Paris 1814

Paris 1814

This August, Lady Chance, a Regency romance set in Paris, 1814 comes out. It’s the follow-up book to Lady Scandal, which was set in France of 1803. Both years are times represent short breaks in the Napoleonic wars—the peace of 1803 was a fragile thing that barely lasted, and the surrender of Paris to the allied armies in 1814 didn’t last. But Paris in 1814 was the place to be for excitement and to watch history being made.

On March 30 to 31, 1814, the battle for Paris was fought. Napoleon was advancing to Paris to reinforce his troops, but with Russian in control of the Montmartre Heights and Prussian troops ready to take the fight into the streets of Paris, Marshall Marmont contacted the Coalition and reached a secret agreement with them to spare Paris.

On March 31, Prince Talleyrand gave the key of the city to Tsar Alexander The Tsar and his staff entered the city followed by the King of Prussia and Prince Schwarzenberg. The city had feared for its safety. However, Tsar Alexander made it clear that he regarded Napoleon as the enemy of Europe—not France. He entered the city as a liberator, riding a white horse, and was cheered as the man who has spared Paris looting, burning, and destruction.

On April 2, the French Senate passed an act to declare Napoleon deposed. Napoleon had advanced as far as Fontainebleau and heard that Paris had surrendered. His marshals would not fight with him and urged surrender. On April 4, Napoleon abdicated in favor of his son, the King of Rome, but this was not to be allowed. Napoleon had to abdicate unconditionally, and he did so on April 6, and was exiled to Elba. On April 11, the war was officially over when the Treaty of Fontainebleau was signed—Napoleon took a poison that had been mixed for him and that he carried with him in case of capture. But the mix of belladonna and opium had lost its potency, and doctors revived him. He recovered and left for Elba on April 20. However, it is thought that he never regained full heath for stomach problems plagued him the rest of his life.

Napoleon was allowed to take with him one thousand of his Imperial Guards, which would pave his return the following year—and there is every indication that plans for his return were already being made in 1814.

In Lady Chance, the heroine—Diana—and her cousin come to Paris in mid April, with treaties still being drafted and signed. Only English diplomats, such as Diana’s cousins, were in Paris, but a few brave souls also traveled to Paris in April. Letters from a Lady (Miss Anne Carter) to her Sister during a tour to Paris in the months of April and May 1814 offers up terrific, colorful details of events including the return of the Bourbons.

On May 3, Louis XVIII arrived in Paris with a grand procession through the city. Parisians turned out to throw lilies—the flower of the kings—to cheer and shout, and only a little grumbling was heard. The comte d'Artois—Louis’ younger brother who would later become Charles X after Louis XVIII’s death—had ruled as Lieutenant-General until his brother's arrival, and would continue on as part of his brother’s council. Louis’ niece—married to the comte d'Artois son, the duc d’Angoulême—sat next to Louis XVIII. The only surviving child of Louis XVI, the duchesse was described as “very fair, and has rather large eyes, which still bear the marks of the Revolution…” She was seen to be nervous of the crowds, and rightly so, given that many of these same people had cheered when her parents were beheaded.

Napoleon's senate called Louis XVIII to the throne, but they set down the condition that he must accept a constitution that included recognition of the Republic, an elected parliament, and the tricolore of the Revolution. Louis XVIII opposed most of those ideas, disbanded the senate and made his appeal to the French people—who were split in their loyalties. Royalists wanted their king back, but some hid their tricolor flags and bided their time; the army was sullen, but the marshals of France swore their loyalty to the king. Anyone who had power was working hard to keep it, and anyone wanting power was plotting to take it.

Paris was a city split—as was France. Louis XVIII needed to keep the country functioning and stable, which meant he must retain those who had held power under the empire. But Louis also had to reward those who had stayed loyal to the crown, with a return of their lands and titles. The comte d’Artois, the ducs d’Angoulême and d’Berry sat on the king's council and it was headed by Talleyrand, who’d been made a prince by Napoleon. Louis wanted to be king in the old style, but he faced an empty treasury, and he had an occupying army who were trying to make a lasting peace.

The leaders of the occupying armies demanded a constitutional monarchy—they wanted France to remain stable. To pacify them, Louis drew up the Charter of 1814, which was very progressive for that era. It kept intact many of the reforms of the Revolution, along with the Napoleonic Code, which guaranteed legal equality and civil liberties. However, the preamble declared it a ‘concession and grant’, given ‘by the free exercise of our royal authority’—meaning Louis wanted the ability to reverse everything if he chose.

Louis also signed the Treaty of Paris on May 30, in which Paris gave up the territories Napoleon had conquered. That was the main reason the allies were supporting Louis—they got their lands back. In exchange, France would not have to pay war penalties, and the foreign armies would withdraw from Pairs. This left many unhappy—many Frenchmen thought the Empire had been a natural extension of France’s borders.

It didn’t help that Louis XVIII soon went back on promises. Unpopular taxes were left in place. Louis chose the traditional white flag of the kings of France. Returning aristocrats were given back their lands, while those who had been ennobled by Napoleon saw their lands taken away with the return to France’s old borders. Expenditures on the army were slashed, leaving them grumbling, and Louis’ devotion to the Catholic Church left non-Catholics unhappy. A post-war slump in the economy hit everyone, and Paris began to resent the English who came in droves and had money to spend.

But the bitter unhappiness that was to hit in the fall and winter of 1814 was months away in spring. April and May of that year was one of entertainments and celebration. Paris glittered with illuminations and the campfires of the armies. Diana and her cousin had balls to attend—and plots to uncover.

For an undercurrent of waiting wove through the city to see what the Emperor would do. There was still a belief in Napoleon’s magic—that he wasn’t just an ordinary man. There were still doubts that Louis—old and ridden by gout—would be a just king. There were plots and schemes, and all of that is what makes for rich ground to set a novel.

AN EXCERPT FROM LADY CHANCE

Taliaris waited in the alley two streets down from the Palais Royal. Away from the boulevards, the cafés and the restaurants, this street seemed dingy and dark. A single reverbères hung from a rope stretched across the street, its light dim though the dirty glass. 

He could smell filth from the gutter than ran down the center of the lane.

He settled his shoulders against the wall and kept his hands loose and ready. It was a narrow, mean street, its square cobblestones worn by the centuries. Typical Paris, he thought, wishing for open countryside and the smell of things that grew—not piss in the street and god knew what else.

The small shops that lined the way had closed hours ago. Only a thin slice of moon and a scattering of stars lit the unshuttered windows. Distant voices floated to him. He could make out a drunken song in some language. It wasn’t French. Rough Cossacks, he guessed and hunched a shoulder against the dragging, sad melody.

This was a spot for melancholy and ill remembrances.

Perhaps the late queen’s tumbrel had creaked down this street, weaving its path from her final prison at La Conciergerie to the Place de la Concorde. That had been rechristened yet again back to the Place Louis XV and the guillotine no longer stood in the elegant square, but that was about all he knew of Paris. He had been gone long years from France, and Paris was not his city. He was a man from Bordeaux, from a small village where the grapes grew fat and every man knew his neighbor. He could wish himself there now.

However, he still had a duty to France. And to his family. And then at last he would have time to look to his own future. He could think of a wife at last. A woman who would not mind the hard work of a vineyard. A woman who could give him strong sons. A woman who could cook and clean. The image of his family’s old stone house rose to mind—but a picture flashed of a pretty girl with golden hair at the door of what was now his home. Ah, but no. Lady Chauncey had soft hands. She wore fine silks. A lady such as her would have nothing to do with life in a village such as his.

Still, the image teased at him.

What would have happened if ten years ago he had kept hold of his English girl? He could not say. And how could he have left her alone in his village, knowing no one, while he returned to war?

Footsteps echoed, and Giles put away such thoughts. A large man strode down the alley toward Giles.

Tall and heavily built, the giant trod light upon the cobblestones for one so hulking. But then Andre Dufour had always been one to surprise. Dufour still wore his uniform and the brass buttons from his white waistcoat gleamed in the faint light, but Giles knew Dufour had to be on leave.

Andre stopped before him and tucked his right hand into the pocket of an open greatcoat that had seen much service. “A cold spring, eh, but not so much chill as the Pyrenees gave us.”

“Careful, my friend. It is not fashionable these days to speak too much of La Grande Armée’s past.”

“Fashion? I am not one for that. Not like your brother. I hear young Françoise has taken up with an actress who rivals the diamond of the Comédie Française, Mad’moiselle Mars. And so it is now the rage to haunt l’Odeon for a glimpse of this girl. Seems a stupid thing to do with a woman—to only watch for her. But who am I to judge since I have no woman?”

Regret tugged at Giles, an old and familiar one that settled in his chest like a weight. He ought to have…

Ah, but he had done what he must. His wants did not enter into this. Still, it had been unsettling to have his past come back to him tonight. His cheek tingled and he rubbed it with his thumb. An even greater shock had sizzled over his skin to see his English girl and hear her voice again. He allowed himself to pull out the memory one last time—salt air damp on his face, a girl in his arms, her hair spilling long and golden in the pale light of early morning, her lips soft and parting. The ache lifted in his chest.

With a shake of his head, he pulled the flask from the inside pocket of his coat. He opened it and the aroma of brandy stung the night. Giles offered the flask to Dufour, who took a long swallow.

A skittering from the dark end of the alley froze Giles. Andre slipped his hand from his pocket and half turned. Moonlight flashed on the steel of a small pistol. Giles slapped Andre’s upper arm, took back his flask and tucked it away again. “Walk with me. Let us find a place with noise and something better to drink.”

Gentleman's Clubs in Regency England

©By Cheryl Bolen

The three most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs during the Regency — White’s, Brooks, and Boodle’s — were all located on the same street (St. James) in London’s west end, and all are still in existence today.

But don’t expect to see any signs out front.

 

This is White's. See the famed bow window on the ground floor.

 

Most members of these private establishments in the borough of Mayfair come from the upper echelons of society. Their male ancestors have likely held memberships since the clubs moved to St. James Street in the late 1700's. When Prince Charles married Diana, he hosted his bachelor party at White’s. His son, Prince William, is also a member.

White’s, originally a chocolate shop in 1693, moved to 37-38 St. James in 1778. During the Regency it was strongly associated with Tories. Members could take their meals at the club, and they especially enjoyed the gambling, as well as White’s well-known betting book. The book recorded bets about battles during the Napoleonic wars and often included bets on prospective matrimonial partners. It was at the club’s famed bow window that Lord Alvanley bet a friend £3,000 (over $100,000 today) which of two raindrops would fall fastest.

Brook’s, founded in 1764 by a group of men which included four dukes, moved to 60 St. James in 1778. While many prominent men of the era held membership in both clubs, Brook’s was a bastion for Whig leaders such as Charles James Fox, the Duke of Portland and the Duke of Devonshire. The Prince Regent was a member. Like White’s, Brook’s also had a betting book. One of its most interesting entries is, "Ld Cholmondeley has given two guineas to Ld. Derby, to receive 500gs whenever his lordship f**** a woman in a balloon one thousand yards from earth." Boodle’s is located directly across the street from Brook’s. Established in 1762, Boodle’s has also boasted many famous members, including Beau Brummel. More recently (relatively speaking), it was author Ian Fleming’s club. He bases James Bond’s club on Boodle’s.

One of the chief attractions to gentlemen’s clubs was the select gambling. Gentlemen of their class always paid their debts of honor.

Paris in 1814: The Palais Royal

I've just finished my next Regency romance, Lady Chance, a book that is a follow up to Lady Scandal, and am getting it ready for publication, and the fun part has been digging into Paris of 1814. For the setting, the Palais Royal plays a part in the story, and it's both a beautiful (and still standing) structure, and one with a great deal of history.

The Palais Royal was originally designed by Jacques Lemercier and built from 1629 to 1639 for the infamous Cardinal Richelieu (the one who is the menace in The Three Musketeers). The building was first known as the Palais Cardinal, but it became a royal palace after the cardinal bequeathed the building to King Louis XIII after his death.

When Louis XIII passed, the palace became the home of the Queen Mother, Anne of Austria, and then Henrietta Maria and her daughter Henrietta Anne Stuart, who had escaped from the English civil war, took up residence. Henrietta Anne married Phillipe de France, duc d’Orléans, and the palace became known as the House of Orléans, and the duchess installed the ornamental garden of the palace.


After the death of Louis XIV, the duc d’Orléans became regent of Louis XV. The Palais Royal was then opened so the public could view the Orléans art collection, starting its history as a much more public building.

In the late 1700's, Louis Philippe II renovated the palace, surrounding the garden with a mall of shops, cafes, salons, refreshment stands and bookstores.

The Palais Royal also became a meeting ground for revolutionaries. During the Revolution, Philippe d'Orléans became Philippe Égalité and changed the building to be the Palais de l'Égalité. He opened the gardens to everyone and enclosed the gardens with regular colonnades.

Upon the death of the duc, the palace's ownership lapsed to the state, whence it was called Palais du Tribunat for a time.  But under Napoleon and his empire, the Palais Royal took back its name but continued its function as a place where anything might be had for a price.

On the ground floor shops sold “perfume, musical instruments, toys, eyeglasses, candy, gloves, and dozens of other goods. Artists painted portraits, and small stands offered waffles.” The demi-monde could parade here in the gallery--alongside proper ladies--and the demi-monde often had rooms on the upper floors for their customers convenience.

While the more elegant restaurants were open on the arcade level to those with the money to afford good food and wine, the basements of the Palais Royal offered cafes with cheaper drinks, food and entertainment for the masses, such as at the Café des Aveugles. And the cafes were place to see, be seen, and plot.

In 1807, the Palais Royal boasted “twenty-four jewelers, twenty shops of luxury furniture, fifteen restaurants, twenty-nine cafes and seventeen billiards parlors.” And that wasn’t all of the the shops. A theater occupied each end of the galleries, and the building offered some of the most popular cafés and restaurants in Paris, including Le Grand Véfour.


On the second floor, elegant card rooms offered deep play--these were the gaming rooms, both elegant and notorious for places where a young, rich man might lose his fortune.

During the Restoration of the Bourbons, the Palais Royal’s former gardens with its chestnut trees were enclosed by three large arcades, one of stone, one of glass and one of wood. The stone arcade still stands.

The Palais Royal became a shopping heaven for the English visiting in 1814--and they adored the restaurants and food (and the fact that ladies could dine on their own in the more loose society of Paris). And all of that made for some fun scenes in Lady Chance. I also had the chance to visit the Palais Royal, which still houses wonderful shops under the stone arcade.
 

Pinterest and Regency England

I'm late to the party with Pinterest--but I am not generally an early adopter. I like to see if something's going to stay around before I invest time into it. But Pinterest is a great place to hang out--lots of great images, which is perfect for anyone who loves either research or Regency England. There's fashion (lots of it), images for personalities (with small bios), furniture, sports, food of the era, and lots more. But my favorite are actually prints of old London and England, and even some photos taken before both World War II bombing and the march of progress meant the end of many a beautiful inn or building. I also really, really like maps--any map. I have many books with maps of England, but there are always extra details that any writer needs.

Many of the images come with small bits of information--and, yes, it's a great consumer of time. But it's also great since a photo really can help you better "see" the world that once was. And it's not just the Regency that's covered--pick any era and you'll find cool stuff. As anyone who uses Pinterest knows, you can "pin" images to a board so you can more easily find them--great to help you stay organized--and you can follow other people's boards. A lot of writers post images useful for their books. I'm still uploading images I've found for horses, Regency portraits, and more.

Search works similar to any search engine--type in words, or put a plus sign between them if you want a phrase searched. The really nice part is that Pinterest brings up suggestions of things recently pinned that you might be interested in--they just show up on your home page.

I'm working now on a Pinterest for Paris 1814--I'm working on a Regency set there. It's a lot like having a ton of books open, or having a board with images set in place to inspire. It's also fun to create--so it's really important not to get too carried away.

But if you're on Pinterest, let me know--I'm always looking for new bits of research.

The Secret Wife of George IV

© Cheryl Bolen

Since there's such a scarcity of work on Maria Fitzherbert, I was eager to get my hands on this James Munson’s 2002 biography of her (Maria Fitzherbert: The Secret Wife of George IV), which I purchased in Great Britain. But after reading all 372 pages, I still don't feel all that well acquainted with the woman who secretly married the Prince of Wales (later to be prince regent, and later still, King George IV) in 1785.

One of the reasons for this scarcity is the absence of the lady's letters and diaries, which have enriched other biographies of Mrs. Fitzherbert's contemporaries, such as Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire. In fact, I felt somewhat cheated by Munson, who touted his work as the only one having the letters from Mrs. Fitzherbert's intimate friend, Lady Anne Lindsay. "Previous biographers knew nothing of these letters or of Lady Anne's journal," Munson tells us. Oh boy, I thought, new information!

Very few of Mrs. Fitzherbert's letters to Lady Anne are revealed in these pages. There are, however, snippets from Lady Anne's diaries which give some insight into Mrs. Fitzherbert.

Another disappointment was lack of details about the relationship between the prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert, a twice widowed Catholic he married in a secret, illegal Anglican ceremony. They acted as husband and wife for almost twenty years (non-consecutively), yet there is little information about this remarkable relationship. The first 150 pages of the book are background on the two; the last 50 pages deal with the years after the couple's final break. That leaves about a third of the book to deal with the 20 years they were together.

Not all of the blame for this vagueness rests on Munson's shoulders. Credit Mrs. Fitzherbert herself and her "husband" when he became George IV for ordering the destruction the evidence of their illegal marriage. Upon George IV's death he entrusted the Duke of Wellington, then prime minister, with the task of burning all correspondence between himself and Mrs. Fitzherbert.

Mrs. Fitzherbert complied, asking that only four documents be spared. The duke and Lord Albermarle met at her residence, she handed them packets of papers, then left. Her actions prompted Wellington to say she, "was the most honest woman he'd ever met." The two peers burned letters in her fireplace for many hours afterward. It is said her house smelled of burnt paper and sealing wax for many weeks, and the stain to her white mantel stayed for years. Five years later, Wellington was still burning the prince's love letters to Mrs. Fitzherbert.

The four documents she insisted on keeping were the mortgage on the Royal Pavilion at Brighton (which the prince claimed to have given her but which she never took possession of); her marriage certificate; a will the prince wrote when they were estranged in 1796 (a year after he legally married Caroline of Brunswick) in which he said Maria Fitzherbert was his true wife; and an affidavit from the clergyman who performed their marriage ceremony. These documents were deposited in Coutts bank, where they stayed until the early twentieth century when they were placed in the Royal Archives.

So why all the bloody secrecy? From the very beginning of their love affair both the prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert knew they could never legally marry, not just because of her Catholicism, but because the Royal Marriage Act adopted by Parliament at the behest of King George III forbade any member of the royal family from marrying without the king's permission.

Because an act of Parliament took precedence over any church law, this illegal marriage was a criminal act.

When the twenty-one year old prince met the twenty-seven-year old wealthy widow (how they met is not revealed in this book) he fell madly in love with her. She was flattered but not interested. Then he attempted to stab himself to death to show that if he couldn't have her, he did not wish to live. Drenched in his own blood, he summoned her. She did not come. Ever mindful of her unblemished reputation, she finally consented to come if the Duchess of Devonshire (who was close to the prince but not to Mrs. Fitzherbert) would accompany her. Thus, properly chaperoned, Mrs. Fitzherbert approached his bedside, the duchess produced a ring, Mrs. Fitzherbert agreed to take the ring as a symbol of being pledged to the prince, then she promptly fled the country with her friend, Lady Anne.

A constant flurry of letters from the prince besieged her wherever she went. When she returned a year and a half later, they wed in a secret ceremony. Within months all of London knew of the secret wedding, but neither party ever publicly admitted it, nor did they ever live together in the same house. For the next nine years, Mrs. Fitzherbert would be the chief woman in the prince's life. As time went by, his affairs with other women and her bad temper transpired to cool off the relationship, which terminated when Frances, Lady Jersey became his lover. Under Lady Jersey's influence, he agreed to legally marry Caroline of Brunswick in order to have his monstrous debts settled and to acquire a larger annual income.

Even before his marriage, he missed Mrs. Fitzherbert. Before he had been married a year, he rued his real marriage and hungered for the renewal of his sham marriage to Maria Fitzherbert. It took him another four years before he won her back. There is some evidence that when she returned to him in 1800 she stipulated that theirs be a non-sexual relationship.

This second time they were together also lasted just under a decade, at which time the prince took up with the married Lady Hertford and dropped Mrs. Fitzherbert. A year later, he was named regent.

He and Mrs. Fitzherbert would never speak again, but financial settlements to Mrs. Fitzherbert increased.

There is no evidence that Mrs. Fitzherbert ever bore a child, though she did adopt two daughters to whom she was very kind and who were devoted to her.

Shortly after he became king in 1820, his legal wife died, but he never remarried. When he died 10 years later, he wore about his neck a miniature of Mrs. Fitzherbert, the wife of his heart.

Mrs. Fitzherbert died in 1837 and was buried in Brighton.—Cheryl Bolen’s Countess by Coincidence, a sequel to Duchess by Mistake, releases this summer.

An English Spy in Paris During the American Revolution

By Regan Walker

When I write historical romance, I like to let the history lead me. In the case of my new Georgian romance, To Tame the Wind, the story of an English privateer and the daughter of a French pirate, it led me straight to a spy in Paris in 1782, the last year of the American Revolution. 

Edward Bancroft

Edward Bancroft was an American scientist born in Massachusetts in 1744 but raised in Connecticut. While growing up in Hartford, Bancroft studied under Silas Deane, a lawyer.

After some years, and a jaunt in Surinam, Bancroft went to live in London where he met Benjamin Franklin who was then the agent for several of the Colonies. They became friends and Franklin used Bancroft to spy on the British to support several of Franklin's colonial activities.

In June of 1776, Bancroft’s former instructor, Silas Deane was sent to France by Congress to induce the French to lend their financial aid to the Colonies, which were about to declare their independence. Just after Deane arrived, he sent a letter to Bancroft asking that he come to Paris, which Bancroft did. They met in July and established a close relationship, so that Deane confided to Bancroft the true nature of his mission.

Benjamin Franklin

Deane told Bancroft that he was attempting to obtain France’s aid for the Colonies and to motivate a Bourbon-Prussian coalition against England to force the British to redirect their power to a continental conflict and leave the Colonies alone. The Americans expected France to come to their aid, which they ultimately did. It may have seemed odd that the Americans would approach France. It had not been that long ago as British colonies they had fought alongside England against France. However, France was humiliated after its defeat in the French and Indian Wars. England was its enemy so France was happy to help America in order to check the British.

Toward the end of July 1776, Bancroft returned to London. Before he left, he agreed to provide Deane with intelligence gleaned from his contacts in England. But Bancroft’s new role did not sit well. He had always supported British interests while adhering to the belief that the Colonies and the crown had to come to some compromise. Now he realized that such a compromise was impossible and he worried that French entry into the conflict could destroy the British Empire.

In London, Bancroft met with one William Eden, a character in my story, who became England’s spymaster, presiding over its agents in Europe. They were joined by Lords Suffolk and Weymouth for a discussion on “the colonial rebellion.” It was at this meeting that Bancroft was recruited as a spy for the British. He later wrote of his decision:

I had then resided near ten years, and expected to reside the rest of my life in England; and all my views, interests and inclinations were adverse to the independency of the colonies, though I had advocated some of their claims, from a persuasion of their being founded in justice. I therefore wished, that the government of this country, might be informed, of the danger of French interference, though I could not resolve to become the informant. But… I at length consented to meet the then Secretaries of State, Lords Weymouth and Suffolk, and give them all the information in my power, which I did with the most disinterested views.

When Benjamin Franklin arrived in Paris in December 1776, Lord Suffolk told Bancroft to move to Paris and inject himself in Franklin's circle, which he did, becoming the secretary to the American Mission. In that role, Bancroft was privy to many secrets.

It was most interesting to me—and it is a part of my story—that, in order to communicate with the British, Bancroft was told to compose a series of letters about gallantry (ostensibly the writer's exploits with ladies), which he was to address to a “Mr. Richards.” He was to sign the letters as “Edward Edward.” (A bizarre moniker given his own name.) Between the lines of his letters, he was to write in secret ink the information he acquired. The letters were to be placed in a bottle in the hole of a certain box tree in Paris. A man working for Lord Stormont then retrieved these messages. (In my story, it is the hero, Simon Powell, who retrieves the messages.)

Using this method, Bancroft supposedly provided copies of hundreds of documents to his superiors in London. In one instance, the French-American treaty was in King George's hand a mere 48 hours after it was signed, courtesy of Bancroft.

Bancroft’s final work as “Edward Edwards lasted from the start of peace negotiations in the spring of 1782 to the signing of the preliminary peace accord on November 30 of that same year.

Whether Franklin knew of Bancroft’s perfidy is not clear. Franklin did not write about it and Bancroft's personal papers were later destroyed by a family member. (Bancroft’s missives were not discovered until seventy years after his death when the British government provided access to its diplomatic archives.)

In the end, while the British had effectively inserted a spy within the American Commission in Paris, even with Bancroft the British were unable to destroy the relationship Franklin had established with the French, nor diminish France’s considerable support that led to America’s victory and its independence.

Paris 1782…AN INNOCENT IS TAKEN

 

All Claire Donet knew was the world inside the convent walls in Saint-Denis. She had no idea her beloved papa was a pirate. But when he seized Simon Powell's schooner, the English privateer decided to take the one thing his enemy held most dear... her.

 

A BATTLE IS JOINED

The waters between France and England roil with the clashes of Claire's father and her captor as the last year of the American Revolution rages on the sea, spies lurk in Paris, and Claire’s passion for the English captain rises.

Links:

To Tame the Wind on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Tame-Wind-Agents-Crown-Book-ebook/dp/B00VO4DZYE

Regan’s Website: http://www.reganwalkerauthor.com/

Blog:  http://reganromancereview.blogspot.com/

Twitter: @RegansReview (https://twitter.com/RegansReview)

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/regan.walker.104

 

The Age Before Mass Chemical Cleaners

    Today we buy our cleaning goods and our remedies in ready-made bottles and cans and boxes. Prior to the era of mass manufacturing, which started after the Regency, all these items were manufactured in the household. This stands out at once in the household books from the late 1700's and early 1800's.

     The variety of 'tips' offered is astonishing, covering everything from cookery for the sick, to making pomades, to how to blacken fire grates and clean marble, to how to keep the rot off sheep. ("Keep them in pens till the dew is off the grass," advises Mrs. Rundell in her book on Domestic Cookery.)

     Some directions are quite straightforward. To keep a door from squeaking, "Rub a bit of soap on the hinges." Other directions can list either products not readily available today, such as the orris-root and storax listed in a recipe for potpourri, or the spermaceti (from whales) to be used to make ointment for chapped lips. Also, amounts are often inexact. For chapped lip, "twopenny-worth of alkanet-root" is also required--probably a small amount, unless alkanet-root came very, very cheep.

    Amounts are often listed as handfuls, as in the rue, sage, mint, rosemary, wormwood and lavender for a "recipt against the plague" given by Hanna Glasse in The Art of Cookery made Plain and Easy. She also offers not one, but two certain cures for the "bite of a mad dog, one of which is both given to the "man or beast" bitten as well as recommending to be bound into the wound.

     Within the household, items would be made for beauty as well as practicality. Recipes are given for Hungary Water (early cologne), which took a month to actually make. There is also Lavender Water, a recipe to prevent hair from falling out and thicken it which includes using honey and rosemary tops, a paste for chapped hands, and pomades for the hair.

     The time spent on making up these recipes could be considerable. To make black ink with rain water, bruised blue galls, brandy and a few other items meant stirring the concoction every day for three weeks. Other recipes, such as Shank Jelly for an invalid, requires lamb to be left salted for four hours, then brushed with herbs and simmered for five hours. Time passed differently in the 1800's.

     Sick cookery is an item of importance, from recipes for heart burn to how to make "Dr. Ratcliff's restorative Pork Jelly." Coffee milk is recommended for invalids as is asses' milk, milk porridge, saloop (water, wine, lemon-peel and sugar), chocolate, barley water, and baked soup.

     An interesting distinction is made in that recipes pertaining to personal appearance and sick-cookery address the reader--and owner of the book. However, recipes for household cleaning and those not related to a person--such as how to mend china--are listed under "Directions to Servants." This shows clearly the distinction that the mistress of the house also acted as mistress of the still room, tending to the really important matters, and leaving the heavy work to her staff.