From a small book in original format (yes, one, I never got rid!) found on my shelves and entitled Almanac of nameless men (Michel Clévenot and Horst Widmann, The Letter, L'Harmattan, 1977):
March 1750.
A Mrs. paris woman aged fifty years, daughter of a professor in Paris, which was fucking pimp in his youth and then, like many others, has refined this art. She rented a large house on Rue de Bagneux, Faubourg Saint-Germain, where she has twelve girls from sixteen to twenty years, most of which are pretty, fun to receive and honest people.
This is all the more remarkable that there is a porter, a cook, four maids for girls (One thinks of Muni, in Belle de jour. personal reflection.) teacher to write, dance and music, to give them an education and a surgeon assigned to visit them every two days.
are given twelve books for fun during the day with one of the girls, and twenty-four, by man's head, to dinner. (It gives twelve floors cord of England to those who fear harm.)
The priest of St. Sulpice, informed of the retreat of fun in his parish, has brought his complaints to Berryer, lieutenant general of police , who replied that there with no noise or disturbance in this house, there was not to find fault, that he had to talk to the Comte d'Argenson, secretary of state in Paris. The vicar of Saint Sulpice has spoken to the archbishop who wanted to complain about such a scandal in Paris. It is said that the Comte d'Argenson told him he was not well informed, nothing was more tidy than this house, there was no noise: "This is going to so, my lord, "he said, that you and I could go."
A cord of England. We could talk at that time, gentlemen!
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