H., have you been there to make such an enquiry? Yea, sayd they. Why truly, gentlemen, said Sir H. I heard you tell strange things that I knew to be false. I would not have gonne over the threshold of the dore to have found you out in a Lye, at which all the Company laught at the two young Gents... He is now neer or altogether 80 yeares, his Intellectuals good still; and body pretty strong. This last weeke of Sept. 1682, he was taken very ill at London, and his Feet swelled."

A Surfeit of Peaches

Just read a letter in which John Aubrey recounts becoming ill "of a surfeit of peaches."

Grossnesses!

I opened the 1949 edition of Aubrey's BRIEF LIVES at random and found one of those "grossnesses" that editor was talking about! WARNING! If you do not enjoy grossnesses, do not keep reading. The following employs scatological language! But it was written in the 17th century - what do you want from me? Aubrey says of Edward de Vere (pictured), "This Earl of Oxford, making of his low obeisance to Queen Elizabeth, happened to let a Fart, at which he was so abashed and ashamed that he went to Travell, 7 yeares." Wow! But wait, there's more. "On his returne the Queen welcomed him home, and sayd, My Lord, I had forgott the Fart." I'm probably the last to know about this. I have lots of questions, like, isn't seven years an overreaction? I mean, according to Mark Twain, Elizabethans were having similar stomach problems all the time. And: when de Vere finally got back, was the queen being nice by saying that or kind of yanking his chain?

Goodwife Faldo

You don't care what I checked out of the library today. Yet here we are. Intrigued by Lee Durkee's notes on John Aubrey's notes on John Dee, I checked out two versions of Aubrey's BRIEF LIVES. One is a two-volume set from 1898 and the other is a single volume put together in 1949. Then I picked up something from 1931 called THE SCANDAL AND CREDULITIES OF JOHN AUBREY, because how could I not? Sadly, it seems to be nothing but a whittled down version of the LIVES. The editor gives a very long introduction with some crazy turns of phrase ("The wry and knobbly spine of his days") and warnings of forthcoming sauciness ("Aubrey's grossnesses occur so frequently, and at such important points, that to suppress them is to destroy utterly the artistic value...") I haven't run across any grossnesses yet, but you will be the first to know. Aubrey talks to someone named goodwife Faldo whose mother took care of Dee "in his sicknesse." (This is from the 1898 edition.) Goodwife Faldo recalls that "The children dreaded him because he was accounted a conjurer." She lost a basket of clothes, if I am reading correctly, and John Dee recovered them, though it's unclear whether she's saying he did so by magic. After he died, "The children when they played in the church would runne to Dr. Dee's grave-stone."

The Faithful Robot

Somehow (but why?) I was surprised to come across a STAR WARS reference in the work of Cesar Aira. In THE SEAMSTRESS AND THE WIND he compares memory to "the hologram of the princess, in that movie, that the faithful robot carried in his circuits from galaxy to galaxy."

Morgan Freeman Got Out of His Car

I just saw Morgan Freeman getting out of his car. He was smiling pleasantly and waving at everyone who was staring at him in gape-mouthed wonder. Like me! We were driving down the street, just a block from home. I was like, "Roll your window down so I can yell hello!" And Dr. Theresa was like, "There's a cop right in front of us." What? Just because we had been at Snackbar drinking absinthe? And I was like, "The cop is waving at Morgan Freeman!"

The Bitter Washed Onto the Grass

Here are my favorite sentences from Arah Sneed's column about bitter milk: "Mother said it was always worse after a rain. I'm not sure why unless the bitter washed onto the grass."

Metabolic Derangement

Inspired by Arah Sneed, I looked up bitterweed in my reference book WEEDS OF THE SOUTH, and yes, that is a book I thought I needed to purchase at the time. So, common ragweed is sometimes called by the name "bitterweed," but I don't think that's what Arah Sneed has in mind, because she mentions "small yellow daisy shaped blossoms and fragile fern-looking leaves." That fits the description of something more properly (?) known as bitter sneezeweed, also called bitterweed, which causes "metabolic derangement" (!) and "tainted milk."

Bitter Milk

Got THE LAFA SHOPPER in the mail the other day. No column by John Arrechea, but there was a woman named Arah Sneed who made up for it. She wrote about the bitterweed, and how the cows used to eat it sometimes when she was a kid and the milk would turn bitter: "it was hard to drink bitter milk." But now she sees the bitterweed growing along the highway and thinks it's pretty. THE LAFA SHOPPER! Don't just toss it directly into the recycling bin the way I used to do.

Good Listening

That new crime anthology edited by Dr. Theresa contains one of her favorite stories, "A Good Man Is Hard to Find" by Flannery O'Connor. Just today, on the twitter thing of Maud Newton, there was a "link" to this amazing audio of Ms. O'Connor reading from that very story.

Fake Jerry Lewis Midriff Alert

I always like to tell you when there is a Jerry Lewis reference in the New York Times. But don't be fooled! It is so easy to get your hopes up in this deceitful world. Today we read a report about Jerry Lewis being "struck in the midriff by [a] flying padlock early one morning in late July," which sounds exactly like something that would happen to Jerry Lewis. He is always being "struck in the midriff" by things in his movies! But this time the midriff in question belongs to some guy in Phoenix who just happens to be named Jerry Lewis. Phooey! But I am sorry he was struck in the midriff.

The Crime of Dr. Theresa

Hey, look at this book about crime! Dr. Theresa edited it. It's out now, so you can enjoy all the crime you want. So what does Dr. Theresa know about crime? Maybe you should refresh your memory with this interview!

Over Half Doomed

Not too long ago there was a rare in-person meeting of over half of the Doomed Book Club. From left: Ace Atkins, Megan Abbott, me, Scott Phillips. Man, that flash bulb really worked! Photo by Rod Wiethop.

New Vomit Label

I just added a new "vomit" label to the "blog." "Click" it to see how many times I've mentioned vomit! Wait, I also need to add a "proud" label.

Ace's Attachment

Ace Atkins sent me this picture for some reason.

Baby Bird Time

Remember when the baby birds were nesting on the balcony at Square Books? They're back! Well, they are probably different baby birds this time. Photo by Michael Bible.