Above painting: Louis Jean Francois - Mars and Venus an Allegory of Peace
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Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Seven Steps to Folding Your Own Condom by Linda Lee Graham

Today on History Undressed, I am very excited to introduce to you our guest author, Linda Lee Graham. She's written us a truly entertaining, fascinating historical article!! Take notes! Also don't forget to leave a comment for your chance to win an ebook copy of Linda's book, Voices Beckon. Enjoy!

Seven Steps to Folding Your Own Condom

by Linda Lee Graham

Known as redingotes d’Anglaise (English raincoats) by the French, and baudruches (French letters), armour, sheaths, and machines by the English, condoms were a booming trade in eighteenth-century London. No matter the dire warnings from the Church, condemning the condom as immoral, and no matter the occasional prominent physician who blasted it as useless, an ever-growing demand created the potential for profit. Whenever that’s the case, commerce finds a way to thrive.

Although its value as a contraceptive was known, evidence suggests its primary use was as a preventative. The threat of contracting “the great pox” was a very real concern in the 1700s.  At the time, the term was used interchangeably to denote both gonorrhea (the clap) and syphilis, and the adjective “great,” though not always present, distinguished it from chickenpox and smallpox.

There was no effective cure for the pox, so the promise of prevention was enticing. Payment could be high for that one quick indiscretion while out carousing with one’s mates—and if a lad had a friend, a sailor for Pete’s sake,  who’d vowed he’d been using condoms for years with no sign of the dreaded pox—why wouldn’t he be tempted to consider the condom as well?

London entrepreneurs, not a few of them women, sold their wares in taverns, pubs, barbershops, and apothecaries, as well as hawked them streetside and in open-air markets. Startup and operating costs were negligible. Animal intestines were inexpensive and easily obtained from the local butcher, sulfur and lye from the neighborhood apothecary, and silk ribbon from the local haberdasher. The steps were simple:

  • Soak the intestines in water for several hours.
  • Soften the mess by soaking it in a weak lye solution for a day or two, changing the solution every twelve hours.
  • Scrape the mucous membrane off the intestinal material.
  • Soften the remaining matter over the vapor of ‘burning brimstone’ (steam it over hot sulfur).
  • Wash what’s left with lye soap and water.
  • Cut into oblong-shaped pieces and fold up into a sack (about seven inches should do, maybe eight).
  • Punch tiny holes around the top edges and thread the ribbon (pink was especially popular) through those holes.

 Voila! One size fits all.

Casanova's Party Trick
For the truly ambitious, the moist gut in step six might be molded over an oiled glass cast that has been blown into the appropriate shape.

It’s best not to try any of this at home. The fumes from the sulfur and lye can cause debilitating side effects and the effort might result in a condom riddled with holes. (Hence Casanova’s Party Trick in image at right).

Visit the local drugstore instead.

A linen condom was easy to produce as well, provided one was proficient with a needle. But the trade found the gut variety sold better, as the seam on the linen condom proved uncomfortable to customers.

These little devices were expensive, and it was not uncommon for a man to save and reuse his armour. Buying, washing, and reselling used condoms evolved into a lucrative side occupation for those with ready access to a brothel.

Now, why this surge of capitalism didn’t catch on in eighteenth-century Philadelphia, I’m not sure. It certainly wasn’t for lack of need. Immigrants from all over the world flowed into the city through its harbor, making Philadelphia the most ethnically and socially diverse city in the new United States, as well as the city with the closest ties to Europe. Venereal disease was epidemic during the last two decades of the 1700s, and casual sex, children borne outside of wedlock, adultery, and prostitution were commonplace.

Nevertheless, it was one industry in which it appears our American forefathers lagged behind. It may be that individuals made do with their own resources, or that the supply of black market condoms smuggled in by the carrying trade was sufficient to fill the demand. But for whatever reason, evidence suggests condoms were not sold openly on Philadelphia’s Market Street.

That began to change in the mid 1790s. Moreau de St. Méry, an ex-patriot from France, visited Philadelphia in 1793 and decided to stay. He opened a  bookstore on Front and Walnut in 1794 and stocked it with condoms as well as books, thinking to provide for the French colonials. He soon found the small items to be in great demand by the Americans.

St. Méry credits himself that “the use of this medium on the vast American continent dates from this time.” And though happy to supply a need and make a profit, he did deride the American customers’ surreptitious purchase and use. By the time he closed up shop in the late 1790s, Philadelphians could make their discreet purchases in any number of establishments.

The merit of condoms was subject for discussion in one of the scenes of Voices Beckon, and not, heaven forbid, out of any desire to be “politically correct” on my part. I merely thought protection would have been on the mind of any randy young lad with a mind to his future.

Collier, Aine, The Humble Little Condom, A History, (Amherst, New York 2007)

Lyons, Clare, Sex Among the Rabble, An Intimate History of Gender & Power in the Age of Revolution, Philadelphia, 1730-1830 (University of North Carolina Press, NC  2006)

St. Méry , Moreau de,  Moreau de St. Méry's American Journey (1793-1798), translated and edited by Kenneth Roberts and Anne Roberts, (Garden City, NY 1947)

Image of Market Street:  Mather, Horace, Early Philadelphia: Its People, Life & Progress, (Philadelphia, PA  1917)

About the book:
The year is 1783 and passengers are swarming the bustling Bristol quay, anxiously awaiting the call to board.

David Graham, a Scot indentured for the next six years to a Philadelphia printer, waits among them, as does Elisabeth Hale, a young Englishwoman making the passage with her father, and Liam Brock, an orphaned Scot with a dubious past.

Thrown together despite differences of class and religion, these three teens forge an unwavering bond of friendship, love, and loyalty—until Elisabeth is forced to make a choice that threatens to shatter their world.

Voices Beckon spans seven years in the lives of David, Elisabeth, and Liam. Rich in historical detail, this sweeping romance chronicles their coming of age against the vivid backdrop of the developing United States of America.

Voices Beckon is available on Amazon and BarnesandNoble. I’d love for readers to stop by my website and follow me on Twitter.


Stephanie said...

But the real question is how effective would this have actually been?

Linda Graham said...

Well, if it stayed on, and if it was free of pinholes, I believe it was as effective as today's condoms. I'd have to look it up, but I think I remember reading James Boswell, in one of his London Diary entries, reported he "performed most manfully" while wearing his armour--so maybe keeping it on wasn't an issue, or perhaps no more of an issue than it is nowadays.

Michelle Muse said...

Very interesting. Never thought about it. How in the world did the need transfer to using intestines? Always mind boggling how things begin. And the thought of washing it and using it again-gross!! And that picture--is that an actual one from long ago? ;p Thanks for a very enlightening article!

Krista D. Ball said...

Michelle, the use of stomachs, intestines and bladders for food was already well established. For cheese, a baby calf's stomach had to be washed and salted. For sausage, intestines needed to be cleaned. For making jams and preserves, pigs bladders needed to be cleaned and stretched over jar lids.

So, really, it wouldn't have been much of a "stretch" to think about putting intestines over one's sausage ;)

Emma said...

I find it fascinating that even in the 18th century we were more puritanical (or hypocritical) than the Europeans. And the next time someone says something mean about the French, I will mention Mr. St. Mery.

I do wonder at the idea of combining books and condoms. To me, selling books and condoms is almost as strange as the story behind how they came to be made.

Maybe someone should have told Borders. No, never mind.

Maggie Craig said...

Hi there, and greetings from Scotland. I've done some research into this same subject myself for a book I'm writing set in 18th century Edinburgh. Makes it all more real, I reckon!

Fascinating article, great blog,

Linda L Graham said...

Thanks for all comments! Krista, that’s too funny—“it wouldn't have been much of a "stretch" to think about putting intestines over one's sausage”! Michelle, as far as I know, it is a picture of an actual 18th century condom. I’ve seen other pictures and they all look similar. And Emma, perhaps Borders should have considered it! It can be tough to make it if one is too specialized, both now and then.

Good luck with your writing, Maggie!

Maggie Craig said...

Thanks, Linda!