When in 1825 the Duke of Wellington was approached by Harriette Wilson, one of his many mistresses, and asked for money to keep him out of her memoirs, he replied: "Publish and be damned."
Modern tabloids make today's ministers less relaxed.
The first wave of cabinet diaries in the 1970s - Richard Crossman, Tony Benn and Barbara Castle - gave grief to the government chief whip of the day and the cabinet secretary, who was supposed to squash leaking of official secrets; he lost the battle, and disclosure turned into a flood.
But until Alan Clark broke ranks, diaries recorded high politics - not personal revelation, let alone sexual scandal. It is only recently, 40 years on, that memoirs by Joe Haines and Bernard Donaghue have lifted the veil on Lady Falkender's doings in the Wilson years.
And it is only in the past decade that quickie biographies (hopefully containing a "killer fact", such as Peter Mandelson's mortgage, to guarantee newspaper serial rights) have become a fresh stream of discomfort for prime ministers, as current books by Stephen Pollard (David Blunkett) and Robert Peston (Gordon Brown) demonstrate. Both would dispute the "quickie" label, saying they are serious journalists seeking to explain their subject, his philosophy, his years of struggle.
Alas, that is not how the Conservative newspapers, whose chequebooks buy first rights, see things. They want a stick with which to beat a Labour government. After all, they are usually paying the publisher £100,000 or more for the privilege: if the author does not deliver the dirt, they renegotiate the fee.
Thus Peston's work is turned into a well-sourced version of the Blair-Brown feud (mostly so familiar it reads like "Browndhog Day") by the Sunday Telegraph, and Pollard's tape of Mr Blunkett's candid thoughts about the colleagues is gleefully ramped up by the Mail. The exception was Tom Bower's critical biography of Gordon Brown: the Mail's serialised extracts were kinder, not harsher, than the book's tone, because the Labour-baiting Mail is using Mr Brown as a stick with which to beat Tony Blair.
Former Tory ministers, including half the Thatcher cabinet, have produced volumes, ranging from the large-but-interesting Nigel Lawson to the narcoleptic Ministers Decide from Norman Fowler.
Margaret Thatcher herself did better than expected: two volumes which made her millions. Mr Blair will be lucky to do anything like as well. Nowadays, of course, a prime minister is up against kiss-and-tell opposition, sometimes from MPs such as Edwina Currie, who never named John Major as her lover, but allowed it to leak into print.
Giles Brandreth's leaky diaries, Breaking the Code, also caused a stir: he betrayed whips' secrets.
More often, the pace is set by books written by energetic journalists (like Paul Routledge, who has "done" Mr Brown and Betty Boothroyd, pro, and Mr Mandelson, anti) while their subject is still active: a crucial, damaging distinction as Mr Blunkett and Mr Brown have discovered.
"Never cooperate with biographers," John Reid told the two yesterday. Both expected the book to be published post-election, and were naive to do so. Mr Blair has endured half a dozen biographies; Mr Brown almost as many; Mr Mandelson two; Mr Cook, Mo Mowlam and Mr Blunkett one each. The pace quickens, driven by lucrative serialisation rights.
Odd, then, that the man who shows John Prescott-like party discipline and restraint is, of all people, Alastair Campbell.
