Review in Hyde Park attended by the Allied Sovereigns. 20 June 1814.

The review in Hyde Park attended by the Allied Sovereigns, 20 June 1814

The Tsar of Russia, the King of Prussia and other European sovereigns landed at Dover on the 6th of June 1814 for a visit lasting just over two weeks to celebrate the Peace of Paris and the abdication of Napoléon Bonaparte, who had been exiled to Elba.

The pursuits of the illustrious strangers while in London, consisted of visiting our public institutions; and their total indifference to pomp and parade, with the consequent facility afforded to exhibit the national good feeling and respect, elicited the admiration of the entire population, manifested by the loud shouts of welcome with which they were universally greeted.

The Allied Sovereigns at Petworth, June 1814
The Allied Sovereigns at Petworth, June 1814 by Thomas Phillips (George, 3rd Earl of Egremont is presented by George, Prince Regent, to Tsar Alexander I of Russia in the Marble Hall at Petworth with the King of Prussia, Frederick William III); National Trust, Petworth House

In the painting above, you can see the young Prince Augustus of Prussia (on the left-hand side of the portrait) turning his head to speak to Lord Charles Bentinck who is standing directly behind him. Lord Charles was the Prince Regent’s friend, equerry and putative former son-in-law and was a constant presence throughout the festivities, often found at the prince’s side. He is also the direct ancestor of the royal family and one of the subjects of our second book, A Right Royal Scandal. No doubt, Lord Charles Bentinck was present at the review which took place in Hyde Park, attended by the Allied Sovereigns, on 20th June 1814. But, before that, the dignitaries had been seen out riding.

The Emperor Alexander, in the dress of a private gentleman, and accompanied by the Duchess of Oldenburgh, his sister, frequently promenaded in Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, at an early hour in the morning; and their Majesties, accompanied by the officers of the household, took an airing on horse-back in Hyde Park on the 12th of June, remaining nearly three hours, much to the gratification of the company there assembled.

Grand Duchess Ekaterina Pavlovna (1788-1819), the wife of Duke George of Oldenburg (1784-1812).
Grand Duchess Ekaterina Pavlovna (1788-1819), the wife of Duke George of Oldenburg (1784-1812). The State Hermitage Museum

All was pomp and ceremony on the day of the review, however.

But the review of the household cavalry, and volunteer and regular infantry of the metropolis ordered for the 20th of June, was probably the most interesting exhibition that occurred during their stay in London; the novelty of the assemblage of two foreign crowned heads, accompanied by veteran leaders of their armies, to witness a military spectacle in the suburbs of our metropolis, and in the presence of the Prince Regent: with the singular coincidence of the proclamation of peace on the same day, at the usual places, and at which ceremony also, a portion of those troops were afterwards called upon to assist, combined to produce a general feeling of pride and satisfaction, as shewn in the faces of the countless multitudes who were seen hurrying at an early hour towards the scene of action.

This Print Representing His Majesty Reviewing the Volunteer Corps assembled in Hyde Park, in honor of his Birthday, June 4 1799
This depiction of George III reviewing troops at Hyde Park in 1799 gives an idea of how the scene would have looked at the Allied Sovereigns’ visit in 1814. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

The various regiments took up their position by 9 o’clock in the morning, and the arrangements being completed soon after ten, a scene then presented itself which was never surpassed on a similar occasion, being greatly enhanced by the serenity of the weather, the sun beaming in all his glory, shedding his bright refulgence on the scene. At half-past eleven a royal salute of twenty-one guns announced the arrival of the royal party at the park gate, at the same moment the deafening cheers of the populace were heard at all parts of the park.

Review in Hyde Park attended by the Allied Sovereigns. 20 June 1814.
Review in Hyde Park attended by the Allied Sovereigns. 20 June 1814. Royal Collection Trust

The Prince Regent entered the park with his hat off, bowing to the vast assembly, the Emperor Alexander riding on his right hand, and the king of Prussia on his left, the magnificent Staff which followed, comprised nearly three hundred persons, of all nations, among whom the veteran Field-Marshal Blucher, and the Hetman Platoff shone conspicuous.

Count Platoff, Hetman of the Cossacks by Peter Edward Stroehling, signed and dated 1814.
Count Platoff, Hetman of the Cossacks by Peter Edward Stroehling, signed and dated 1814. Royal Collection Trust

After their Majesties had inspected the line, a general feu de joie was discharged, and the regiments afterwards passed in review order. The illustrious visitors having expressed the greatest satisfaction at the discipline and general appearance of the troops to the officer in command, the corps marched off the ground, highly gratified by the flattering encomiums passed upon them by some of the greatest warriors of the age.

His Majesty George III Reviewing the Armed Associations on the Fourth of June 1799 in Hyde Park
No doubt the scene in 1814 would have looked similar to this print of George III reviewing troops in Hyde Park 15 years earlier. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

The public anxiety was so great on this occasion, to witness the proceedings, that every tree was filled with people, and in consequence several melancholy accidents happened, by limbs of the trees breaking and falling on the heads of those standing beneath, the pressure of the crowd rendering it impossible to escape.

Number of Corps reviewed at Hyde Park on the 20th June 1814

We have also written about the visit of the Allied Sovereigns for our great friend and fellow author, Laurie Benson. You can find our guest blog in her Cozy Drawing Room.

Source: Historical Recollections of Hyde Park by Thomas Smith (of Mary-le-bone), 1836

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Sir Joseph Banks’ fishing trips in Lincolnshire

Sir Joseph Banks, Bt by Joshua Reynolds
Sir Joseph Banks, Bt by Joshua Reynolds; National Portrait Gallery, London

Just in case you weren’t aware of Sir Joseph Banks, he was born in London, but when he was 21 he inherited the impressive estate of Revesby Abbey in Lincolnshire from his father.  After leaving university, minus a degree, he became a renowned British naturalist, patron of the natural sciences, travelling the globe, ultimately he became president of the Royal Society from 1778 until his death in 1820.

Weighing the fish after a haul. The tall gentleman in the foreground of the people is Sir Joseph Banks with a net full of fish. Boston Stump in the background. Yale Center for British Art.
Weighing the fish after a haul. The tall gentleman in the foreground of the people is Sir Joseph Banks with a net full of fish. Boston Stump in the background. Yale Center for British Art.

In March 1779, Banks finally settled down and married Dorothea Hugessen. The couple spent most of their time in  London, however, each autumn they made a trip back to Banks’ ancestral Lincolnshire.

Cookery near Langrick Ferry, Lincolnshire. Yale Centre for British Art
Cookery near Langrick Ferry. Yale Centre for British Art

During these visits, apart from numerous other things that he had to attend to on his estate, Banks, his wife Dorothea and his younger sister, Sarah Sophia, who lived with them, made several fishing trips to survey the fish in the river Witham.

A page from the journal detailing Sir Joseph Banks' fishing trip in Lincolnshire. Yale Center for British Art
A page from the journal. Yale Center for British Art

A record of these trips was brought to our attention so, naturally, we had to find out more. A copy of the book itself is available via the Yale Centre for British Art, ‘Sir Joseph Banks’s fishery book of the River Witham in Lincolnshire, 1784-1800’. The book itself contains records of the number of fish in the river along with their measurements, which unless you’re interested in fishing it isn’t terribly exciting, but it also contains information about the weather and any unusual events, such as the eclipse of 5th September 1795. Sadly, we only have space to include some of the sketches in this post, so for more information, we recommend checking out the book itself on the Yale website (it has been scanned page by page, so it’s not the easiest of books to navigate, so a little patience is required).

The windmills at Chapel Hill, Lincolnshire. Yale Center for British Art.
The windmills at Chapel Hill. Yale Center for British Art.

By far the most fascinating aspect of this book is the sketches, we doubt they were meant for public viewing, but simply a reminder and a way of describing their trip to friends and family – the way we do today with our cameras, but for historians, they provide a fascinating snapshot of life during that period.

T. Wilsons house, near the Witham, Lincolnshire taken during an eclipse of the sun. You can just make the woman looking up towards the sky. Yale Centre for British Art
T. Wilsons house, near the Witham, taken during an eclipse of the sun. You can just make the woman looking up towards the sky. Yale Centre for British Art

On their travels, they took along a large number of friends who ate with them on the river bank or on the boat. Note the canopy in this next image, which was used to shelter under when it rained, which it often did!

Going to dinner near Coppin Sike (Copping Syke, Lincolnshire). Yale Centre for British Art. Note the formality of the occasion, the lady, quite possibly Lady Banks, on the right being escorted onto the boat.
Going to dinner near Coppin Sike (Copping Syke). Yale Centre for British Art. Note the formality of the occasion, the lady, quite possibly Lady Banks, on the right being escorted onto the boat.

They also took along some ‘would be’ artists who drew sketches along the route they were travelling, which ran from the Kyme Eau, which runs through the centre of the tiny village of South Kyme, (which is a few miles from the town of Sleaford), when it became the Witham, for a distance of around 15 miles through neighbouring villages of Dog Dyke, Langrick Bridge, Anton’s Gowt until it reached the outskirts of the port of Boston.

The Kyme Eau, at South Kyme, Lincolnshire as it looks today meandering through the countryside to where it joins the Witham at Chapel Hill. ©Sarah Murden
The Kyme Eau, at South Kyme, as it looks today meandering through the countryside to where it joins the Witham at Chapel Hill. ©Sarah Murden
A scramble for fish. Yale Centre for British Art
A scramble for fish. Yale Centre for British Art

The book contains sketches of the routes taken on each occasion plus 26 colour illustrations of places and people.

One name kept recurring in the sketches, ‘Eno’s House’. At first, we thought perhaps it was a reference to an acquaintance until we tracked it down to being the name of the landlord, Edward Eno, who, with his wife Rosamond, was the landlord of The Monson Arms, near Anton’s Gowt, on the bank of the river. His son, Hildred Eno, took over as the landlord in the 1850s. The pub no longer exists as such, but there is a house on the bank of the river which could just possibly be it.

Eno's house on Frith Bank. Yale Centre for British Art
Eno’s House on Frith Bank. Yale Centre for British Art
Frith Bank, Lincolnshire.
Frith Bank, Lincolnshire. Google Maps

The book is well worth taking a look at to give you an idea of how rural Lincolnshire looked back in the late 1700s.

List of pictures and their respective artist from the journal of Sir Joseph Banks' fishing trip in Lincolnshire.
List of pictures and their respective artist

We have recently been researching Sir Joseph Banks for another project, but more about that at a later date.

Featured Image

Tattershall from the Witham September 1794

Foot Ball played at Market Place, Barnet by Robert Dighton, c.1784.

Foot Ball, Trap Ball and Four Corners: Sporting Prints of the 18th Century

A series of six prints by Robert Dighton, held in the Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection, illustrate a selection of the sports played during the latter half of the eighteenth-century, some now better known than others.

First, we have four corners, a form of skittles.

FOUR-CORNERS – Is so called from four large pins which are placed singly at each angle of a square frame. The players stand at a distance, which may be varied by joint consent, and throw at the pins a large heavy bowl, which sometimes weighs six or eight pounds. The excellency of the game consists in beating them down by the fewest casts of the bowl.

Four Corners, played at the Swan, Chelsea by Robert Dighton, c.1784.
Four Corners, played at the Swan, Chelsea by Robert Dighton, c.1784. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

We have found conflicting sources which say that it could be played with a smaller ball that could rebound off either the surrounding wall or the pins and knock down as many as possible, or a larger, heavier one similar to a bowling ball.

The game was played in Kent, and certainly with a ball heavy enough to inflict an injury; a correspondent wrote from Chatham on July 29th to say that:

On Saturday evening as some persons were playing at four corners, near this town, unfortunately a child about three years old ran across the alley, just as a man was bowling, the bowl hit the child upon the head, and it was thought it had been killed on the spot – but being placed under the care of an eminent surgeon, we since hear, there are great hopes of its recovery.

(Kentish Gazette, 3rd August 1787)

Next, there is football, which needs little introduction. The game has been around for centuries (in England, the first documented use of the term ‘football’ dates to 1408). Despite being frequently outlawed during the seventeenth-century, the game continued in popularity; it was in this period that the first references to scoring a goal are to be found.

Foot Ball played at Market Place, Barnet by Robert Dighton, c.1784.
Foot Ball played at Market Place, Barnet by Robert Dighton, c.1784. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

And it was not just the men who played the sport.

Bath, Oct 4. Yesterday a new and extraordinary entertainment was set on foot for the diversion of our polite gentry; and what should it be but a Match at Foot-Ball, play’d by six young women of a side at the Bowling Green: cards, dice, concerts, plays, balls, &c are the common entertainments of the week; but for want of these, in publick, on Sundays, the meeting sometimes serves for an amusement.

(Ipswich Journal, 8th October 1726)

Trap ball is similar to cricket, rounders or baseball but with a mechanised bowling system and without the need for running after hitting the ball. It is described as a game played with a levered wooden trap by means of which a small ball is launched straight up into the air so as to be struck by a player with a bat. The aim is to hit the ball furthest, either in one or several turns. From Dighton’s print, it would seem that an additional object is for others to catch the ball.

TRAP-BALL, AND KNUR AND SPELL.–The game of trap-ball, or trap-bat-and-ball, which can be traced back to at least the beginning of the fourteenth century, afterwards developed into the northern game of knur and spell. The knur, or ball, used in the game, was made of various hard materials. It was sometimes carved by hand out of a hard wood, such as holly, or engine-turned out of lignum-vitæ; in the pottery districts it was commonly made of white Wedgewood material, and usually called a “pottie”; whilst in its most scientific form the knur was made out of stag-horn and weighted with lead. The spell, or trap, was of varying design, sometimes assuming the shoe form, which could commonly be obtained in toy shops in the middle of the last century and later; but ingenuity devised a spring spell, which, being set and detached by means of a toothed click, could be regulated so as to always raise the knur to the same height, thus greatly increasing the certainty of the player hitting it. The third implement required for this game is the trip-stick used for striking the ball. It differs much from the old form of short bat, and consists of two parts, the stick and the pomel. The former is made of ash or lance wood, so as to combine stiffness and elasticity, and for a two-handed player is about four feet in length. The widened end, or pomel, is made of any hard heavy wood that will not easily split. The main point of the game is the distance to which the player can strike the knur; a first-rate hand is said to have been able to send a loaded ball as far as sixteen score yards.

Trap Ball played at the Black Prince, Newington Butts by Robert Dighton, c.1784.
Trap Ball played at the Black Prince, Newington Butts by Robert Dighton, c.1784. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

An early – and somewhat gruesome – account of trap-ball relates an accident during play.

One day last week, some boys in Cold Bath Fields, being at play at Trap-Ball, the boy who was striking at the ball accidentally hit another with the stick at the corner of his eye, which instantly fell out of his head on the ground.

(Salisbury and Winchester Journal, 1st June 1752)

The game was still going strong at the end of the Georgian era, as this advert in a Sheffield newspaper attests.

SELECT TRAP BALL CLUB

A number of Gentlemen having expressed their wish to form a respectable Private Club, for the practice of some healthful game which requires less exertion than Cricket, it is respectfully announced that a select Trap Ball Club, to be called the ‘Hallamshire’ will commence playing on Thursday, June 14th.

The Game will be played according to the improved London method; and Gentleman will be supplied on the Ground with Traps, Bats, Balls, Rules, &c. free of expense.

Subscription for the Season, to be paid at its close, 10s. 6d.

After the commencement of the Club, no additional Members to be admitted but by ballot.

At half-past six, on each evening of the playing days, tea and coffee, ham, &c will be set out in the Great Room, solely for the Gentlemen of the Club, at 1s. each.

On the day of playing, the Ground will be free only to the Members of the Club; all others to pay 6d. each admission, to be allowed at the Bar of the House for Refreshment.

Names of the Gentlemen desirous of joining any of the Clubs, will be received by Mr WOODHEAD, King’s Head, Change Alley; and at the House on the Playing Ground, any afternoon after 3 o’clock.

(Sheffield Independent, 9th June 1827)

We’ll look at the other three prints in a later blog.

Six sporting prints by Robert Dighton, c.1784.
Six sporting prints by Robert Dighton, c.1784. The London Illustrated News, 1931.

Sources not quoted above:

Illustrated London News, 22nd August 1931

Sports and Pastimes of the People of England by Joseph Strutt [2nd ed., 1903]

The Boy’s Book of Sports, Games, Exercises, and Pursuits, 1869

Sketch of a ball at Almack's 1815, from The reminiscences and recollections of Captain Gronow, being anecdotes of the camp, court, clubs and society, 1810-1860. Beau Brummell is to the left, deep in conversation with the Duchess of Rutland.

Sketch of a Ball at Almack’s, 1815

There were a number of establishments known as Almack’s over the years; today we are focusing on the famous Assembly Rooms on King Street, St James.

Opened in 1765 by a Yorkshireman named William Almack (often mistakenly claimed to be a Scot named William MacCall) the assembly rooms consisted of a ballroom (balls were held on a Wednesday evening during the season), supper room (where a rather meager repast was to be found) and game room. From the outset, Almack allowed his rooms to be goverened by a clique of titled and influential Lady Patronesses; entry to the hallowed inner rooms was strictly policed and good breeding rather than wealth was the key to a ticket. Inside was to be found dancing, gossiping and match-making; according to Captain Gronow, an officer in the guards and a friend to many of the elite including the famed Beau Brummell, Almack’s was ‘the seventh heaven of the fashionable world’.

View of the Almack's Ball Room on the south side of King Street, St James's Square, built in 1765. By Thomas Hosmer Shepherd.
View of the Almack’s Ball Room on the south side of King Street, St James’s Square, built in 1765. By Thomas Hosmer Shepherd. © The Trustees of the British Museum

Today, from one of Captain Gronow’s reminscences, we are going to take a closer look at an account of a Regency ball held at Almack’s during 1815. By this date, the assembly rooms were owned by Almack’s daughter, Elizabeth Pitcairn (her husband, David Pitcairn, physician extraordinary to the Prince of Wales, was first cousin to our ‘infamous mistress’, Grace Dalrymple Elliott).

Sketch of a ball at Almack's 1815, from The reminiscences and recollections of Captain Gronow, being anecdotes of the camp, court, clubs and society, 1810-1860. Beau Brummell is to the left, deep in conversation with the Duchess of Rutland.
Sketch of a ball at Almack’s 1815, from The reminiscences and recollections of Captain Gronow, being anecdotes of the camp, court, clubs and society, 1810-1860.

The image above accompanied Gronow’s reminiscence, although the outfits worn are clearly later than 1815. Nevertheless, it depicts the dandy, Beau Brummell deep in conversation with the Duchess of Rutland. In the centre, the Comte de Saint Antonio, later the Duke of Cannizarro, is leading the Princess Esterhazy, who was the youngest Lady Patroness of Almack’s during the Regency, into a waltz. The princess, whose husband was the Austrian Ambassador to England, was described as being, ‘black, animated, and somewhat spiteful’ by Dorothea, Princess Lieven, wife of the Russian ambassador and an influential figure amongst the corps diplomatique, who nevertheless cheerfully admitted that she got on well with her. Sir George Warrender and the Comte de Sainte-Alegonde stand together on the right. The former was once a great friend of both Beau Brummell and the Prince Regent; a generous host, he gained the nickname, Sir George Provender.

The Regency Dandy, Beau Brummell
Beau Brummell

Almack’s in 1815. — The personages delineated on the cover are well worthy of notice, both from the position they held in the fashionable world, and from their being represented with great truth and accuracy. The great George Brummell, the admirable Crichton of the age, stands in a dégagé attitude, with his fingers in his waistcoat pocket. His neckcloth is inimitable, and must have cost him much time and trouble to arrive at such perfection; as the following anecdote shows. A friend calling on the beau saw the valet with an armful of flowing white cravats, and asked him if his master wanted so many at once. “These, sir, are our failures,” was the reply. “Clean linen, and plenty of it,” was Brummell’s maxim. He is talking earnestly to the charming Duchess of Rutland, who was a Howard, and mother to the present Duke.

Elizabeth (Howard), Duchess of Rutland, 1780 - 1825. Daughter of the 5th Earl of Carlisle; wife of John, 5th Duke of Rutland. By Samuel Cousins; after George Sanders
Elizabeth (Howard), Duchess of Rutland, 1780 – 1825. Daughter of the 5th Earl of Carlisle; wife of John, 5th Duke of Rutland. By Samuel Cousins; after George Sanders; National Galleries of Scotland.

The tall man, in a black coat, who is preparing to waltz with Princess Esterhazy, so long ambassadress of Austria in London, is the Comte de St Antonio, afterwards Duke of Canizzaro. He resided many years in England, was a very handsome man, and a great lady-killer; he married an English heiress, Miss Johnson.

Maria Theresia, née Princess von Thurn und Taxis and wife of Prince Paul Anton Esterházy III
Maria Theresia, née Princess von Thurn und Taxis and wife of Prince Paul Anton Esterházy III (www.esterhazy.at)

The original sketch from which these figures are taken, included also portraits of Charles, Marquis of Queensberry, Baron Neumann, at that time secretary of the Austrian Embassy; the late Sir George Warrender (who was styled by his friends Sir George Provender, being famed for his good dinners); and the handsome Comte St Aldegonde, afterwards a general, and at this period aide-de-camp to Louis Philippe, then Duke of Orleans.

Camille de Sainte-Aldegonde is one of the two men in the background, in the suite of the Duke of Orleans who is on horseback, in the uniform of colonel-general of the Hussars reviewing the troops and giving orders to Colonel Oudinot. Engraving after a picture by Horace Vernet, 1817.
Camille de Sainte-Aldegonde is one of the two men in the background, in the suite of the Duke of Orleans who is on horseback, in the uniform of colonel-general of the Hussars reviewing the troops and giving orders to Colonel Oudinot. Engraving after a picture by Horace Vernet, 1817. Royal Collection Trust.

The sketch was made in water-colours, from a group of these celebrities at a ball at Almack’s, and was given to Brummell by the artist who executed it; it was highly prized by the king of the dandies, and was purchased at the sale of his effects in Chapel Street by the person who gave it to me.

NB: Gronow talks about an ‘original sketch’ which included other Regency personalities and which had been owned by Brummell and later given to Gronow. For some reason, it would appear that Gronow had the sketch redrawn and possibly from memory? If so, it would be wonderful to rediscover the one which presumably shows those at the ball attired in full Regency fashion.

Sources:

Museum of Painting and Sculpture, Or, Collection of the Principal Pictures, Statues and Bas-reliefs in the Public and Private Galleries of Europe, Volume 6 by Etienne Achille Réveil, 1829.

Letters of Dorothea, Princess Lieven, during her residence in London, 1812-1834. Edited by Lionel G. Robinson, 1902.

Anecdotes of celebrities of London and Paris: to which are added the last recollections of Captain Gronow, formerly of the First Foot Guards, volume 2, 1870.

Reminiscences of Captain Gronow, formerly of the Grenadier Guards: and M.P. for Stafford: being Anecdotes of the Camp, the Court and the Clubs at the close of the last war with France, Pickle Partners Publishing, 2011

Guest Post by Naomi Clifford – A new life in America: The emigration of Abraham Thornton

We are delighted to welcome back to our blog fellow Pen and Sword author, Naomi Clifford who loves nothing better than nosing around old archives to find stories of forgotten people.

Today Naomi’s going to share with us some information about her latest book, so we’ll hand straight over to her.

—‖―

In Ford Madox Brown’s painting The Last of England, painted in the middle of the 19th century, a young couple on the deck of a ship bound for Australia gaze grimly out to sea, the White Cliffs of Dover behind them. Perhaps they have left hunger and trauma behind them. Perhaps they are merely convinced that better fortunes lie overseas.

Ford Madox Brown’s The Last of England (1855). © Birmingham Museums Trust.
Ford Madox Brown’s The Last of England (1855). © Birmingham Museums Trust.

Emigration grew throughout the early part of the century: the Irish potato famine, changes in farming and industry, high taxes – all contributed to a great movement of people to dominions across the water. Many went to Australia and Canada but America was perennially popular.

Although there are no reliable statistics before about 1800, it has been estimated that in the first decade of the 19th century more than 20,000 people emigrated to America from the United Kingdom, most of them from Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland. A good proportion of them earned their passage by hiring themselves out as indentured servants, their labour sold on by the captain after landing. Some were veterans of the long wars with France, who had been unable to settle or find employment. Others simply found life in Britain and Ireland untenable: wages were low and food prices were high. The steerage of packet ships crossing the Atlantic was stuffed with the labouring poor and their families, who no doubt earnestly hoped for significantly better prospects overseas.

Abraham Thornton, who in the middle of September 1818 left the family farm at Shard End in Castle Bromwich, Warwickshire and travelled to Birmingham to catch the stagecoach to Liverpool, was not one of these.

Abraham Thornton worked as a bricklayer for his father, a respected builder in Castle Bromwich. This portrait, sketched in court, was published in The Observer on 8 February 1818.
Abraham Thornton worked as a bricklayer for his father, a respected builder in Castle Bromwich. This portrait, sketched in court, was published in The Observer on 8 February 1818.

His reason for quitting England was simple: he was hated, notorious throughout the country. In the opinion of most people, he had escaped his rightful fate: swinging on the gallows for the brutal rape and murder of Mary Ashford.

Mary Ashford, a farm servant working for her uncle, went to a party in an inn near Erdington on Whit Monday 1817 and left accompanied by Abraham Thornton and others. Her body was found in a stagnant pond early the next morning. Engraved by J. Thompson from a portrait by John Partridge.
Mary Ashford, a farm servant working for her uncle, went to a party in an inn near Erdington on Whit Monday 1817 and left accompanied by Abraham Thornton and others. Her body was found in a stagnant pond early the next morning. Engraved by J. Thompson from a portrait by John Partridge.

Thornton, the only suspect in Mary’s death, was tried at Warwick Assizes in August 1817, but to the surprise of many was acquitted. Rumours that witnesses and jurymen had been paid off by his father were rife and a few months later Mary’s brother started a civil prosecution in London. The case gripped the country, partly because early on in the proceedings Thornton challenged his accuser to hand-to-hand combat, and the rest of the case was devoted to deciding whether this could legally take place. The public was appalled when the case collapsed. Thornton seemed once more to have evaded justice.

Canning Dock & Custom House, Liverpool, engraved by T. Hughes after a picture by W. H. Bartlett, published in Finden's Ports and Harbours..., 1842. Steel engraved print, good condition. Size 18 x 14.5 cms including title, plus margins. Ref F8482. Image courtesy of ancestryimages.com.
Canning Dock & Custom House, Liverpool, engraved by T. Hughes after a picture by W. H. Bartlett, published in Finden’s Ports and Harbours…, 1842. Steel engraved print, good condition. Size 18 x 14.5 cms including title, plus margins. Ref F8482. Image courtesy of ancestryimages.com.

Once in Liverpool, Thornton browsed the newspapers for a suitable passage. He booked a place on the American-owned packet ship The Independence which was scheduled to sail for New York on the 25th. Fixed sailing dates was a recent innovation, brought in by a group of New York Quaker businessmen who developed the idea of creating a ‘shipping line’ by contracting several vessels to sail on specific dates between established ports. In autumn 1817 they advertised the first service in the Black Ball line, using large three-masted square-rigged schooners. Sailings started in January 1818.

Soon two ships were travelling across the Atlantic each month each way. Rather than follow the trade winds across the Atlantic, the American captains preferred the most direct route – it was rougher but faster. Thompson incentivised his team: If an eastbound sailing was completed in under 22 days or westbound in under 35, the captain was given a new coat, and a dress for his wife.

Liverpool Mercury, 18 September 1818. © Board of Trustees of the British Library.
Liverpool Mercury, 18 September 1818. © Board of Trustees of the British Library.

The Independence was not one of the Black Ball ships (rival shippers were quick to copy Thompson). In the end, however, Thornton was prevented from boarding after he was recognised by a fellow passenger who objected to the prospect of being at close quarters for at least six weeks with a possible murderer.

Hull Packet, 3 November 1818. © Board of Trustees of the British Library.
Hull Packet, 3 November 1818. © Board of Trustees of the British Library.

Aged 25, and of average height, broad and beefy, with a square jaw and thinning dark hair swept forward over a bald patch, Thornton was easy to recognise. His portrait had appeared in numerous pamphlets while the case was in play and had been printed in The Observer.

It is quite possible that in Liverpool he wore the same black hat, black coat and beige leggings he had on at his numerous court appearances in London. There was also something less tangible but equally notable – an aloof confidence, which had so struck the newspaper journalists who saw him in court that they remarked on it in their reports.

Liverpool Mercury, 18 September 1818. © Board of Trustees of the British Library.
Liverpool Mercury, 18 September 1818. © Board of Trustees of the British Library.

A few days after failing to board The Independence, Thornton managed to leave England. He bought a place on The Shamrock which was aiming to leave ‘immediately’ for Baltimore, which probably meant ‘as soon as the agent had booked sufficient cargo and passengers’.

Baltimore. Engraving by J. B. Neagle after the drawing by J. R. Smith, probably 1825-1829. The Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs: Print Collection. The New York Public Library. 
Baltimore. Engraving by J. B. Neagle after the drawing by J. R. Smith, probably 1825-1829. The Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs: Print Collection. The New York Public Library.

Most of those who disembarked The Shamrock would have moved on pretty swiftly – Baltimore was the primary gateway to the West. Thornton, however, apparently headed north to New York and into almost complete obscurity.

Back in England, there were rumours about what had happened to him but none can be verified. Like many a traveller before and after him, he found protection in the vastness and anonymity of the US.

The Murder of Mary Ashford: the crime that changed English legal history by Naomi Clifford.

Over the years, the Ashford-Thornton case became known primarily for its effect on the statute book – it led directly to the rescinding of two medieval laws, appeal of murder and trial by battle – rather than the question of Thornton’s guilt or innocence. His solicitor and others speculated that Mary had not been raped and murdered but had drowned herself in remorse for ‘transgressing’ with Thornton in a field on their walk home. Naomi Clifford has uncovered evidence to show that the truth about the events of that night has been hiding in plain sight for 200 years…

The Murder of Mary Ashford: The Crime That Changed English Legal History is published by Pen & Sword. Introductory price £11.99.

To discover more, check out Naomi’s blog, Love, Life and Death in the Georgian era. Naomi is also on twitter.

Previous titles by Naomi Clifford are The Disappearance of Maria Glenn and Women and the Gallows 1797-1837: Unfortunate Wretches, both published by Pen and Sword.

Notes 

Daniel Fearon, Fearon, Henry. Sketches of America: A Narrative of a Journey of Five Thousand Miles (1818). London: Longman et al.

James Flint, Flint’s Letters from America: 1818-1820 (1822). Edinburgh: W. & C. Tait.

A cup of tea anyone, made the 18th century way?

We’ve looked our favourite subject of hot chocolate, then coffee, so now it’s time for a post about eighteenth-century tea drinking.

Two Ladies and an Officer Seated at Tea, c.1715; Dutch School
Two Ladies and an Officer Seated at Tea; Dutch School; Paintings Collection Victoria and Albert Museum, c.1715.

At the beginning of the 1700s, according to the Daily Courant of 1705, green tea was very popular, but it was to be served correctly i.e. with milk. Tea at that time was extremely expensive at 10 shillings per pound, in comparison with chocolate which sold at 3 shillings a pound; chocolate with added sugar was only 2 shillings and 6 pence a pound.

A Tea Party; Joseph van Aken
A Tea Party; Joseph van Aken; Manchester Art Gallery

There appear to have been two main types of tea on the market Bohe-Tea (black tea) which was often drunk to relieve cholic pains and to aid the explanation of wind and green-tea which helped the suppression of urine and was more efficacious than sage, etc. The use of mineral water when making tea could cure all ills – so we are told! So now you know!

Teatotalism by Edward Bird, c.1795
Teatotalism by Edward Bird, c.1795; Wolverhampton Arts and Heritage

From the Domestic Management book of 1800, we have the following step by step guide to making the perfect cuppa.

As it frequently falls to upper maids and footmen to make tea apart, for company it is felt that a little know how to make it well, a little instruction is required.

The tea-pot should be of a size proportioned to the number of persons that are to be served and the size of the cups.

If six persons are to drink tea, the pot should hold as much as will fill nine cups. One tea-spoonful is sufficient for each person to have three cups of tea; which is the general quantity drunk by each. Six tea-spoons full is about half an ounce; there being 13 in one ounce.

These should be put into the pot, and boiling water poured on, till the pot is one-third full. It should thus stand a quarter of an hour, which will draw a good tincture.

A Lady Taking Tea; Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin
A Lady Taking Tea; Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin; Hunterian Art Gallery, University of Glasgow

In the meantime, boiling water should be poured into the cups, to heat them; for unless the tea is served hot it is little better than slop. When the tea is sufficiently drawn, the teacups should be emptied. The pot filled with boiled water (not water that has been boiled but boiling).

The tincture of tea in the pot will make the whole sufficiently strong, and the boiling water added, will make the whole sufficiently hot. After filling the six cups, the pot will remain one-third full, as before, and will still draw the tea, and add fresh strength to it.

British School; Tea Service on a Tray; British School
Tea Service on a Tray; British School; Paintings Collection Victoria and Albert Museum

When the cups are returned, if the kettle is at hand (as it always should be), the cups should be washed with clean boiling water and emptied into the basin and not washed in the basin, into which the slop has been thrown.  After this, fill up the pot a second time, and pour it off immediately, and the second round of cups will be equally strong and hot, as the first. The tea, then in the pot left, will be also one-third of its contents, which is so to continue, till the cups are to be filled a third time.

Ladies at tea by Thomas Rowlandson.
Ladies at tea by Thomas Rowlandson. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

The cups being a second time, returned and washed, pour more boiling water into the pot, so as to fill it two-thirds, and then, after filling the cups a third time, the pot will be quite empty, and the strength of the tea all served; whereas many, by pouring too much water on the leaves at last, will make the last round of tea very weak, and leave two or three cups of good tea in the pot, to be thrown away. By this mode of making tea, it will be all uniformly strong and all serve up hot.

Mrs Ellen Sharples by Rolinda Sharples, c.1814.
Mrs Ellen Sharples by Rolinda Sharples, c.1814. Bristol Museum and Art Gallery

Should any of the company want a fourth, or fifth cup, another tea-spoonful of tea should be added to the pot, a little boiling water poured over it, and time allowed it to draw, or extract its strength, and the whole should be managed as before. It is the best way, and most agreeable to everyone, to send round the sugar and cream with the cup, and let each person take what he pleases.

If tea is made in an adjoining room and sent in, the best method is to put a tea-spoonful of tea for each person, into a pot that will contain as many cups as there are persons, and fill it up, letting it stand a quarter of an hour, or longer; and when it is to be served, pour as much tea from the pot as will fill up each cup one third full, and fill it up from the kettle with boiling water. This will make the tea equally as good as if managed in the other way.

The Tea Garden; George Morland
The Tea Garden; George Morland; Tate

After all of that, we think we deserve a good strong cup of tea, made using a tea bag!

Featured Image

Mercier, Philippe; A Girl with a Tea Cup; National Galleries of Scotland.

 

Third time lucky for the actress, Ann Street Barry (1733-1801)

Ann Street was born April 8th, 1733, the daughter of James Street, an eminent apothecary of Bath. Her brother William later became the mayor of Bath.  On March 17th, 1754 at Bedminster, Somerset Ann married the actor, William Dancer who, by all accounts appears to have been the most unpleasant of men.

'Lady Molineux' by James Watson, printed for Robert Sayer, after Tilly Kettle.
‘Lady Molineux’ by James Watson, printed for Robert Sayer, after Tilly Kettle. © National Portrait Gallery, London

The couple performed on stage in London around 1758, where Ann became the doyenne of the tragedies. This marriage was short-lived as in 1759 Dancer died, leaving Ann a mere 26-year-old widow, but as she was already having a close relationship with a fellow actor, the renowned Spranger Barry she sought solace in his arms.

Barry, born 1719, was an Irish actor, who had originally been trained by his father as a silversmith but was said to be a descendant of Lord Santry. Certainly, he lived like a lord. He married a woman who bought with her a £15,000 dowry, so life was good. The problem was that he spent money like water and became bankrupt very quickly. So, with an interest in the theatre, he took to the stage, to earn more money.  Barry first performed at Smock Alley, Ireland and was affectionately known as the ‘silver-tongued actor’ and rapidly became regarded as a brilliant actor.

Spranger Barry. The Garrick Club Collections
Spranger Barry. The Garrick Club Collections

The couple met whilst working in Dublin and began an affair prior to the death of Ann’s first husband, then after his death, they decided to move to the bright lights of London where Barry had worked previously. The couple continued their stage work performing on the stage at Drury Lane, then Covent Garden.

Crow Street Theatre, Dublin
Crow Street Theatre, Dublin

On January 10th, 1777 Barry died at their home in Cecil Street and was buried in the cloisters at Westminster Abbey, but his rival throughout his career, Garrick was buried inside!  He did, however, leave Ann a well provided for widow. She was named in his will as the sole beneficiary of his not insignificant estate. He left her a house in Streatham, Surrey, leasehold plus the Theatre Royal, Crow St, Dublin along with a property adjoining it. Having written his will he did however lease the Dublin theatre to a Thomas Ryder, so quite how much Ann benefitted from this legacy we do not know for sure, but in a letter written by John Ord (barrister), in ‘Letters Addressed to Mrs Bellamy occasioned by her Apology’ it would seem that Ann’s solicitor advised John Ord, that Mr Barry had died insolvent, and that the theatre in Dublin would not pay the creditors there.

John Ord, by  H. Edridge, 1806
John Ord, by  H. Edridge, 1806

John Ord then tried to personally sue Ann and husband number three, who she married within two years of becoming widowed, was a Thomas Crawford, a successful young lawyer, again from Ireland, for the money owed, but somehow Ann’s husband

‘kept out of the process of the Court of Chancery; and though Mrs Crawford performs at Covent Garden, her person is safe, having made her husband the scapegoat’.

Quite how and when Ann met husband number three we can’t work out and there is no sign of a marriage for the couple, but a variety of documents confirm that they were a couple, so it seems feasible that they were married in Ireland.

A less than flattering comment about Ann appeared in the Kentish Gazette, 27th October 1797
A less than flattering comment about Ann appeared in the Kentish Gazette, 27th October 1797

Ann’s final performance on the stage was in mid- April 1798 at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden and some two years later she died, on November 29th, 1801, at her apartments in Queen Street, Westminster. Ann was buried alongside her second and apparently favourite husband, Spranger Barry in Westminster Abbey having outlived her third husband.

Sources used

A Century of Great Actors 1750-1850

The Life of John Philip Kemble

Letters addressed to Mrs Bellamy, occasioned by her Apology

Bury and Norwich Post December 9th, 1801

True Briton April 14th, 1798

Featured Image 

© Victoria and Albert Museum, London

How to manage your servants in the 18th century

For this post, we are revisiting a book we’ve used before, The Art of Conducting a Family with Instructions to Servants to take a look at some of the guidance for employing servants at the end of the 1700s.

Fidelity

Servants are an invaluable acquisition, but they have no interest at heart but their own. The more extravagant a family is, the better they fare. Economy they hate. Service, they say, is no inheritance.

Maidservant; British School
Maidservant; British School; The National Trust for Scotland, Brodie Castle;

Wastefulness

Servants like to see their masters and mistresses spending their money and servants enjoy wasting it for them regardless of whether it can be afforded or not.  A good servant should be as careful and frugal of their master’s property as they would be if it their own.

The Careless Servant; Francis Wheatley
The Careless Servant; Francis Wheatley; Walker Art Gallery

Respect

A servant owes his master respect and should never answer back and only speak when spoken to. Whether servants are hired by the week or the year, their whole time is their master’s; and if they wilfully waste that time, by idly omitting what they are ordered to do, or by staying longer on messages or errand, it is as bad as picking their master’s pocket; for it is robbing the master of that time the servant has contracted to give him, and for which he is paid.

The Scullery Maid; Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin
The Scullery Maid; Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin; Hunterian Art Gallery, University of Glasgow;

Leave

If a servant asks permission to take leave and it is declined, under no circumstances should he/she take it regardless but wait until a more convenient time.

A Game of Quadrille by Hubert-François Gravelot, 1699–1773, French, active in Britain (1733–45) c1740. Yale Center for British Art
A Game of Quadrille by Hubert-François Gravelot, 1699–1773, French, active in Britain (1733–45) c1740. Yale Center for British Art

Disagreements

If the master and mistress have any disagreements the servant must never interfere.

An Old English-Gentleman pester'd by servants wanting places.
An Old English-Gentleman pester’d by servants wanting places. British Museum

Loyalty

As a wife is bound in duty to obey the injunctions of her husband, should it so happen that a master gives a servant one direction, and the wife or mistress contradicts it, or gives counter-orders, it is the duty of the servant to tell his mistress, when she gives those counter-orders, that his master has ordered otherwise; and that it is his duty to obey the master rather than his wife or mistress.

Displeased with servants. Lewis Walpole Library
Displeased with servants. Lewis Walpole Library

No Singing or Romping

No servant should ever sing, whistle or talk loudly in the hearing of any of the master’s family, nor make any other noise about the house, so as to disturb, nor particularly should the men and maids romp in the kitchen.

A Master Parson with a Good Living by Carington Bowles
A Master Parson with a Good Living by Carington Bowles. © The Trustees of the British Museum

Tread lightly

When a servant enters the room where the master or mistress is, they should tread lightly and never speak but in a quiet voice. They should equally go up and down stairs lightly.

Tight Lacing. Lewis Walpole Library
Tight Lacing. Lewis Walpole Library

Doors

When entering a room, if the door is closed, they should close it after them and close it again when they leave. Whilst speaking to the master they should not keep the door open and fiddle with the knob of the lock, but shut it gently, by turning the bolt, and opening it again, when they retire. Nothing is more insolent, or gives more offence, that slamming a door.

Silence is golden

Quietness adds to the comfort of every family and the more quiet and orderly servants are, the more they are valued.

Answering back

Servants should never answer their master or mistress back.

No Spitting

A servant should neither blow his nose or spit in his master’s presence and, if possible, neither sneeze nor cough.

Answering the bell

Attentive servants will always come at the first ring of the bell. Tread lightly and speak in an under-voice, yet so as to be heard distinctly, and will whisper to their master or mistress. They will not thrust their heads in the face of their master or mistress nor poison them with offensive breath.  To avoid anything disagreeable on this score, such as attend the room, servants will be clean of their person and will on no account eat onions, garlic or shallots.

Taking instructions

When a servant is receiving directions, he should be attentive, look in his master’s face, and not leave the room until the master has finished giving his instructions. If this was always done, there would not be so many mistakes nor would the ignorance of servants be so much complained of.

A Trusty Maid; Geroge H Hay; Hospitalfield Arts
A Trusty Maid; Geroge H Hay; Hospitalfield Arts

Books and Papers

A servant should not presume to take a book out of a master’s room or library to read, nor take away or remove any paper that may lie about, without first asking whether it is of any use. Many a valuable paper has been destroyed by the ignorance and carelessness of servants.

A camel outside Dr Fountain's Boarding School on Marylebone High Street by James Miller, 1780.

The Wonderful Dromedary and Surprizing Camel

In the late 1750s, Mr Richard Heppenstall caused a sensation when he toured England with a ‘wonderful’ dromedary from Persia and a ‘surprizing’ camel from Grand Cairo, Egypt. If you know anything at all about camels, you’re probably already shouting, ‘stop right there!‘. Yes, we know, we’ll get to that shortly.

A writer from The London Magazine, or Gentleman’s Monthly Intelligencer caught up with Heppenstall at the Talbot Inn in the Strand, where the beasts were on show (the article was published in the May 1758 edition).

The beautiful Dromedary from Grand Cario [sic] in Egypt [actually a Bactrian camel from Persia (Iran) despite the pyramids shown in the background], 1757.
The beautiful Dromedary from Grand Cario [sic] in Egypt [actually a Bactrian camel from Persia (Iran) despite the pyramids shown in the background], 1757. © The Trustees of the British Museum
Heppenstall was, the writer notes, very communicative. Contrary to popular opinion, he did not believe that a camel had a ‘reservoir for water in the gullet’. His dromedary and camel devoured about five trusses of hay a week and shed their hair every year. A sketch of both the animals was taken, and at the time they were being exhibited in the Strand they were shedding ‘otherwise they would have been described as covered with an abundance of scrubbed, curling hair, of a sand hue, which renders colouring the print unnecessary’.

Because just about every print and article we’ve looked at for this blog mislabels the dromedary and camel in question, let’s just get the facts straight. The dromedary or Arabian camel, native to the Middle East and the Horn of Africa, has one hump and the Bactrian camel, native to Central Asia, has two. Heppenstall’s Surprizing Camel appears to be a dromedary from ‘Grand Cairo’, Egypt. Maybe that’s what was most surprising about it? His Wonderful Dromedary is, therefore, a two-humped Bactrian not an Arabian camel and from Iran (then Persia). Confused? You will be!

The print below is a later copy (by C. Randle and c.1813) of the drawings which accompanied the May 1758 edition of The London Magazine.

An 1813 (and incorrectly labelled) copy by C. Randle of the prints found in The London Magazine or Gentleman's Monthly Intelligencer, May 1758. Top is Heppenstall's supposed dromedary (really a Bactrian camel lately brought from Persia) and bottom the Surprizing Camel (actually a dromedary, from Grand Cairo, Egypt).
An 1813 (and incorrectly labelled) copy by C. Randle of the prints found in The London Magazine or Gentleman’s Monthly Intelligencer, May 1758. Top is Heppenstall’s supposed dromedary (really a Bactrian camel lately brought from Persia) and bottom the Surprizing Camel (actually a dromedary, from Grand Cairo, Egypt). Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.

By the autumn of 1759, Heppenstall, with his dromedary and camel in tow, had reached Scotland. For a few weeks, he exhibited the animals in Edinburgh to much acclaim. On one day, a young lady in mourning asked some questions about these curious beasts of the gentleman standing next to her. Maybe she wanted to know whether it was the dromedary or the camel which had two humps? Hopefully, the gentleman in question knew his camel facts and managed to suitably impress the lady, for she certainly left an impression on him. Did he ever find his lady love again, one wonders?

If the lady who was on Thursday last, at the head of Craig’s close, to see the Dromedary and Camel, dressed in a black silk sack, be unmarried, and her affections disengaged, a gentleman then present, will think that meeting the happiest moment of his life. She may please to remember a young gentleman, in second mourning, whom she asked several questions with regard to the nature of those amazing creatures, their manner of travelling over desarts [sic], &c. If the said lady will please to leave a line, directed for F. W. at the Exchange Coffeehouse, opposite to the Cross, where he may be waited on, it will be esteemed the highest obligation, and such proposals will be immediately made, as he flatters himself will not be disagreeable. The strictest honour and secrecy will be observed.

(Caledonian Mercury, 27th October 1759)

Views in the Levant: a Dromedary or [Arabian] Camel. Willey Reveley, 1785.
Views in the Levant: a Dromedary or [Arabian] Camel. Willey Reveley, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.
By the following summer, the travelling show was back in northern England. Did Heppenstall really know his dromedaries from his Bactrian camels? We’re beginning to wonder…

LEEDS

Just arriv’d in this Town, and to be seen at the Sign of the Red-Bear, in Briggate, A Wonderful DROMEDARY and a Surprizing CAMEL. The DROMEDARY was brought from Persia, and is the only one that has appeared in this Kingdom for upwards of fifty years. He has two large protuberances on his back of sold gristle, with large tufts of hair around them, a small head, a fine eye, chews his cud like a cow, and is nineteen hands high. His leg is as fine as a deer’s, and his hind part resembles a mule; and, what is very remarkable, he will walk ten days successively, at the rate of six miles an hour, without drinking. The CAMEL was brought from Grand Cairo, in Egypt. He has only one protuberance, his head and neck resemble the DROMEDARY, and is 21 hands high. They live to a great age. Their common load in 12 or 14 hundred weight. They will continue here ‘till Saturday se’nnight, and then proceed for Bradford, in their way to Halifax.

(Leeds Intelligencer, 3rd June 1760)

This print by Robert Dighton depicts a travelling showman exhibiting his ‘surprizing camel’, maybe the same one albeit some years later (Dighton wasn’t born until 1752). And, as the sign in the etching clearly shows a dromedary and not a camel, perhaps Dighton was working from the same mislabelled copies of the 1758 prints as Mr Randle did in 1813? Or, maybe, Richard Heppenstall was still dragging his dromedary around the provinces of the country. With no further information, we’re not sure whether, if he was, he still thought it was an central Asian rather than a middle eastern variety of camel. We’re thoroughly confused now, as you probably are too!

The Travelling Show Man by Robert Dighton, demonstrating the Surprizing Camel.
The Travelling Show Man by Robert Dighton, demonstrating the Surprizing Camel. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.

Both camels and dromedaries can live up to 40 or 50 years; in 1780 a camel was depicted outside Dr Fountain’s Boarding School in Marylebone and perhaps this too was the Surprizing Camel which had toured England more than twenty years earlier?

A dromedary or Arabian camel outside Dr Fountain's Boarding School on Marylebone High Street by James Miller, 1780.
A dromedary or Arabian camel outside Dr Fountain’s Boarding School on Marylebone High Street by James Miller, 1780. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.

And yes, despite any notations to the contrary on the original, which just names it as a camel, it is a dromedary, albeit one of the ‘Surprizing Camel’ variety.

Augustus Frederick, Duke of Sussex (1773-1843) c.1792-3. Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2017

The First Duke of Sussex

In light of the news that His Royal Highness, Prince Harry, will become the Duke of Sussex upon his marriage to Meghan Markle, we thought we should take a brief look at the previous holder of the title.

Prince Augustus, Duke of Sussex (1773-1843). Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2017
Prince Augustus, Duke of Sussex (1773-1843). Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2017

Prince Augustus Frederick was the sixth son of King George III and had this title conferred upon him in November 1801. Even then there was fake news, as we quickly found out. The media were frantically reporting that Prince Augustus Frederick was to become the Duke of Cambridge and that his brother Adolphus was to be the Duke of Sussex. Quite how the media managed to get it back to front we’re really not sure, but it took them almost a month to get the titles correct. Either way, we have two brothers granted the titles Duke of Cambridge and Duke of Sussex.

Finally, on 30th November 1801, this statement appeared naming the correct holders of the titles

The King has been pleased to grant his most dearly beloved son Prince Augustus Frederick and to the heirs male of his Royal Highness’s body lawfully begotten, the dignities of Baron of Arklow, Earl of Inverness and Duke of Sussex, of the United Kingdom and Great Britain and Ireland.

The King has also been pleased to grant to his most dearly beloved son Prince Adolphus Frederick and to the heirs male of his Royal Highness’s body lawfully begotten, the dignities of Baron of Culloden, Earl of Tipperary and Duke of Cambridge, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.

The conferring of the title upon Prince Augustus Frederick meant that his heirs would also automatically be granted the title, but this was not to be the case as the prince married Lady Augusta Murray. Their marriage contravened the Royal Marriages Act  as they were first married abroad, then married in England but without fully identifying themselves, nor did they seek permission from the monarch.

Lady Augusta Murray by Richard Cosway. Gregory Allicar Museum of Art at Colorado State University
Lady Augusta Murray by Richard Cosway. Gregory Allicar Museum of Art at Colorado State University

The couple did, it was reported, attend church three times to have their banns read, but the clergyman who married them assumed that Frederick was the prince’s surname as no title was given.

5th December 1793 at St George's Hanover Square, the couple were married as Augustus Frederick and Augusta Murray
5th December 1793 at St George’s Hanover Square, the couple were married as Augustus Frederick and Augusta Murray

This married was annulled but the couple remained together and had two children, both of whom would of course now be illegitimate. However, the union was not to last and in 1801, the couple went their separate ways.

Prince Augustus was married a second time in 1831, to Lady Cecilia Gore, but managed a second marriage that contravened the Royal Marriage Act as once again he did not seek royal approval also and possibly, more importantly, the marriage was morganatic, i.e. she was not a royal princess. Despite this, they remained together until his death in April 1843.

Cecilia, Duchess of Inverness, miniature by Jane North. Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2017
Cecilia, Duchess of Inverness, miniature by Jane North.
Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2017

It has been announced that Apartment 1 at Kensington Palace is being renovated ready for the new Duke and Duchess of Sussex to move into. Interestingly, this apartment was the former home of the first Duke of Sussex and his second wife, Cecilia, too.

London Courier and Evening Gazette 07 January 1805
London Courier and Evening Gazette 07 January 1805

When they occupied it the apartment was much larger and encompassed the one now known as 1A, which is currently the home of Prince William, Duke of Cambridge and his family.

A Front View of the Royal Palace of Kensington, 1751. At the far left, at right angles, stands what is now Apartment 1 which is being renovated for the new Duke and Duchess of Sussex. Linking that to the main palace is the apartment now occupied by the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Apartment 1A.
A Front View of the Royal Palace of Kensington, 1751. At the far left, at right angles, stands what is now Apartment 1 which is being renovated for the new Duke and Duchess of Sussex. Linking that to the main palace is the apartment now occupied by the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Apartment 1A. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.

We have written about other royal marriages too. Did you know that a Romany girl married one of Prince Harry’s direct ancestors? Which scandalous elopement is one of the skeletons in the royal family’s closet? Click here to find out more.

Sources Used 

Kentish Gazette 31 January 1794 

Chester Chronicle 31 January 1794

Featured Image

Augustus Frederick, Duke of Sussex (1773-1843)  c.1792-3, Watercolour on ivory | RCIN 420975 by Edward Miles (1752-1828). Courtesy of the Royal Collection.

 

Windsor Castle in the Georgian Era

Having looked at the landau and royal weddings, how could we not report on Windsor Castle. So, we have some news for you from the Georgian Era.

The Norman Gate and Deputy Governor's House, Windsor Castle; Paul Sandby
The Norman Gate and Deputy Governor’s House, Windsor Castle; Paul Sandby; Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Breaking News

In October 1804 his Majesty, King George III was determined to no longer reside at the Queen’s House, in the Park, but to remain altogether at Windsor, those who have apartments in Windsor Castle, including the George, Prince of Wales and other Princes, have been desired to remove, as their apartments will in future be required for the accommodation of his Majesty’s family. Orders have been given, it is said, to remove the Royal Library, one of the finest in the country, and everything else connected with the convenience or pleasure of his Majesty’s residence at Windsor, from the Queen’s house, in the Park. The Duke of Gloucester will also quit Cranford Lodge, and the Honourable George Villiers, brother to Lord Clarendon, will in future reside there, and have a very confidential place in the superintendence of his Majesty’s private concerns. He will now come to town only on specific occasions.

View of Windsor Castle from the River Thames; British (English) School
View of Windsor Castle from the River Thames; British (English) School; National Trust, Anglesey Abbey.

In Traffic News

In our next piece of news, we hear of something which many of us living in the UK today will be familiar with – the high volumes of traffic. Clearly, it was no different in 1789!

Part of Windsor from Datchet Lane; Paul Sandby
Part of Windsor from Datchet Lane; Paul Sandby; Royal Collection Trust

The King’s most Excellent Majesty has been graciously pleased to make a road from Windsor over Cranbourn Chance thro’ Windsor Forest, leading to the rural villages of Winkfield, Warfield and Binfield to Reading, which is allowed to be the most delightful ride of any in this kingdom, from the many beautiful and picturesque views of seats and parks of several noblemen and gentleman the whole way.

The great annoyance generally complained of by persons travelling the other road, are the frequent obstruction by droves of oxen, sheep and cattle, stage-coaches, road-waggons and carriages, is such a to render if very disagreeable.

The pleasant and elevated situation of Windsor and its castle, dignified by royalty, has ever been the just admiration of foreigners and natives alike.

Windsor Castle from the Old Bridge; Augustus Wall Callcott
Windsor Castle from the Old Bridge; Augustus Wall Callcott; Laing Art Gallery.

Improvements to Windsor Castle

Also, from 1801 we hear the King finds much amusement in inspecting the improvements at Windsor Castle and the building of the Royal Palace at Kew. His Majesty, George III, rises regularly at seven o’clock, breakfasts at eight with the Royal family; from nine till eleven views the progress of the workmen. Every window in the castle is to be replaced with stained glass.

George III on on of Windsor Castle's terraces; Peter Edward Stroehling, c.1807
George III on one of Windsor Castle’s terraces; Peter Edward Stroehling; Royal Collection Trust

Visitors to Windsor

On 27th October 1804, the Kentish Gazette reported that:

Sunday morning the royal family attended divine service at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor. As their majesties passed through the courtyard, the 10th Regiment of Light Dragoons and the Staffordshire militia were drawn up, the bands of each playing. A number of spectators were assembled to see their sovereign.

The Staffordshire Militia on Parade at Windsor Castle; Arthur William Devis
The Staffordshire Militia on Parade at Windsor Castle; Arthur William Devis; National Army Museum

We have some sad news to bring you from 18th May 1800.

William Dick Esquire, Governor of the Poor Knights and for nearly 40 years King’s Clerk, and Clerk of the papers at the Mint and the oldest messenger in his Majesty’s service has died at Windsor Castle, aged 91.

And finally, …

New for the 9th February 1801 was the production of:

Transparent Spring Blinds

Amongst the many ingenious and useful inventions which characterise the present age, the above new idea may be said to have a more than common share of attraction. Transparencies on a small scale drawn on silk, have been much admired; but the taste of the artist has been hitherto confined within very narrow bounds. The invention, above named, gives ample scope for the exercise of talents, and from a happy combination of art and nature, the glowing tints are preserved, and the perspective being kept up by a minute attention to trifling objects in the foreground, the general landscape appears with the happiest effects.

The elegance and utility of this article promise to render it of the first estimation in the eyes of the fashionable world. The Queen has already patronised the idea and a set being made already for Buckingham House and Windsor Castle, from drawings taken of different parts of the country to which her Majesty is most attached.

Windsor Castle; David Cox the elder
Windsor Castle; David Cox the elder; Lady Lever Art Gallery

Featured Image

British (English) School; View of Windsor Castle from the River Thames; National Trust, Anglesey Abbey.

The Marriage of George IV (1762-1830) when Prince of Wales by Henry Singleton, 1795.

Royal weddings in the Georgian era

On Tuesday 8th September 1761, in the Chapel Royal at St James’s Palace, the new King George III (he had ascended the throne a little less than a year earlier) married Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. The wedding took place only a few hours after their initial meeting.

The marriage ceremony began at 9 o’clock in the evening; beforehand the princess, attended by ten bridesmaids, sat under a white and silver canopy until the Duke of Cumberland conducted her to the side of the king and gave the bride’s hand to the bridegroom. Charlotte was nervous, and uncomfortably dressed on a hot evening in a heavy, sumptuous gown with a purple mantle laced with gold and lined with ermine, a diamond studded cap and small crown on her head. She spoke no English but was only required to say two words during the wedding; at the appropriate time and at the king’s prompting, she declared, ‘Ich will‘.

Unfinished portrait depicting the marriage of George III to Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz on 8 September 1761 by Sir Joshua Reynolds
Unfinished portrait depicting the marriage of George III to Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz on 8 September 1761 by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Royal Collection Trust

The new queen was just seventeen years old. Horace Walpole said of her that:

She is not tall nor a beauty. Pale and very thin; but looks sensible and genteel. Her hair is darkish and fine. Her forehead low, her nose very well except the nostrils spreading too wide. The mouth has the same fault, but her teeth are good. She talks a great deal, and French tolerably.

A kinder report, by the daughter of Charlotte’s German page, described Charlotte as having an ‘expressive and intelligent countenance… not tall, but of slight, pretty figure; her eyes bright and sparkling with good humour and vivacity’. Still, this same girl also claimed that George III was initially disappointed in his choice and by the bride’s appearance. In the end, however, none of this nor Walpole’s catty comments mattered: despite it being an arranged marriage, the royal couple quickly fell deeply in love with one another.

Queen Charlotte, when Princess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz c.1760. This portrait may be the one sent from Mecklenburg to George III before Charlotte's arrival in England for her marriage.
Queen Charlotte, when Princess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz c.1760. Royal Collection Trust. This portrait may be the one sent from Mecklenburg to George III before Charlotte’s arrival in England for her marriage.

George III and Queen Charlotte’s long marriage produced a large family. In 1795, their eldest son, George, Prince of Wales (later the Prince Regent and George IV) married Caroline of Brunswick. There has always been intense interest in a royal bride’s wedding dress and in 1795 it was no different. This is how the media of the day reported on it.

The Princess of Wales was very superb indeed, and the dress was the most costly that could be made. The body and train were of silver tissue festooned on each side, and tied up with rich cord and tassels. The sleeves, and round the bottom of the robe, were covered with rows of the finest point lace. The petticoat was likewise of silver tissue, covered all over with silver Venetian net, and tassels hanging down the sides. The waist was not more than six inches in length. In the procession to the chapel, and during the ceremony, her Royal Highness wore a crimson velvet mantling, trimmed with ermine, and over the shoulders hung a rich silver cord and tassels. The hoop was very small, such as is used for morning dresses; and so were the hoops of the Bride-maids, that they might be as unencumbered as possible in the procession. Her Royal Highness wore a superb coronet of diamonds. She had on a very rich ornament of brilliants, resembling a knight’s collar, fastened upon the right shoulder by a brilliant bow, and long brilliant tassels; and on the left shoulder by a rich epaulette of brilliants; and in the centre, in the place of a stomacher, was the Prince’s picture richly set in brilliants.

Caroline of Brunswick when Princess of Wales, depicted in her wedding dress by Gainsborough Dupont, 1795-96. Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2017
Caroline of Brunswick when Princess of Wales, depicted in her wedding dress by Gainsborough Dupont, 1795-96. Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2017

The marriage took place on the evening of Wednesday, 8th April 1795, again in the Chapel Royal at St James’s Palace. Crowds lined the streets on the approach to the palace, and it was standing room only in the two ante-chambers leading to the drawing room where those lucky enough to have been issued with tickets to the event were congregating.

The king and queen, the Prince of Wales, Caroline and the rest of the royal family had dined at the Queen’s House (now Buckingham Palace), and around 6pm they left there in a procession of coaches for St James’s (or Carlton House in the case of the prince) where they dressed for the wedding.

The Prince, on leaving the Queen’s House, had a hearty shake of the hand from the King, which brought tears into his eyes. His Majesty saluted the Princess in the Hall, and then got into his carriage, The Prince, after seeing the Princess home, went to Carlton House.

George IV when Prince of Wales, miniature by Richard Cosway, 1792.
George IV when Prince of Wales, miniature by Richard Cosway, 1792. National Portrait Gallery

The Prince of Wales wore a blue Genoa velvet coat and breeches, with a silver tissue waistcoat, and coat cuffs richly embroidered with silver and spangles. His Royal Highness wore a diamond star, with an embroidered garter at the knee; diamond shoe and knee-buckles and rich diamond hilted sword, and button and loop. His Royal Highness looked uncommonly well.

It was gone 9 o’clock before everyone was ready and the procession left the drawing room for the Chapel, the Duke of Clarence (later William IV) leading the bride. There was only one mishap. During the marriage ceremony, while kneeling in front of the Archbishop, the prince tried to stand up too soon and the service was stopped; the king noticed the dilemma, rose from his seat and whispered in his son’s ear. George kneeled once more and the service was concluded… was the Prince of Wales in a hurry to get the ceremony over and done with?

Oil sketch of the marriage of George, Prince of Wales, and Princess Caroline of Brunswick c. 1795-7 by William Hamilton
Oil sketch of the marriage of George, Prince of Wales, and Princess Caroline of Brunswick c. 1795-7 by William Hamilton; Royal Collection Trust

The wedding had been highly anticipated by everyone but the Prince of Wales! The following passage is from our latest book, A Georgian Heroine: The Intriguing Life of Rachel Charlotte Williams Biggs, which gives a different view of the wedding from that reported by the newspapers.

George IV, when the Prince of Wales, had married his first cousin, Caroline of Brunswick, under duress and because his father promised to sort out his debts and increase his allowance once he was wed. The marriage, as may have been predicted, was a total disaster. The exuberant Caroline was tactless and had a poor grasp of personal hygiene (she boasted that her personal toilette was but a ‘short’ one). The prince was rolling drunk during the wedding ceremony, recovering enough to consummate his marriage on the wedding night before falling drunk into the grate of the fireplace where Caroline left him. Later he was to claim that he had been intimate with his wife on only three occasions, twice on their wedding night and once on the following night but it proved enough and nine months later Caroline gave birth to a daughter, Princess Charlotte of Wales.

The Marriage of George IV (1762-1830) when Prince of Wales by Henry Singleton, 1795.
The Marriage of George IV (1762-1830) when Prince of Wales by Henry Singleton, 1795. Royal Collection Trust

To end this blog, we’ll also share with you an extract from the pages of our second book, A Right Royal Scandal: Two Marriages That Changed History, an anecdote relating to the marriage of George IV’s only legitimate child, his heir, Princess Charlotte of Wales. (George had several reputed illegitimate children; one that he acknowledged privately, if not publicly, was his daughter Georgiana Seymour whose mother was ‘the celebrated’ Grace Dalrymple Elliott.)

Back in London preparations were under way for the wedding of the Prince Regent’s daughter, Princess Charlotte, to the impoverished but handsome Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld (later known as Saxe-Coburg and Gotha); they married at the beginning of May 1816 in the Crimson Drawing Room at the regent’s London residence, Carlton House. The young bride was heard to giggle during the marriage ceremony, which took place on 2 May 1816, when Prince Leopold promised to endow her with all his worldly goods.

The Marriage of Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold in the Crimson State Room, Carlton House, 1816
The Marriage of Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold in the Crimson State Room, Carlton House, 1816; British School; National Trust, Croft Castle

Sources:

An Infamous Mistress: The Life, Loves and Family of the Celebrated Grace Dalrymple Elliott, Joanne Major & Sarah Murden, Pen & Sword, 2016

A Right Royal Scandal: Two Marriages That Changed History, Joanne Major & Sarah Murden, Pen & Sword, 2016

A Georgian Heroine: The Intriguing Life of Rachel Charlotte Williams Biggs, Joanne Major & Sarah Murden, Pen & Sword, 2017

Scot’s Magazine, September 1761 and April 1795

George III: A Personal History, Christopher Hibbert, Viking, 1998

Portrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay and her cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray, c.1778. Formerly attributed to Johann Zoffany.

Art Detectives: a new perspective on the portrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle

In our previous blog about the turban that Dido Elizabeth Belle was wearing in the portrait of her with her cousin, the Honourable Lady Elizabeth Murray, we mentioned that the portrait was reputed to have been painted by Johann Zoffany and we promised to give you an update with some new information, so here we go.

We now know more about the turban, courtesy of one of our lovely readers, Etienne Daly, who has been diligently researching Dido for some considerable years now.

The turban that Dido was wearing was not merely a fashion statement but was a gift to her from her father, Sir John Lindsay, so it was not part of a portrait ‘costume’ as had been assumed.

Sir John was invested as a Knight of the Bath in an extravagant ceremony in India on 11th March 1771.

A sketch of Sir John Lindsay KB, Prince Of Arcot (and father of Dido Elizabeth Belle), as he would have looked around the time of his investiture at the Chepauk Palace, Madras, India on 11th March 1771 when he was the King's ambassador to India. By Ian Sciacaluga.
A sketch of Sir John Lindsay KB, Prince Of Arcot (and father of Dido Elizabeth Belle), as he would have looked around the time of his investiture at the Chepauk Palace, Madras, India on 11th March 1771 when he was the King’s ambassador to India.

At that time he was presented with ‘a very rich dress of gold brocade, made after the European manner with the star upon the left breast,’ a ring with several titles engraved on it in Persian and a turban, all given by Nawab Muhammed Ali Khan Wallajah. It is also understood that, at the same time, Sir  John was bestowed the title of Prince of Arcot by the ruling Nawab who was an ally of the East India Company.

Muhammad Ali Khan, Nawab of Arcot by Tilly Kettle, c.1772-1776. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London
Muhammad Ali Khan, Nawab of Arcot by Tilly Kettle, c.1772-1776. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London

We think it seems a lovely gesture that she would wear it as a ‘nod’ to her father, in the only known portrait of her. 

Dido Elizabeth Belle

If you look closely at the turban you will notice that it sparkles; it was studded with gold and diamonds. You will also note the presence of a black ostrich feather at the back of the turban. Now, this was a fashion statement! It is also worth mentioning that the fashion of the day was to wear rouge and Dido was no exception to this.

Ostrich feathers were all the rage in the mid-1770s and Dido’s uncle, Viscount Stormont bought some back from Paris in 1774. Perhaps he gave one to Dido and following the fashion, she added it to the turban?

The preposterous head dress, or the featherd lady, 1776.
The preposterous headdress, or the featherd lady, 1776. © The Trustees of the British Museum

Viscount Stormont also presented one to the Duchess of Devonshire on his return, and being the fashion doyenne of the day, she sent the fashion world into a spin by adding it to her hat. This sparked the caricaturists into a frenzy, creating the most elaborate caricatures with the largest of plumes, as you can see above.

The Duchess of Devonshire by Joshua Reynolds.
The Duchess of Devonshire by Joshua Reynolds.

It has to be said that the Duchess of Devonshire was mocked mercilessly and according to the British Museum:

Lady Louisa Stuart wrote in her old age of “the outrageous zeal manifested against the first introduction of ostrich feathers as a headdress. This fashion was not attacked as fantastic or unbecoming or inconvenient or expensive, but as seriously wrong or immoral. The unfortunate feathers were insulted mobbed burned almost pelted…”. 

Massachusetts colonial governor Thomas Hutchinson by Edward Truman
Massachusetts colonial governor Thomas Hutchinson by Edward Truman. Massachusetts Historical Society

When Thomas Hutchinson, Governor of Massachusetts, dined with Lord Mansfield in 1779 he met Dido and recorded the following in his diary:

A black came in after dinner and sat with the ladies, and after coffee, walked with the company in the gardens, one of the young ladies having her arm within the other. She had a very high cap and her wool was much frizzled in her neck, but not enough to answer the large curls now in fashion. She is neither handsome nor genteel – pert enough.

We now move on to look at the artist of the portrait. It has long been reputed to have been painted by Johann (John) Zoffany, but this is now disputed, and to this day it remains ‘artist unknown’.

It is acknowledged that Zoffany went to Europe for several years, finally returning to England at some stage in 1779 the very year that the portrait was reputed to have been painted.

From the account of his life, John Zoffany, R.A. his life and works: 1735-1810, it tells us that he remained in Coblenz well into the summer of 1779. Although not impossible, it certainly would have given him little time to have painted Dido on his return. So, if we discount Zoffany that leaves only a few other possible artists, two of whom we think were feasible. One would be Allan Ramsay’s protégé’s David Martin, who was known to the family as he painted the stunning portrait of Lord Mansfield.

William Murray (1705-1793), 1st Earl of Mansfield; David Martin
William Murray (1705-1793), 1st Earl of Mansfield; David Martin; English Heritage, Kenwood

The slight difficulty we have with the portrait of Dido and Lady Elizabeth Murray being painted by Martin is that again there is a question as to whether he was still living in England in 1779 or if he had returned to his native Scotland. Certainly, we know that in 1780 Martin was in Scotland when he was admitted to the Royal Company of Archers. Again, the dates are tight.

If it was definitively painted in 1779, then it is feasible that he could have at least had some input into the work, especially as Ramsay had severely injured his hand a few years previously which stopped him taking on any major projects.

The other difficulty we have with Martin is that Etienne has checked Lord Mansfield’s accounts. There is no record of Lord Mansfield having paid him for such a work and it seems unlikely that Martin would have painted it for no recompense. So, that leaves only the principal painter to the King (George III), Allan Ramsay, and although we don’t have the expertise to validate this, with the research we have done it would appear far more likely that it was painted by him. Why? Well, there are several reasons to suppose this.

Allan Ramsay, self portrait c.1755-1756.
Allan Ramsay, self portrait c.1755-1756. National Galleries Scotland.

Firstly, we understand that the portrait was commissioned by Lord Mansfield, but there is no record in his accounts of him paying for any such portraiture.

Secondly, given the socially precarious position Dido held in Georgian society, then why not ‘keep it in the family’? Especially when you have an extremely distinguished portrait artist as an uncle to call upon, in the guise of none other than the Scottish portrait painter, Allan Ramsay who was married to Margaret Lindsay, the sister of Sir John Lindsay.

The Artist's Wife: Margaret Lindsay of Evelick, c 1726 - 1782 by Allan Ramsay.
The Artist’s Wife: Margaret Lindsay of Evelick, c 1726 – 1782 by Allan Ramsay. National Galleries Scotland

Thirdly, despite an earlier family ‘falling out’ over Ramsay being not regarded as a suitable match for Sir John’s sister, we know that the family had been reconciled and Ramsay was, at this time, close to Dido’s extended family. Amongst his paintings, there was one, if not two portraits of Sir John Lindsay himself, so again, it would seem natural for him to paint his illegitimate daughter. Ramsay also named Lord Mansfield and Sir John Lindsay in his will, another sign of the close familial ties.

Captain Sir John Lindsay (1737-1788) by Allan Ramsay
Captain Sir John Lindsay (1737-1788) by Allan Ramsay; Glasgow Museums

Finally, the posing of the subjects in the painting appears very relaxed and informal as if being painted by someone the girls knew well and were comfortable with.

Hopefully one day someone will be able to validate the artist and settle that unanswered question once and for all.

To see the portrait of Dido and Lady Elizabeth in situ, it would be well worth a visit to Scone Palace, Perth, Scotland or to the home, where she spent many of her years, Kenwood  House (Caenwood as it was formerly known as), Hampstead.

Sources:

The History of the Royal Company of Archers: The Queen’s Bodyguard for Scotland by Sir James Balfour Paul

General Evening Post, September 14, 1771 – September 17, 1771

English Common Law in the Age of Mansfield, by James Oldham

John Zoffany, R.A. his life and works: 1735-1810

Landscape with Carriage and Horses by William Ashford (1746-1824).

The Georgian Landau

It has been announced that HRH Prince Harry and Meghan Markle have chosen to use the Ascot Landau carriage at their wedding, assuming the weather stays fine, so we thought we would take a very quick look at the Landau, as it was first used in Britain in the 18th-century, but  was named after the German city of Landau in the Rhenish Palatinate where it was first produced. Today, the royal family presently have five Landau’s, all of which are post-Georgian.

Miseries of human life, 1808.
Isaac Cruikshank c1808. Lewis Walpole Library

A Landau is a coachbuilding term for a four-wheeled luxury convertible carriage. Its main feature was that it had a low body which gave maximum visibility of the occupants and their clothing, so ideal for processions and for the gentry in all their finery to be seen by onlookers.

1827-1828 Landau. British Museum
1827-1828 Landau. British Museum

The earliest reference to a Landau being used in England that we have found dates to July 1738 in the London Evening Post.

Last night his Grace the Duke of Marlborough, accompanied by Lord Hervey, Henry Fox Esq and another person of distinction, arrived in town in a landau and six, from Sir Robert Walpole’s seat at Houghton Hall in Norfolk.

Princess Amelia (1711-1786) by Christian Friedrich Zincke, c.1729-30.
Princess Amelia (1711-1786) by Christian Friedrich Zincke, c.1729-30. Royal Collection Trust

Clearly even in the 1750s the public enjoyed catching a glimpse of members of the royal family as this report from Bath in August 1752 describes.

Princess Amelia, (daughter of George II) arrived here in an open Landau, attended by a large retinue, and escorted by some of the Oxford Blues. Her Royal Highness passed through the city and went on to the seat of Ralph Allen Esq. The bells rang, the cannon were fired, and the flag was displayed on the Tower. Her Royal Highness walked publicly about on Saturday and yesterday, and numbers of people flocked from all parts of the country to see her.

1809 - Patent Landau - Ackermann's Repository
1809 – Patent Landau – Ackermann’s Repository

Ascot, was, as it is today, the place to see and to be seen. Amongst others was have a report from June 1786 in the London Chronicle that ‘their majesties were yesterday on the Ascot race ground, in an open Landau, with the younger branches of the Royal family. They partook of a cold repast in their carriage, consisting of ham and chicken’. It seems highly unlikely that Prince Harry and his new bride will be dining in theirs, to be honest!

One clearly had to be looking at one’s best when on display as the comment about the Prince of Wales showed in this report from the Whitehall Evening Post of May 1800 ‘The Prince of Wales, on Friday, took an airing in his open landau and looked considerably better than his Royal Highness has been for some months past.’

The Vis-a-Vis Bisected

It was quite common for the newspapers to report when a member of the aristocracy had a new landau built as can be seen here in this advertisement in the Morning Post, 4th November 1818.It was quite common for the newspapers to report when a member of the aristocracy had a new landau built as can be seen here in this advertisement in the Morning Post, 4th November 1818.

This one gives you an idea of how much they cost from The Suffolk Chronicle; or Weekly General Advertiser & County Express. 13 April 1816

TO BE SOLD

A very handsome Landau Barouche, town-built, nearly new, the property of a gentleman going abroad. Price 80 Guineas.

1816 Landau, wind-up side windows and fore-runner to the convertible car
1816 Landau, wind-up side windows and fore-runner to the convertible car

That was a cheap one in comparison to this one in the Hampshire Chronicle of July 1816 for a Landaulet, which was a cutdown or coupe version of the Landau

TO BE SOLD A BARGAIN

A handsome Landaulet, nearly as good as new on its first wheels; cost 320 guineas – lowest price 200 guineas.

It seems that no expense was spared when a new landau was required.

It seems that no expense was spared when a new landau was required.

Our final image is a sketch of  Landau by the coachbuilders Hooper & Co. Unfortunately, this sketch is not dated, but the company was founded in 1805. The seal says that by then they were ‘coachbuilders to her Majesty and the Prince of Wales’.

Carriage Design: A Square Landau undated Pen and black ink, watercolor and collage Sheet: 5 1/2 × 10 1/4 inches (14 × 26 cm) Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection
Carriage Design: A Square Landau undated Pen and black ink, watercolor and collage Sheet: 5 1/2 × 10 1/4 inches (14 × 26 cm) Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Sources used

London Evening Post (London, England), July 20, 1738 – July 22, 1738

General Advertiser (1744) (London, England), Thursday, August 13, 1752

Featured Image

Landscape with Carriage and Horses – William Ashford – Ulster Museum

Sketch of a ball at Almack's 1815, from The reminiscences and recollections of Captain Gronow, being anecdotes of the camp, court, clubs and society, 1810-1860. Beau Brummell is to the left, deep in conversation with the Duchess of Rutland.

The Cut of the Clothes: A Story of Prinny and Beau Brummell

It is our pleasure to welcome a new guest to our blog. She writes under the nom de plume of Erato. Her latest book is a fictional account of the relationship between Prinny, the Prince of Wales and the infamous George Bryan ‘Beau’ Brummell.

Why should a story about beauty and fashion be about a bunch of men? — When Beau Brummell takes centre stage, what else can the book be about?

The Regency Dandy, Beau Brummell
Beau Brummell

Many modern grooming habits, which we take for granted today, were established by Beau Brummell. These include the exclusively drab colours for men’s formalwear, the absence of lace and frills, and the practice of bathing daily. (Brummell’s bathing habits were so mystifying to the Regency gentlemen that they actually lined up at his house to watch him bathe every morning — a lengthy procedure, as the Beau was quite thorough about it, taking as much as two hours to complete his washing).

A Dandy, c.1818.
A Dandy c.1818. Lewis Walpole Library

In The Cut of the Clothes, we learn about Brummell from the viewpoint of his famous friend and rival, the Prince of Wales, later Prince Regent, later King George IV. It was the Prince’s support that allowed Brummell to claim the sort of influence he obtained over the London ton, but soon the young Beau began to overshadow his mentor’s influence. Famously, when someone once asked what Brummell would do if he lost the Prince’s support, he quipped, I’ll cut young George and make a fashion of the old one. (The old one being the Prince’s father, George III.)

The practice of social “cutting” was what led to perhaps the most famous piece of Brummelliana: when the Prince at last became fed up with Brummell’s insults, he cut Brummell, and made his decision clear at a party.

As it is told in The Cut of the Clothes, from the Prince’s viewpoint:

He had lately won an almost unheard of £20,000 at the table. To commemorate this achievement, he and his core dandy friends were to throw an extravagant ball; one which I daresay must have consumed a goodly portion of the funds it was meant to celebrate having gained. Every body who was any body in the ton was to be there. Frances, Isabella, even Caroline were invited (though I understood the lattermost to have left the country for Italy by then, praise be to God.) Lord Byron would be there. Frederica and my brother were to attend. Not a name was missing from the guest list, but for one. It was mine.

George Gordon, 6th Lord Byron, 1807-1809 by George Sanders.
George Gordon, 6th Lord Byron, 1807-1809 by George Sanders. Royal Collection Trust.

This was surely no oversight; the Beau must have known I had cut him, and have therefore influenced his friends (with whom I was still connected) not to invite me as any guest of their own. And yet, as Prince Regent, I did not need an invitation.

It was like a modern droit du seigneur: if I chose to attend at any ball or assembly, invited or not, it was considered an honor to the hosts to have me there. Naturally, Mr. Brummell was to be at this event, and I surely had no desire to see him again; but I took into consideration how many others whom I dearly loved and wish’d to see, would be there.

Was that wretch to deprive me of my company, of my happiness? Never! I wrote to the hosts of this party, announcing my plans to attend notwithstanding their little oversight about inviting me. There was no need to ask their permission.

George IV when Prince Regent by Sir Thomas Lawrence, 1814.
George IV when Prince Regent by Sir Thomas Lawrence, 1814.
© National Portrait Gallery, London

The fashionable Argyle [also Argyll] Rooms had been rented to accommodate this glorious event. It is a most splendid location: the entrance hall is painted with frescos of Corinthian pilasters and compartments, footed with green marble. It was there, waiting to greet the guests, that I saw my four hosts in all their tasteful finery: Alvanley, Mildmay, Pierrepoint and, naturally, the Beau himself. They were lined up, two to each side, in suits so well tailored that there was not a single wrinkle between them.

It was my polite duty to greet them. I began at the left side, speaking first to Mildmay; then across to Pierrepoint. Beside him was Brummell, eyes glaring at me despite his false smile. I passed him over, making every display of not having noticed him at all, as if the man were no more visible to me than a f–t. People around us saw what I had done; I could feel a sudden chill to course through the whole room. I had just affronted the great Beau Brummell, and made known to everybody my cut of his company. I crossed back to the left to greet Alvanley, and that done, was about to make my way up to the vestibule and stairs.

Then loudly, loudly, oh! so loud, there was a cry from behind my shoulder in the voice which I knew belong’d to Brummell:

            Aw, Alvanley, who is your fat friend?

Every person who stood in that passageway cringed. There was a moment of silence as nobody knew what to do. Then I heard, dreadfully, the rising sound of a giggle: a crescendo that soon became a mighty roar of laughter. Everybody was laughing, and this delight was being had at my expense. Brummell was plainly quite pleased with himself to have thus humiliated me. 

If you have ever wondered “Who was Beau Brummell?” then you might like to read the account of his reign as the king of fashion in The Cut of the Clothes.

 

The Royal Ass, 1780.

A long-eared Aesculapius

Ok, we’ve got you interested now, we had to look up the word! The word Aesculapius being the Latin name for a god of medicine.  Whilst researching asses’ milk we came across a newspaper with that title as its heading.

The story was about a gentleman who took regular exercise on horseback and whose chief drink was asses’ milk. He was asked by an invalid friend, to whom a doctor was daily administering pills and potions, how he managed to keep in such excellent health. The gentleman’s reply was ‘my physician is a horse and my apothecary an ass’.

Whilst the poor ass was mocked by the public during the Georgian era for its stupidity and with comparison made to the Prince Regent, its milk was proving to be very beneficial.

At a time when more and more of us are becoming interested in nutrition and looking for more ‘superfoods’, it’s good to know that the Georgians were no different in their pursuit of a long and healthy life. Asses’ milk was believed to have a beneficial effect on the body, either to bathe in (Cleopatra style) or to drink. Napoleon’s sister is also reported to have used asses’ milk for her skin’s health care.

Pauline Bonaparte by François Joseph Kinson, 1808.
Pauline Bonaparte by François Joseph Kinson, 1808. Museo Napoleonico

It was highly recommended for gout, scurvy, coughs, colds and asthma, however, even then people were aware of the possibility of intolerance, with people raising the issue of ‘lactose intolerance’ even then, although the term itself wasn’t used and that it might cause stomach problems.

One of the main cures for venereal disease at that time was mercury, but who knew – asses’ milk could relieve the side effects of mercury! It was even recommended for women who were in pain after childbirth. For babies, asses’ milk was recommended if they suffered from wind or diarrhoea. It was even used to bathe in to relieve the pain of haemorrhoids too.

According to Oracle Bell’s New World of 1789, asses’ milk mixed with spa water was exceptionally beneficial.

A Glass of Milk; William Redmore Bigg
A Glass of Milk; William Redmore Bigg; Lancashire County Museum Service

Asses’ milk largely went out of fashion in the late 1790s when Sir John Hill’s Pectoral Balsam of Honey replaced it as a ‘cure for all ills’, as, whilst it looked like asses milk it was more palatable, and people were better able to tolerate it.

For those familiar with Teresa Cornleys, ‘the hostess with the mostest’, ultimately she fell out of favour with the great and the good and ended up in prison On her release, she became known as Mrs Smith seller of asses’ milk, in Knightsbridge. Even during this period of her life, she tried to restore her life to its former glory by hosting breakfasts for the people of fashion.

Certain City Macaronies, Drinking Asses Milk, 1770.
Certain City Macaronies, Drinking Asses Milk, 1770. LWL

In 1799, according to Courier and Evening Gazette:

A Parisian Journal says –

We are assured that a remedy had been discovered for disorders of the breast. His remedy is found at St. Domingo, where it is called the gum of the Bois de Cochon. It is produced from a tree, well known in the ci-devant Spanish part of the island. This gum, reduced to oil, and a coffee cup full taken in a basin of asses’ milk, morning and evening, produces a radical cure, provided the disorder is only at its second stage or even at the third. It procures considerable relief. It is for the faculty to judge of this receipt.

Portrait of Maria Luisa of Spain (1745-1792), Holy Roman Empress.
Portrait of Maria Luisa of Spain (1745-1792), Holy Roman Empress.

The St James’s Chronicle of June 1790 reported that the Queen of Hungary’s health was deteriorating since she arrived in Vienna, so much so that the doctors thought it necessary for her to drink asses’ milk.

Featured Image

The Royal Ass, 1780. Yale Centre for British Art

Sources Used

Observations on the theory and cure of venereal disease by John Andree. 1779

An essay concerning the nature of ailments and the choice of them, according to the different constitutions of human bodies by John Arbuthnot. 1731

An essay on the diseases most fatal to infants by George Armstrong. 1767

Daily Journal, Thursday, April 19, 1722

York: Dick Turpin's Ride (London and North Eastern Railway poster artwork) by Doris Clare Zinkeisen

Discovering the history of the Ram Jam Inn

I’ve driven past the old – and now fairly derelict – Ram Jam Inn on the A1 many times, and have always been intrigued by the name (largely because I can’t ever see the inn without hearing Black Betty by Ram Jam in my head!). But, I’ve never looked into the history of the Ram Jam Inn until now when it popped up during research into the old Great North Road.

Next time I travel past, instead of singing Black Betty, I’ll picture the notorious eighteenth-century highwayman Dick Turpin galloping into the inn yard for it turns out that he was a frequent guest there at the height of his ‘fame’.

York: Dick Turpin's Ride (London and North Eastern Railway poster artwork) by Doris Clare Zinkeisen
York: Dick Turpin’s Ride (London and North Eastern Railway poster artwork) by Doris Clare Zinkeisen; National Railway Museum

The Great North Road linked London to Edinburgh, via York amongst other towns, and in the eighteenth- and nineteenth-centuries the mail and stage coaches regularly drove up and down its length. Now the A1 (the longest numbered road in the UK) has replaced the Great North Road, in places taking a slightly different route and bypassing most of the smaller towns and villages where the old coaching inns were to be found. But not all…

The Ram Jam in Rutland is one of the few coaching inns which can be seen by the side of the A1. Standing at Stretton, midway between the market towns of Stamford and Grantham in Lincolnshire, it was originally known as the Winchelsea Arms, named for the Earls of Winchelsea who were local landowners. By 1802 however, it was unofficially known as the Ram Jam House.

Ram Jam Inn © Richard Croft
The Ram Jam Inn a few years ago, when it was still open to passing traffic – cc-by-sa/2.0 – © Richard Croft – geograph.org.uk/p/164598

There are many stories detailing how this unassuming inn in sleepy Rutland acquired such an unusual name. One version has it that Dick Turpin himself was the root cause. He taught the landlady, a Mrs Spring, how to draw mild and bitter ale from a single barrel, telling her to “ram one thumb in here whilst I make a hole… now jam your other thumb in this hole while I find the spile pegs…”. Turpin then made off without paying his bill while the unfortunate landlady was stuck with her thumbs fast in the barrel. A slightly different version of this tale has the landlord trapped by his thumbs while the trickster, Dick Turpin or otherwise, escorts the landlady upstairs to the bedroom.

A sign which hangs outside the inn – now very weatherworn – depicts the unfortunate landlady. However, a correspondent to the Grantham Journal newspaper, writing in 1878, revealed that this may have been a relatively recent addition to the frontage.

It may be worth noting, that the sign of ‘The Ram Jam’ has never appeared on the front of the house, until September last; and the old sign, painted with the full coat of arms of the Earls of Winchelsea, remained up to last June, when it was replaced by a new sign-board, on which was painted (without the heraldic devices) ‘The Winchilsea Arms’. The sign only remained up for a few weeks, when it was repainted with the words ‘The Ram Jam Inn’ for the first time in its history. By the way, it was generally known as ‘The Ram Jam House’ and not ‘Inn’.

Grantham Journal, 26th October 1878

The Ram Jam Inn sign, showing the landlady with her thumbs stuck in the barrel. © HitchinLookers/Dragontree; www.waymarking.com
The Ram Jam Inn sign, showing the landlady with her thumbs stuck in the barrel. © HitchinLookers/Dragontree; waymarking.com

The most likely reason for the unusual name is a little less prosaic, however. Charles Blake was the landlord around the turn of the century, certainly by 1802, and he developed either a spirit or liqueur which he sold in bottles packed in small hampers for the convenience of the stagecoach passengers who alighted at his inn while the horses were changed. This drink he named Ram Jam, but again there is disagreement as to why. Some claim it is a variant of an Indian term for a table servant which the English soldiers in India corrupted to Rum John or Rum Johnnie. Others clearly thought differently.

The word is properly Ramzan, derived from Ramazan, the name of the month of fasting in the Mohammedan calendar. The custom among the natives of India, as well as in the case of the English people, was to pronounce the ‘z’ as ‘j’, hence the name became ‘Ramjan’. The change of the final ‘n’ to ‘m’ was an accident or a piece of fun to bring it into easy rhyming form. We can reasonably assume that the liqueur sold to travellers brought to the house the like celebrity enjoyed by the Bell at Stilton for the cheese that was to be purchased there.

Grantham Journal, 15th May 1937

Blake had, it is suggested, picked up the term during an earlier career as an Indian Army Officer’s batman. With the death of Charles Blake in 1810 however, the recipe for Ram Jam was lost, but the inn retained its moniker.

On the 4th November 1810, at Stretton in Rutland, Mr Charles Blake, gentleman, was buried.

While Ram Jam of Black Betty fame, despite the name, have no association with the inn, the soul singer Geno Washington named his backing band the Ram Jam Band after it. As this is a blog dedicated to the Georgian era, I won’t treat you to a rendition of Black Betty, even though it is now firmly lodged as an earworm after writing this. Instead, enjoy the legend of Dick Turpin as performed by the Horrible Histories gang!

Sources:

Cary’s New Itinerary: Or, An Accurate Delineation of the Great Roads, Both Direct and Cross, Throughout England and Wales; with Many of the Principal Roads in Scotland, 1802.

Inns and Inn Signs of Leicestershire and Rutland by Eric Swift.

waymarking.com: Ram Jam Inn – A1, Stretton, Leicestershire, UK

Riot at the King’s Theatre in 1813

On Saturday 1st May 1813 at the King’s theatre a serious disturbance broke out, proceeding apparently a call from the audience for the reappearance of Madame Catalani, who had withdrawn her services from the theatre as they had not paid her monies owed for previous performances.

Mme Angelique Catalani de Valabregue, J.F. Moeller (1797-1871). 1829
Mme Angelique Catalani de Valabregue, J.F. Moeller, 1829. Courtesy of National Museum of Denmark

At the start of the performance (Pucitta’s La caccia di Enrico IV), there were some hisses and boos, which increased as the performance continued, with calls of ‘Off, Off’ Taylor! Manager’. No-one took any notice and the curtain dropped amidst the noise, which rendered the latter part of the performance inaudible.

After a brief interval, the curtain rose again for the next part of the performance and the boos and hisses grew louder. The performance continued with the actors playing the role of dead French soldiers strewn across the stage, noises began behind the scenes too and the performance stopped. The audience had at this point stormed the stage, the scenery of trees and mountains now began to shake; the ‘dead’ French soldiers got up and joined their companions, the dancers fled the scene like a flock of sheep.

A riot at the King's theatre, Haymarket, London, on 1 May 1813.
A riot at the King’s Theatre, Haymarket, London, on 1 May 1813. Coloured etching by W.H. Brooke after Satirist, 1813. Wellcome Collection

The actors in black formed a complete contrast to the soldiers. Here, in true Buonaparte style, the drop fell, to prevent the public discovery of the chaos ensuing on stage, but they could not hide it all, as the feet of the flying Frenchmen now visible due to the shortness of the drop. The drop was now torn to pieces and the audience discovered the victors who were cheered.

A gentleman now, for the time came forward, surrounded by the storming party, and after much difficulty was heard. He was addressed by an orator or two in the pit and was told that an apology for his misconduct would be expected in all the newspapers. He bowed submissively enough and gave a brief apology to the audience, although this was barely audible. The actors tried to tidy and clear the stage so that the performance could continue, but were stopped in their tracks by a party of guards who entered from the left of the stage with charged bayonets. Another fight broke out until the guards were ordered off the stage by their commanding officer. Some of the performers dressed as soldiers had their weapon thrown into the orchestra among the lamps and desks.  The orchestra panicked and fled the impending danger, gathering up every violin, bassoon and trombone and their music books as fast as possible.

Peace now seemed likely to be restored. Those who have fought bravely moved to the side boxes, shaking hands with those in the lower circle and bowing to those above, as if they had been actors performing a play. But this tranquillity was soon to come to an end as some in the gallery disapproved of the conduct of the conquerors and from among them, a short, young man walked backwards and forwards on the stage, in contempt of remonstrances, with triumphant insolence, shouting some unintelligible words in a vulgar manner. This offender was intoxicated and was dragged to the front of the proscenium and an apology insisted on upon his bended knee, or if he was not prepared to do this he would be thrown off the stage into the orchestra. They managed to get him down onto his knees, but he showed no remorse and was unwilling to apologise. His coat was pulled off, along with his waistcoat and his cravat was grabbed so tightly that he was almost throttled, he was twisted and squeezed about until he apologized properly.

The King's Theatre, Haymarket
The King’s Theatre, Haymarket by Bartholomew Howlett. Courtesy of Yale Center for British Art

All thoughts of resuming the performance were well and truly over, another spokesman made his appearance, none other than Mr Robert ‘Romeo’ Coates. Somewhat surprisingly, he quickly managed to get silence from the audience, which was somewhat surprising as he was usually received with laughter and ridicule (he really was the worst actor of the day).

Lothario, as performed by Mr Coates at the Haymarket Theatre Decemr 9th 1811
Lothario, as performed by Mr Coates at the Haymarket Theatre . © The Trustees of the British Museum

He began:

Ladies and Gentlemen, it is a great misfortune, we must allow, to be deprived of the talents of Madame Catalani, but it is of no use for us to go a rioting.

Here the party on the stage thought fit to be content with their own exertions, and with very little ceremony they drove Mr Coates off the stage. Many now left the stage and retired to the boxes. The clock was just striking twelve and the curtain finally fell.

Mr Coates again attempted to address the audience from the pit, but without any luck at all. The company departed.

Afterwards, the Lord Chamberlain issued an order, that no-one should ever be admitted behind the scenes, under penalty of withdrawing the licence from the theatre.

Sources Used

Windsor and Eton Express 2 May 1813

London Courier and Evening Gazette 3 May 1813

Featured Image

The Gay Lothario, 16th March 1813. Courtesy of the Met Museum

 

Church at Marylebone by James Miller.

Art Detectives: Miss Mary Hatton by George Romney

We came across this portrait by George Romney, in the Frick Collection purely by chance, and wanted to know more about who the sitter was, so off we disappeared down one of our proverbial rabbit hole in search of more information about her.

Miss Mary Finch Hatton by George Romney, 1788.
Miss Mary Finch Hatton by George Romney, 1788. The Frick Collection

Our first port of call was the Frick itself, who were extremely helpful and sent us all the information they had about the painting. So, exactly who was this enigmatic woman?

We knew that  Dido Elizabeth Belle’s cousin Lady Elizabeth Mary Murray had married into the Finch-Hatton family, but we hadn’t come across this lady within the family, which slightly surprised us, as she would have been somewhere around the same sort of age as both Dido and Elizabeth, perhaps a little older, but not much.

Portrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay and her cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray, c.1778. Formerly attributed to Johann Zoffany.
Portrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay and her cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray, c.1778. Formerly attributed to Johann Zoffany.

Some sources had suggested that the portrait was possibly Lady Elizabeth Murray, but somehow that didn’t seem to fit, we couldn’t see a likeness at all.  There was another suggestion that she was a  different Lady Mary Hatton, the daughter of Daniel Finch-Hatton, 7th Earl of Winchilsea, but it couldn’t possibly be her, as she died in 1761 and the portrait wasn’t painting until 1788, also her appearance confirmed that it had to post-date 1761.

Eventually, we came across a book, Pictures in the Collection of Henry Clay Frick which contained the same portrait and confirmed for us that she was:

Miss Mary Hatton, the daughter of Sir John Finch-Hatton of Longstanton Hall, Cambridgeshire and wife of Hale Wortham Esq.

Further information from Romney’s own ledger tells us the number of sittings it took to complete the painting, where Mary was living at the time and how much was paid.

It seems quite feasible that this was a pre-wedding painting, as Mary married a gentleman named Hale Wortham at St Marylebone, on 4th December 1788, the very year it was painted or perhaps her mother wanted a painting of her daughter as a keepsake.

Church at Marylebone by James Miller.
The church at Marylebone by James Miller. Yale Center for British Art, Gift of Paul Mellon in memory of Dudley Snelgrove

However, with more research, we discovered that even this information wasn’t quite accurate, she was not the daughter of Sir John Finch-Hatton, but his sister and that she was the eldest daughter of Sir Thomas Hatton, 8th Baron of Longstanton, Cambridgeshire (1728-1787).

The marriage allegation for Harriot Askham and Sir Thomas Hatton
The marriage allegation for Harriott Askham and Sir Thomas Hatton

Sir Thomas and his wife Harriott Dingley (daughter of Dingley Askham Esq), married 22nd April 1752 and had 8 children – Mary, in the portrait, was the eldest and born 4th October 1754 at Conington, Cambridgeshire.

Her siblings were Harriet (1755); Frances (1757); John (1758) later to become the 9th Baronet; Elizabeth Ann (1759); Susanna (1761); Anne (1763) and the youngest, Thomas Dingley Hatton (1771) who became the 10th and final Baronet.  When Sir Thomas died in 1788 he helpfully named all his children individually in his will, so we were now certain we had the correct person.

An entry in the Dictionary of National Biography suggests that before Mr Wortham, Mary’s hand in marriage had been sought by Dr Richard Farmer of Emanuel College, Cambridge.

At this time he [Farmer] formed an intimacy with Sir Thomas Hatton, bart., of Long Stanton, Cambridgeshire, and for some time aspired to the hand of his eldest daughter. The marriage was postponed on account of Farmer’s want of means, and when after many years this objection was removed, he found on mature reflection that his habits of life were too deeply rooted to be changed with any chance of perfect happiness to either party. Such is George Dyer’s version of the story; but Cole says: ‘Dr. Coleman told me, 3 May 1782, that he had it from sufficient authority, that Sir Thomas Hatton had refused his eldest daughter to Dr. Farmer, but upon what foundation he knew not. The lady is 27 or 28, and Dr. Farmer about 47 or 48. It will probably be a great mortification to both, as to every one it seemed that their regard for each other was reciprocal. Dr. Farmer’s preferment is equal to 800l. per annum; and I guess the lady’s fortune, there being six daughters and two sons, not very great’

Richard Farmer by George Romney. Emmanuel College, University of Cambridge
Richard Farmer by George Romney. Emmanuel College, University of Cambridge

We still hadn’t worked out where the Finch-Hatton mistake had come from in her name, she was simply Mary Hatton, not Finch-Hatton. Even at her death, there was no reference to the Finch part of her surname. According to the Oxford Journal 1st November 1828 and the London Evening Standard, 21st October 1828:

Mary, relict of the late Colonel Wortham and eldest daughter of Sir Thomas Hatton, Baronet of LongStanton, died 17th October, aged 74.

So we moved on the checking her will which was proven on 20th November 1828. Mary left a number of bequests to each of her living sisters, Anne, Elizabeth Ann, Susanna and Frances, all just named as Hatton, not a ‘Finch-Hatton’ in sight. She also left £200 (which is around £13k in today’s money) to Addenbrookes hospital.

Finally, this led us to the will of one of her siblings, Anne who died in 1832 and in her will she left part of the family estate to a relative – Rev Daniel Heneage Finch-Hatton, the son of Lady Elizabeth Murray, so it seems likely that is where the erroneous addition to Mary’s surname came from, but quite what their connection was to the Finch-Hatton’s we still haven’t managed to confirm, so, more work required!

Sources and Notes:

Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900, Volume 18: Farmer, Richard by Thompson Cooper

A Genealogical and Heraldic History of the Extinct and Dormant Baronetcies of England, Ireland and Scotland by John Burke and Bernard Burke, 1841

Pictures in the Collection of Henry Clay Frick: at One East Seventieth Street, New York, 1910

Birth/baptism of Mary and her siblings – Familysearch online

The will of Sir Thomas Hatton (1788) – The National Archives; Kew, England; Prerogative Court of Canterbury and Related Probate Jurisdictions: Will Registers; Class: PROB 11; Piece: 1161

The will of Mary Wortham nee Finch (1828) –  The National Archives; Kew, England; Prerogative Court of Canterbury and Related Probate Jurisdictions: Will Registers; Class: PROB 11; Piece: 1748

The will  of Anne Finch (1832) – The National Archives; Kew, England; Prerogative Court of Canterbury and Related Probate Jurisdictions: Will Registers; Class: PROB 11; Piece: 1799

Hale Wortham died February 19th, 1828 (Cambridge Chronicle and Journal 29 February 1828)

We fly by night on ‘the wings of love’… to Hull

Around midnight, or just shortly thereafter, Miss Mary Burton crept out of her father’s house at Gainsborough in Lincolnshire, into the waiting arms of her lover, William Fields, a draper from Hull in the East Riding of Yorkshire.

William must have had a carriage waiting for his lady, but the Stamford Mercury newspaper described their escape much more poetically.

WE FLY BY NIGHT… on “the wings of love”

It is possibly a slight disappointment, after knowing that they flew through the midnight hours on the wings of love, to find that their destination was not more glamorous than William’s home town, Hull. Mary’s father, Mr Burton, a miller and baker (Mary was his only daughter), certainly knew where his errant daughter had gone to and, as soon as he discovered that she was missing, he set off for Hull in hot pursuit.

View of the South End, Hull (The Citadel, Hull) by William Barton, 1809; Ferens Art Gallery; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/view-of-the-south-end-hull-the-citadel-hull-78337
View of the South End, Hull (The Citadel, Hull) by William Barton, 1809; Ferens Art Gallery

But he was too late, the couple had already exchanged their vows to one another at the altar of Holy Trinity church and had married, by licence, on the same day that they had entered Hull, the 25th November 1812 in front of two witnesses, William Sotheran and Esther Fox.

Holy Trinity, Hull c.1735, History of Hull (Annales Regioduni Hullini) [1735] , 1869 reprint.
Holy Trinity, Hull c.1735, History of Hull (Annales Regioduni Hullini) [1735] , 1869 reprint. Via Wikimedia.
Mary, it would appear, was just over 21 years of age; there is a baptism at All Saints in Gainsborough for Mary, daughter of William and Ann Burton (William’s trade is given as a baker) on the 29th October 1791.

Bachelor's Fare, 1814. Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2016
Bachelor’s Fare, 1814.
Royal Collection Trust/© Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2016

William Fields was likely the same man who traded with a partner, George Benjamin Everington as Everington and Fields, linen drapers of Kingston-upon-Hull. Their partnership was dissolved shortly after William’s hasty marriage, on the 18th December 1812, with William alone carrying on the business and promising to pay all debts owing. He traded from no. 9, Whitefriargate. It is also likely that it was the same William Fields who, in February 1814, announced that he had taken the grocery shop formerly occupied by a Mr Smith at no. 3 North Bridge, Witham, where tea, coffee, spices and sugars could be purchased and if so, he was declared bankrupt before the end of 1815. Perhaps his irate father-in-law was right in his initial judgment of his son-in-law?

The well-known linen drapers Harding, Howell & Co. William Field's establishment would have been much smaller.
The well-known linen drapers Harding, Howell & Co. William Field’s establishment would have been much smaller.

William and Mary Fields baptised a son, named William Burton Fields, in Hull on the 11th January 1814. He was to die young, aged only 11 years, and was buried in the churchyard at All Saints in Gainsborough on the 29th December 1825. We have so far been unable to trace the Fields further but, as William Burton Fields was living back in Gainsborough with his grandfather, we suspect that Mary had either sadly died or that she had returned, with her son, to her father’s home.

Hull elopement - Henry Burton Fields

Sources:

Stamford Mercury, 4th December 1812

Hull Advertiser and Exchange Gazette, 5th December 1812 and 2nd January 1813

Hull Packet, 17th August 1813, 1st February 1814 and 5th December 1815

Stamford Mercury, 6th January 1826

Map of Parson's Green, showing Peterborough House and its surrounding gardens.

Parson’s Green, Fulham: seclusion, secrets and novels

Parson’s Green in Fulham still has two green, open spaces in the heart of its residential area. Back in the eighteenth-century, Fulham was a pleasant rural village outside the bustle of London complete with farms and market gardens that supplied the capital with fruit and vegetables, and Parson’s Green was a hamlet within the manor of Fulham where several fine villas were located.

Parson's Green, Fulham by William Pengree Sherlock, early 19th century.
Parson’s Green, Fulham by William Pengree Sherlock, early 19th century. © The Trustees of the British Museum

Named after the village green and the parsonage where the rectors of St Anne’s, the Fulham parish church lived, it is perhaps best remembered today as the home of the novelist, Samuel Richardson.

Samuel Richardson's House at Parson's Green.
Samuel Richardson’s House at Parson’s Green. © The Trustees of the British Museum

Nearby was Peterborough House, a grand mansion set within large – and once immaculately designed – gardens. The house (originally called Brightwells, or Rightwells) was a large square building with a gallery around the rooftop, many large rooms and furnished with taste; rich frescos decorated the walls and a collection of fine paintings also hung there. Originally a fourteenth-century building, it had been remodelled and rebuilt in the early Stuart style. Passing through several owners, eventually it was inherited by Margaret (née Smith), wife of Thomas Carey, second son of Robert, Earl of Monmouth who refurbished the building and renamed it Villa Carey. By descent it passed to Charles, the celebrated 3rd Earl of Peterborough and Monmouth, and it was under his watch that the house enjoyed its heyday. Alexander Pope was a frequent visitor and a musical academy was instituted by the earl’s second – but secret – wife, the singer, Anastasia Robinson. Although Anastasia and her mother discreetly lived nearby rather than under the earl’s roof, she presided at his side as mistress of the house during entertainments.

Charles Mordaunt, 3rd Earl of Peterborough (1658-1735) by Charles Jervas (c.1675-1739). Burghley House Collections.
Charles Mordaunt, 3rd Earl of Peterborough (1658-1735) by Charles Jervas (c.1675-1739). Burghley House Collections.

Peterborough House passed to the 4th Earl of Peterborough and after his death, his widow Robinaiana (Grace Dalrymple Elliott’s maternal aunt) leased it to Richard Heaviside, a rich Lambeth timber merchant who was climbing the social ladder.

Map of Parson's Green, showing Peterborough House and its surrounding gardens.
Map of Parson’s Green, showing Peterborough House and its surrounding gardens.

Although now fading into disrepair, the real beauty of Peterborough House, the impressive pleasure grounds which surrounded it, were still largely intact. By the 1780s, some of the land had been leased to market gardeners but there remained much of the former glory of this garden, a pleasant wilderness with shady cypress trees, inset with statues and fountains. Beyond the high brick walls on three sides of the mansion, market gardens dominated down to the riverbank while the front of the mansion faced the green with its picturesque pond. It was perfectly secluded and that was perfect for Heaviside’s nefarious activities. As we relate in our latest book, A Georgian Heroine, he abducted – for the second time! – a young girl who was a neighbour of his in Lambeth, Charlotte Williams and had her brought by boat to Peterborough House. You can discover more about Charlotte’s ordeal by clicking here. Suffice to say, it was akin to the plot of Clarissa, one of Samuel Richardson’s novels, the irony in the situation being that Richardson had lived, and written many of his works, in a villa which stood close by Peterborough House in Parson’s Green.

View of Parson's Green, Fulham, 1795. The walls are those surrounding Peterborough House, around the time that Meyrick pulled down the original mansion.
View of Parson’s Green, Fulham, 1795. The walls are those surrounding Peterborough House, around the time that Meyrick pulled down the original mansion. © The British Library

In time, and with the house and estate in ruins (part of the house had been torn down) Heaviside sold Peterborough House to John Meyrick who razed what was still standing to the ground and had a new mansion constructed in its stead.

Peterborough House, Parson's Green, Fulham, after 1797.
Peterborough House, Parson’s Green, Fulham, after 1797.

The parsonage from which the hamlet took its name stood on the west side of the green until it was demolished around 1740 and replaced with two new houses. Writing of it in 1705, Bowack said, “the house in which the rectors of Fulham used to reside, is now very old, and much decayed. There is, adjoining to it, an old stonebuilding, which seems to be of about three hundred or four hundered years standing, and designed for religious use; in all probability, a chapel for the rectors and their domestics. Before the said house is a large common, which, within the memory of several ancient inhabitants now living, was used for a bowling-green”.

Cricket matches were also held on the green; two notable matches between teams from Fulham and Chelsea were contested there in 1731 and 1733.

A game of cricket, unknown artist after Francis Hayman, 18th century.
A game of cricket, unknown artist after Francis Hayman, 18th century. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

In later years, Maria Fitzherbert, George IV’s ‘clandestine’ wife lived in East End House on the east side of Parson’s Green

Fair at Parson's Green by Thomas Rowlandson.
Fair at Parson’s Green by Thomas Rowlandson. Sothebys

Sources:

Fulham, pp.344-424, The Environs of London: Volume 2, County of Middlesex. Originally published by T Cadell and W Davies, London, 1795

An Infamous Mistress: The Life, Loves and Family of the Celebrated Grace Dalrymple Elliott, Joanne Major and Sarah Murden, Pen and Sword, 2015

A Georgian Heroine: The Intriguing Life of Rachel Charlotte Williams Biggs, Joanne Major and Sarah Murden, Pen and Sword, 2017

The Duties of a Georgian Footman

A Couple of Antiques or my Aunt and my Uncle.
© The Trustees of the British Museum

A while ago we took a  look at the below stairs roles of the household maid, the laundry maid and the cook, now we come to the role of the footman. Once again, we’re using the information provided by a certain Mrs William Parkes.

Charming well again.
© The Trustees of the British Museum

She firstly explains that the role of the footman varies greatly dependant upon the size of the household and its position within society. In a small household employing only one footman his typical morning would commence with the rougher part of the work of his department such as cleaning cutlery. Next, he would clean the household shoes and brush clothes.

He would also be required to assist the housemaid with cleaning the polished furniture in the library, dining and drawing room.

He would then prepare to serve breakfast by first making himself ready, then by setting the breakfast table, making sure that everything was ready on the table; seeing that the water was on the fire at the proper time so that no delay would arise when the family gathered in the breakfast room.  He would also be responsible for ensuring that crockery was clean by washing the china and ensuring that glassware was as bright as possible. After the family had eaten it was his role to clear everything away and ensure that the breakfast room was tidy. That would largely take up most of his morning, but he also had to be ready to answer the bells in the house and to open the hall door.

The Card Party or the Utility of Paper
© The Trustees of the British Museum

His next job was to wait at table. It was the footman’s responsibility to lay the dinner-cloth, set each place with the correct cutlery, a tumbler, wine-glass and a chair. He also had to announce dinner once everyone was present at the table.

He should remain quiet at all time but be ready to assist as soon as required. Bread, wine or water, when handed round, should be presented with the left hand and upon the left side of the person served. The footman should take care never to reach across the table, nor to put his hand or arm before anyone. He should tread lightly and speak quietly when answering a question.

The Last Gasp; or, toadstools mistaken for mushrooms.
© The Trustees of the British Museum

As great care was required when cleaning cutlery with ivory, ebony or silver handles this role also fell to the footman – there’s nothing more disagreeable than carelessly cleaned cutlery!

A good steady servant will keep his clothes and person clean and neat; he will be particularly careful in washing his hands, being called upon constantly to wait and hand so many various things. In many families, the footman, is very properly, not allowed to deliver any small thing, not even a card or letter, except on a waiter.

© The Trustees of the British Museum
The Favourite Footman; or, Miss Well Mounted. © The Trustees of the British Museum

A good footman, when sent out, will not waste his time but will execute his errands quickly, and return to his business. Punctuality is a very important quality in the footman, who must be ready to serve his master or mistress at any time required.

Within a large establishment, the footman would be under the constant watch of either the housekeeper or the steward and would probably never be seen by the master or mistress.

Kentish Gazette, 20 September 1780.
Kentish Gazette, 20 September 1780.

The newspapers of the day were full of adverts from people seeking employment as a footman and others from employers seeking a footman. The key attributes required appeared to be honesty, cleanliness and sobriety and for the prospective candidate to have worked for their previous employer for at least a year.

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Taking an airing at Brighton, the donkies, or the humours of fashion. British Museum

A Mad Dog in a Coffee House, Thomas Rowlandson, 1809.

A brief history of coffee in the Georgian era

Oxford holds the distinction of being the location of the first coffee-house in England; an establishment trading under the sign of the Angel was opened in 1650, acting as a centre for gossip, news and academic discussions in equal measure. Coffee-houses were soon open in London and elsewhere and their popularity grew. Their heyday was the eighteenth-century. In time, they adapted to meet the requirements of their clientele; Lloyd’s Coffee House was a favourite haunt of merchants and sailors and so shipping information was shared and deals conducted. It is better known today as the insurer, Lloyd’s of London. The Grecian Coffee-House in Devereux Court just off Fleet Street catered for the Whigs while the nearby Rainbow attracted Freemasons and French refugee Huguenots. Slaughter’s (later Old Slaughter’s) establishment, on St Martin’s Lane, boasted an artistic clientele while the British Coffee-House on Cockspur Street was popular with the Scots in London and privy to Jacobite plotting. Some, such as Moll King’s coffee-house in Covent Garden, catered for lower tastes.

A Mad Dog in a Coffee House, Thomas Rowlandson, 1809.
A Mad Dog in a Coffee House, Thomas Rowlandson, 1809. Yale Center for British Art, The William K. Rose and Eugene A. Carroll Collection

So, how to make the perfect cup of Georgian era coffee? Mrs Maria Eliza Rundell, in A New System of Domestic Cookery, 1808, gives us a recipe.

To make Coffee

Put two ounces of fresh ground coffee, of the best quality, into a coffee-pot, and pour eight coffee-cups of boiling water on it; let it boil six minutes, pour out a cupful two or three times, and return it again; then put two or three isinglass-chips into it, and pour one large spoonful of boiling water on it; boil it five minutes more, and set the pot by the fire to keep it hot for ten minutes, and you will have coffee of a beautiful clearness.

Fine cream should always be served with coffee, and either pounded sugar-candy, or fine Lisbon sugar.

If for foreigners, or those who like it extremely strong, make only eight dishes from three ounces.  If not fresh roasted, ay it before a fire until perfectly hot and dry; or you may put the smallest bit of fresh butter into a preserving pan of a small size, and, when hot, throw the coffee in it, and toss it about until it be freshened, letting it be cold before ground.

Isinglass is a clarifying collagen, produced from the swim bladders of fish, prior to 1795 from sturgeon but after that also from cod; nowadays we’d use gelatin.  Lisbon sugar, otherwise known as clayed sugar, was manufactured in the colonies of France, Spain and, as the name suggests, Portugal.  Wet pipe-clay was laid on top of the sugar and water poured over which removed the molasses.  Sugar candy is formed of large crystals of sugar, today known as rock candy or sugar.

Girl with a tray, Philip Mercier, late 1740s.
Girl with a tray, Philip Mercier, late 1740s. The State Hermitage Museum

Coffee, then as now, was a popular breakfast drink and an alternative to chocolate. Mrs Rundell also gives us a recipe for the ideal breakfast coffee.

Coffee Milk

Boil a desert-spoonful of ground coffee, in nearly a pint of milk, a quarter of an hour; then put into it a shaving or two of isinglass, and clear it; let it boil a few minutes, and set it on the side of the fire to grow fine.

This is a very fine breakfast; it should be sweetened with real Lisbon sugar of a good quality.

Breakfast by Jean-Étienne Liotard, c.1752.
Breakfast by Jean-Étienne Liotard, c.1752. Bayerische Staatsgemäldesammlungen – Alte Pinakothek München

While tea was often drunk from a dish, or saucer, coffee (and chocolate) was usually – but not exclusively – drunk from cups with or without handles (often referred to as a coffee can). Saucers of the time were generally deeper than those we use today, and where coffee was tipped from the cup into the saucer, it was possibly in order to cool the drink more quickly.

The Woman Taking Coffee by Louis Marin Bonnet, 1774.
The Woman Taking Coffee by Louis Marin Bonnet, 1774. © President and Fellows of Harvard College

An advert for a sale of chinaware in 1750 suggests that handled coffee cups were sold without saucers and that those with saucers were predominantly intended for breakfast.

A neat assortment of CHINA WARE, consisting of Table and Tea Table China, Soup Dishes, Fruit or Salad ditto, Bowls of all Sizes, Tea Pots, Milk Pots, Spoon Boats, Variety of Tea Cups and Saucers, Handled Coffee Cups, Coffees and Saucers, or Breakfast Cups, Chocolates and Saucers, Water Plates, Bread and Butter, or Breakfast ditto, Quart and Pint Mugs, Coffee Pots, Sauce Boats; with several other Pieces too tedious to mention.

Newcastle Courant, 28th July 1750

We’ve all heard of reading your fortune in the tea leaves in the bottom of your cup, but coffee grounds prove just as useful.

Telling fortunes in coffee grounds, 1790.
Telling fortunes in coffee grounds, 1790. Lewis Walpole Library

Here’s luck in the bottom, dear Jane, only see!

My dream & my coffee in a wedding agree.

But ah! my dear Sister, what fate me befall.

I fear I can wait, for no wedding at all.

In coffee ‘tasseography’ it is generally considered unlucky to read your own cup. If you want to know how to read fortunes in coffee, it is explained in the book, The Fortune-teller; or, Peeps into futurity by Louisa Lawford. Wavy lines are good, straight ones bad, circles denote money and human figures are positive omens, as are dogs but other animals are not so lucky.

Three Women Telling Fortune in Coffee, 1780s, Pehr Hilleström.
Three Women Telling Fortune in Coffee, 1780s, Pehr Hilleström.
(Stockholms universitets konstsamling, J. A. Berg Collection #158)

In the 1770s, advertisements began to appear for English coffee, made to a balsamic recipe from herbs, barks and plants which extolled a myriad of health benefits for those who partook. A typical letter of fawning recommendation, published in regional newspapers alongside information on where the coffee could be bought, described the grateful customer as previously suffering from headaches, drowsiness, trembling, belching, wandering pains which flew from one part of the body to another, loss of appetite and more. A canister of this magical coffee, and a cup morning and evening, instantly banished all the complaints. (It perhaps was akin to dandelion coffee, a known coffee substitute.)

Mrs Ellen Sharples by Rolinda Sharples, c.1814.
Mrs Ellen Sharples by Rolinda Sharples, c.1814. Bristol Museum and Art Gallery

Towards the end of the eighteenth-century, in Britain coffee declined somewhat in popularity, losing out to tea which was cheaper and simpler to make.

18th Century Bristol

Many people immediately think of places such as Bath, Harrogate and Cheltenham when thinking about iconic eighteenth-century towns and cities, but Bristol still retains much of its Georgian era heritage. Following a trip to the city recently we thought it would be interesting to take a look at some of the old buildings.

Bristol stands on the river Avon and is spanned by the Clifton Suspension Bridge, which opened in 1864, but was based on a design by Isambard Kingdom Brunel in 1753 as a means of crossing the Avon Gorge and the design was contributed to by the inventor, Sarah Guppy.

View of the Avon and Hotwells Showing the Foundations for Windsor Terrace by Thomas Leeso Rowbotham
View of the Avon and Hotwells Showing the Foundations for Windsor Terrace by Thomas Leeso Rowbotham; Bristol Museums, Galleries & Archives.

Bristol was well-known as a centre for trade and was the second largest port until the mid-eighteenth century when Liverpool took over the position as it had more capacity. Bristol’s main trades were in sugar, coffee, tobacco and chocolate which were produced in Caribbean by the slave trade.

One of the main streets in Bristol  that has survived largely intact is that of Corn Street, which now accommodates banks, shops, restaurants and an indoor market, known as St Nicholas Market.

Corn Street, Bristol © Sarah Murden
Corn Street, Bristol © Sarah Murden

Within the market itself there is an old pub, known as the Rummer, which has stood there since 1742 and is still open today.

The Rummer Hotel © Sarah Murden
The Rummer Hotel © Sarah Murden

The building had side structures with two storeys of shops and offices which were used by insurance dealers. One of these became the Corn Exchange and was formally opened on 18th October 1813.

The Exchange, Bristol © Sarah Murden
The Exchange, Bristol © Sarah Murden

From the Cheltenham Chronicle, 28 October 1813

On Monday last the new established Corn Market in the Exchange, Bristol was regularly opened. The boxes in which samples are exhibited upon the plan of Mark Lane, London, form a line on the south side. Considerable business was transacted; and no doubt great benefit will be derived from the establishment. The market days are Monday and Thursday. A very respectable party dined together at the Rummer Tavern, after business was over to celebrate the opening.

The Corn Exchange building which leads into the markets was built around 1740, by John Wood the Elder.  Outside the building are four pillars, known as ‘the nails’.

The Nails, Corn Street, Bristol © Sarah Murden
The Nails, Corn Street, Bristol © Sarah Murden

The oldest pillar is reputed to date back to the end of the Elizabethan era. The second oldest was given by Bristol merchant Robert Kitchen, who died in 1594. The other two are dated 1625 and 1631. On top of the pillars were ‘containers’ with slightly raised edges which were used by merchants, the money would be placed inside the container without risk of it falling out. It is said that the phrase ‘paying on the nail’ originates from the use of these (it’s a great story, but probably not true).

Also, on the front of the building there is a clock, You can see from this photo that there are two ‘minute’ hands, one in red, the other black. The reason for this is that Bristol had its own time which was ten minutes slower than Greenwich Mean Time but, with the advent of the railways, it was necessary to have a standard time, i.e. GMT, but Bristol also retained its own local time.

The Corn Exchange clock, showing the 2nd minute hand, ten minutes behind GMT © Sarah Murden
The Corn Exchange clock, showing the 2nd minute hand, ten minutes behind GMT © Sarah Murden

The Commercial Rooms

The Commercial Rooms, Bristol © Sarah Murden
The Commercial Rooms, Bristol © Sarah Murden

In November 1808 funds were raised to build an exclusive club for merchants to meet. The sum of £10,000 was raised within a 24-hour period, but it wasn’t until February 1810 that adverts began to appear in the newspapers for tradesmen to apply via sealed bids to carry out the work and the first stone was laid on 19th March 1810.  The portico is of the Grecian Ionic order, with the three statues above personifying the City, Commerce and Navigation. The first president of the Commercial Rooms was John Loudon McAdam, the inventor of Tarmac.

Fry’s Chocolate

Those like us who are lovers of chocolate, will be pleased to know that Bristol was also renowned for its chocolate manufacture; way back in the late 1720s Joseph Fry senior invested in an apothecary, Walter Churchman who found the ideal way to produce chocolate and set up a factory, Castle Mills. He then bought the patent and on his death his son, Joseph Storrs Fry inherited the business and eventually in 1847, the Fry’s chocolate cream bar as we know it today was born.

Below is an advert from 1750 for his chocolate detailing how to eat it and its benefits.

Chocolate advert, 1750

Advert for Frys chocolate - Caledonian Mercury 11 May 1801
Advert for Fry’s chocolate – Caledonian Mercury 11 May 1801

Royal York Crescent, Clifton

The Royal Crescent, Bristol perched high above the city. © Sarah Murden
The Royal Crescent, Bristol perched high above the city. © Sarah Murden

The area of Clifton stands above the city and was where the affluent of Bristol live, to avoid the squalor of the city itself in the Georgian Era. The main street was the Royal York Crescent. A plan, known as ‘The Bristol Tontine’ was devised on 26th December 1782 by Mr James Lockier, a merchant, to build the Crescent, consisting of 46 houses. There would be 700 shares at £100 each, after the properties were built they were to be sold making the shareholders a substantial profit.

Their aspect was to be nearly due south with views of the Clifton Hill. Each house was to be 25 feet in front and 54 feet in depth. They would have drawing room 27 feet by 23 feet, dining room 27 feet by 17 feet, with excellent lodging rooms, good offices and everything that can contribute to render them desirable dwellings for families of respectability and consequence, with a spacious terrace and shrubbery in front.

It was a fascinating city to visit and far too much to see to include everything in this post, but hopefully it gives a flavour of the city. It was an amazing to see places that would have been so familiar to our Georgian Heroine who lived there in the early 1800s, both in the city itself and also at Clifton.

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View over the Avon. British School. Bristol Museums, Galleries and Archives

Ann Catley – The Feisty Diva

Ann was born around 1745, one of two daughters born to Robert Catley and his wife Jane. Her younger sibling was Mary, also known as Polly. Family life was not easy, her father was a coachman, then publican of a tavern in Norwood, London. Her mother was a washerwoman and expected Ann to follow in her footsteps. As a young girl, she was expected to help her mother with the laundry, washing it and returning it when clean.

Miss Ann Catley in the Character of Euphrosyne, 1777.
Miss Ann Catley in the Character of Euphrosyne, 1777. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Fund.

When she was fifteen she was regarded as a talented singer and was apprenticed for £200, to a William Bates, a music teacher. This was the start of her career in the theatre and one to which she would become very accomplished and one which would serve her well. Her first appearance was aged seventeen, at Vauxhall in the summer of 1762 and later that year she appeared for the first time on the stage at Covent Garden and remained with the company until 1784.

Covent Garden Piazza and Market by John Collet
Covent Garden Piazza and Market by John Collet; Museum of London

However, unknown to her father things were not quite as they seemed with Bates, the two did not get on well, and he regarded Ann as difficult and threatened to return her to her father and to sue him, instead in 1763, he sent her to Sir Francis Delaval, allegedly to continue her education, but the reality was somewhat different.

Francis Blake Delaval (1727-1771) (after Joshua Reynolds, 18th century)
Francis Blake Delaval (1727-1771) (after Joshua Reynolds, 18th century); Wikimedia

This whole sorry saga made headline news when a court case ensued, heard before the leading judge of the day, Lord Mansfield who was shocked by what had been going on. Behind the scenes a lawyer had drawn up a contract which stipulated that Bates should receive profits from Ann’s signing, Delaval should pay Bates £200 for Ann.  Ann had effectively been sold as a mistress. The judge was appalled by this and declared that the sale of Ann was grossly against common decency. He ordered that Ann be released from Delaval and that she should not be returned to her father.

During her time with Delaval she reputedly had two children and another, Edward, who, she claimed was the son of King George III’s son Edward, Duke of York, this seems unlikely as he died 1767, and there appears to be no evidence of Ann having children until the end of 1768, but rumours abounded about her having relationships with a variety of gentlemen. Ann was now left to her own devices with three children to provide for she continued working in theatres around Britain, earning significant sums of money, so the likelihood of her need to make money in other ways seems unlikely.

Ann, took her sister Mary in to look after her children, but, by all accounts, she treated her sibling dreadfully. Mary was abused both verbally, Ann had a very sharp tongue and even sharper nails. She frequently caused Mary to have a black eye or a bloody nose.

Ann, did, however, have some sort of moral compass as this anecdote confirms. A married and somewhat debauched gentleman paid a great deal of attention to Ann. Ann repelled his advances, but he kept trying and on this occasion sent her a hamper of champagne of the most expensive champagne money could buy. Ann had had enough of this, she received the hamper with thanks. But that evening she sent it back to his home address, with a card directed to his wife informing her of the fact. At supper that night at dinner, the wife proposed a glass of champagne. Her husband was furious at his wife’s extravagance and she said that it had been given to her as a present and showed him the card, sent by Ann. The outcome of that is left to your imagination.

A Priestess of Bacchus (Anne Catley), c.1779; John Raphael Smith after John Dowman.
A Priestess of Bacchus (Ann Catley), c.1779; John Raphael Smith after John Dowman. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Ann was very much the ‘darling of the theatre’ at that time and a fashion icon, with ladies wishing to emulate her, having their hair ‘Catleyfied’. Whilst working in Dublin, there were in 1763, rumours that Ann was pregnant, but if so, no proof of a birth seems to exist, but ‘fake news’ is nothing new. Around 1767, Ann met Francis Lascelles and to the world, they appeared as husband and wife, however, to date, no proof of this marriage exists.

Francis, whether the father to all of Ann’s eleven children or not, accepted responsibility for them when he gave his name as father at their baptisms, the children were Rowland (1768), Edward Paoli (1770), Hugh (1772), Frances (1774), Rowley and Francis (both 1775), Jane (1776), Elizabeth (1784), Edward Robert (1787), Charlotte and George Robert, for whom no baptisms can be found, but who were named in her will.

In 1780, some difference had arisen between Ann and the theatre managers concerning the terms upon which she was to be engaged, for the season. One of the managers called upon her, at her lodgings on Drury Lane to settle it. The maid was going to show the gentleman upstairs and to call the mistress ‘No, no’ cried the actress, who was in the kitchen, and heard the Manager’s voice,

‘there is no occasion to show the gentleman to a room, I am busy below making apple dumplings for my brats. You know whether you have a mind to give me the money I ask, or not. I am not one of your fine ladies, who get a cold or a toothache and can’t sing. If you have a mind to give me the money, say so; my mouth shall not open for a farthing less. So good morning to you – and don’t keep the girl there in the passage; for I want her to put the dumplings in the post while I nurse the child’.

We can only assume that Ann got her own way on that occasion as she appeared to do with most things, she was nothing, if not feisty. The couple seemed to live in harmony with their brood and during her later years, Ann had become very charitable and frequently helped the poor with gifts and money.

Helpfully, Ann left a will, which, without saying as much, confirms her status as being unmarried, it was written as Miss Ann Cately (sic). At that time, had she been married her estate would have automatically transferred to her husband, whereas Ann was able to make her own will and left virtually everything to her surviving children including a house that she purchased for her daughters.

The couple owned a handsome house near Brentford where Ann was to spend her remaining days until her death in 1789 from consumption which she had suffered from for some considerable time.

UPDATE 18.4.2018

Thanks to one of our lovely readers we have been alerted to the above portrait which appears to be a relatively unknown painting of Ann (Nancy) Catley. It was loaned by John Rhodes of Potternewton House, Leeds, (a major art collector in the north of England), to the National Exhibition of 1867.

The label on the reverse of the painting records it as having been painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, We finally managed to track down a record of it exhibited at the above exhibition. So hopefully this really is a portrait of Ann.

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Portrait of Ann Catley courtesy of Lewis Walpole Library

 

Eighteenth Century Agony Aunts, Part Two

We continue our look at the replies to questions by our eighteenth-century agony aunts, we hope you enjoy them. We have to confess, the first one caused much hilarity here at All Things Georgian, both in terms of the question and its response!

Be not over hasty to bury those who die from an apoplexy

Question: A friend of mine was watching her friend who was busy making cheese when he suddenly fell head first into the vat of curd with just his feet sticking out. Someone went to fetch help and managed to get him out. The doctor tried to bleed him, but to no avail, so he was put to bed to get warm, but nothing would revive him, so he was pronounced dead. When it came time to bury him, a knocking could be heard on the coffin. The coffin was opened, and he was alive. Could you tell me how he managed to stay so still as to be presumed dead?

Answer: This must have been a very strong apoplectic fit during which time spirits entered his body, chiefly into his heart, making it seem to have stopped. Our advice is not to be too hasty to bury someone, make sure they are in fact dead first.

The Dead Alive!
The Dead Alive! Lewis Walpole Library

A young woman will not bed with her husband

Question: We have been married for a while now and my wife promised she would never change once married, but now we are married she won’t sleep with me. Can she lawfully do this?

Answer: NO! she entered a contract with you in the presence of God,  ‘to obey, to serve, honour and keep you, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, as long as you both shall live’, so she is in breach of that contract.

Scene in a Bedchamber; British School, c.1700
Scene in a Bedchamber; British School, c.1700; V&A

A gentleman of 500 pounds a year keeps me company

Question: I am a young woman with about 500 pounds in my account. A very charming young man of about the same wealth keeps me company, but he is adamant that he won’t marry. I love him very much but I’m not sure it is reciprocated. What should I do?

Answer: – Get rid of him, he’s not worth the trouble, look for someone worthy who will love you and marry you.

A beau desires to make himself acceptable to the ladies

Question: You give such wise advice that I simply had to write to you to ask what I need to do to create a good impression of myself amongst the Beau Monde. Please help me.

Answer: From the tone of your question it does sound as if you need some assistance. We would recommend that you are brisk in your repartee; let every action captivate the air, the flourish when taking snuff, the twirl of the wig will work wonders. Be witty, but not impertinent. Make sure that you are right on point when following the fashion of the day. Make sure you write your letters neatly and fold them nicely and ideally add a drop of scent to them. We hope these suggestions will be of assistance to your future happiness.

A young lady with 800 pounds pines for a husband

Question: I live in the country but do visit the town. I have 800 pounds, but I still can’t find myself a husband, why is that?

Answer: We see two issues with this –  firstly, you live in the country so unless you are able to spend more time in the town you will never meet a suitable husband as he will need time to get to know you. Secondly, 800 pounds really isn’t enough to catch a good husband, you need at least 1,000 pounds, so get saving.

In Fashion, Out of Fashion.
In Fashion, Out of Fashion. Lewis Walpole Library

Love more difficult to conceal than reveal

Question: There is a young lady that I am in love with, but I don’t think she even realizes it, she doesn’t know me, and I am not acquainted with anyone in her household. I am going abroad shortly, and I would like her to know before I depart. What should I do?

Answer: It is harder to conceal your feelings than to reveal them, so if she isn’t aware by now of your existence or your feelings by now then we feel that she isn’t worth your trouble.

Lovers in a Landscape by Pieter Jan Van Reysschoot, 1740
Lovers in a Landscape by Pieter Jan Van Reysschoot, 1740

 A wife desires to know if she should live with her husband

Question: My husband has been cheating on me and now has an illegitimate child with the other woman which he denies. He has also had other affairs and has acquired something worse. He says he is sorry and it won’t happen again, so should I forgive him? Your speedy answer is sincerely sought.

Answer:  We would recommend keeping him on a tight rein. If he truly reforms then maybe remain with him, if not, you need a ‘plan B’.

Husband discovered in act of kissing a maid . Courtesy of Lewis Walpole Library
Husband discovered in the act of kissing a maid. Courtesy of Lewis Walpole Library

An ugly old maid

Question: What is unhappier than an ugly old maid?

Answer: It is possible for a handsome young maid, to be unhappier than an ugly old one; for happiness consists in our own mind and not in the opinion of others. Therefore, an ugly old maid, who thinks she neither looks old or ugly is happier than a handsome young maid, who is not content with the beauty nature has given her and is continually trying to improve it.

An Old Maid on a Journey by James Gillray

 

The Misses Van by Lady Salisbury, 1791.

Eighteenth Century Agony Aunts

We came across the following publication which caused us more than a little amusement, so we thought we would share a few snippets with you. The Gentleman and Lady of Pleasure’s Amusement published 1759. The book is a series of questions about eighteenth-century dilemmas with the author(s) offering replies – something akin to agony aunts of the day.

For ease of reading, we have updated the questions and their replies into today’s language. So, here below is a sample of the 80 questions in the book, with more to follow next week.

A woman swearing a child.
A woman swearing a child. Lewis Walpole Library

A young lady is pregnant and not sure how it happened.

Question: I am in the prime of life and not unattractive, one of two daughters to a loving and industrious father. I now think I am pregnant, not sure how or when it happened, but I’m worried that my father will disinherit me.  My question being, is it possible for me to have become pregnant whilst asleep as that is the only way it could have happened, and didn’t know about it? Also, is it legal for me to kill the embryo so that my father doesn’t find out?

Answer: It is highly unlikely that you could have become pregnant without knowing it unless you were very drunk or having a swooning fit. Given that neither of these seem likely, we are sure that you will be fine, so stop worrying about it. In answer to your second question – that would be murder and treated accordingly.

A gentleman in love with two sisters.

Question: I’ve been dating two sisters, both equally beautiful and talented. I know I can’t have them both, what should I do?

Answer: As you appear to love them both, you can’t pretend to either, as we presume you expect a whole heart in return for only half of yours!

The Misses Van by Lady Salisbury, 1791.
The Misses Van by Lady Salisbury, 1791. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

A young gentleman twice married to one lady

Question: Before I reached the age of consent (21) I married a young lady, without telling my family. Now that I am of the age of consent, can I lawfully marry her a second time in the presence of my parents?

Answer: Yes, effectively you are renewing your vows, it is not illegal to marry the same person twice, it is only illegal to marry someone else whilst still married to the first person.

The Village Wedding, Thomas Falcon Marshall
The Village Wedding, Thomas Falcon Marshall; Fylde Borough Council

An Old Maid has an inclination for a young man

Question: I’m an old maid and going grey, but I’d like to marry a ‘toy boy’, but I’m not sure he would want me, although I have plenty of money, but … there’s a wretched old bachelor in the way who declares his love for me – or perhaps just my money. What should I do?

Answer: As you’re grey already, speed is necessary for any decision, so we’ll reply with haste. Whichever appears first, lock them in, throw away the key and keep them there – haste is paramount.

An advertisement for a husband! Lewis Walpole Library
An advertisement for a husband. Lewis Walpole Library

The Devil

Question: What sex is the devil?

Answer: By his roughness one assumes male, but as he often appears in petticoats, we believe him a hermaphrodite.

A wife wants to read her husband’s mail

Question: Is it acceptable for me to read his mail without his consent?

Answer: Goodness, if you opened his mail once, where could that lead? But seriously, a good husband wouldn’t object to you reading his mail – once opened by him, of course.

Anonymous Letter by Thomas Rowlandson
Anonymous Letter by Thomas Rowlandson. Lewis Walpole Library

I promised to marry her

Question: I made a promise to marry a young lady whilst under the influence of drink, although I didn’t really mean it. My uncle, who is my guardian expects me to marry a young, wealthy widow, what should I do as the young lady says I’m committed to her and that I can’t go back on my promise which I did repeat again when sober?

Answer: Whilst it wasn’t very clever to have proposed to her when under the influence, you did repeat it when sober. Hard luck, you’ve made the commitment, so you must follow it through.

The Proposal by Thomas Clater
The Proposal by Thomas Clater; Stockport Heritage Services

An apprentice to trade for himself

Question: I’m not asking for myself, but, an acquaintance of mine is an apprentice to a surgeon and a friend of his contracted a disease from a young girl. He approached the apprentice for a cure for the condition. The apprentice provided the cure and was paid for it. Is it acceptable for him to keep the payment or should it belong to his master?

Answer: Whilst employed by the master they are duty bound to give it to their master or to advise their master what has occurred and find out how the master wishes to deal with it.

We do hope you have enjoyed some of these anecdotes from our eighteenth-century agony aunts.

Coursers Taking the Field at Hatfield Park, Hertfordshire, the Seat of the Marquess of Salisbury by James Pollard, exhibited 1824. The Marchioness, in the blue livery of the hunt, is in the forefront of the scene, at the age of 73, peering through an eye glass attached to her whip.

An Unconventional Marchioness: The Life of Lady Salisbury

In our earlier blog, looking at entertainments in Regency London, it was remarked that the Marchioness of Salisbury was unusual in opening her house to guests upon a Sunday. She always held a musical conversazione upon that day during the London season, attended by those of high rank and the best musicians.

The Pic-Nic Orchestra. © The Trustees of the British Museum The Marchioness of Salisbury is depicted blowing a french horn while the Earl of Cholmondeley plays the flute.
The Pic-Nic Orchestra. © The Trustees of the British Museum
The Marchioness of Salisbury is depicted blowing a french horn while the Earl of Cholmondeley plays the flute.

Mary Amelia Hill (known as Emily Mary) was born in 1750, the daughter of Wills Hill, 2nd Viscount Hillsborough (later 1st Earl of Hillsborough and 1st Marquess of Downshire). In 1773 she married James Cecil, Viscount Cranborn of Hatfield House, Hertfordshire. Her new husband was the only son and heir of the 6th Earl of Salisbury and, just seven years after their marriage, James became the 7th earl and Emily Mary his countess (the couple were later elevated in the peerage to the 1st Marquess and Marchioness of Salisbury). Lady Salisbury was known as a prominent political hostess (a Tory and a fervent supporter of the monarchy) and was also a keen and talented sportswoman.  It is perhaps unkind to describe her as eccentric, but she certainly paid little heed to many conventional norms as she determinedly walked her own path.

The south east view of Hatfield House, the seat of the Marquess of Salisbury, 1812.
The south east view of Hatfield House, the seat of the Marquess of Salisbury, 1812. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Lady Salisbury was seen as the political opposite to the Whig supporting Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire and noted as a model female canvasser.

Her proceedings have been marked with such delicacy and dignity, as to shame the mobbing conduct of her rivals.

A trendsetter rather than a follower, Lady Salisbury was often to be seen in clothes of her own design and she rode enthusiastically to hounds well into her dotage, dressed in a sky blue riding habit with black collar and cuffs, a hunting cap on her head. Her slight frame belied her strength and she had an almost limitless energy. She took over the ownership of the Hertfordshire hounds in 1793 when her husband was forced by ill-health to resign his mastership and moved the kennels lock, stock and barrel to Hatfield House; they were subsequently known as the Hatfield hounds.

The Marchioness of Salisbury (Diana return'd from the Chace) by James Gillray.
The Marchioness of Salisbury (Diana return’d from the Chace) by James Gillray. © National Portrait Gallery, London

Archery was another of Lady Salisbury’s passions and she was also a talented artist.

The Misses Van by Lady Salisbury, 1791.
The Misses Van by Lady Salisbury, 1791. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Described as pretty, witty, intelligent and outspoken, she was married – reasonably happily it would seem – for thirteen years before having four children in quick succession, Georgiana Charlotte Augusta (1786), Emily (1789), James Brownlow William (1792) and Caroline (1793). Sadly, the youngest, Caroline, died in childhood and Lady Salisbury was widowed in 1823.

Mary Amelia 'Emily Mary' Cecil, 1st Machioness of Salisbury (1750 – 1835) by Sir Joshua Reynolds.
Mary Amelia ‘Emily Mary’ Cecil, 1st Marchioness of Salisbury (1750 – 1835) by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Wikimedia Commons

As the years passed and, well into her 70s, Lady Salisbury continued to run rings around people half her age; she was affectionately known as ‘Old Sally’. Even when her eyesight was failing and she had to be tied into her saddle, she still rode with the hunt.

Coursers Taking the Field at Hatfield Park, Hertfordshire, the Seat of the Marquess of Salisbury by James Pollard, exhibited 1824. The Marchioness, in the blue livery of the hunt, is in the forefront of the scene, at the age of 73, peering through an eye glass attached to her whip.
Coursers Taking the Field at Hatfield Park, Hertfordshire, the Seat of the Marquess of Salisbury by James Pollard, exhibited 1824. The Tate.
The Marchioness, in the blue livery of the hunt, is in the forefront of the scene, at the age of 73, peering through an eye glass attached to her whip.

The manner of Old Sally’s death was just as unconventional as her life had been. She had remained at Hatfield House after her husband’s death, living with her son, his wife and her grandchildren in her own apartments consisting of two suites of rooms. At 6 o’clock on the evening of the 27th November 1835, Lady Salisbury, after dressing for dinner, sat down at her writing desk. It is thought that some item of her clothing, perhaps the feathers she was wearing in her hair, caught alight from the three candles burning beside her but, whatever the cause, an intense fire broke out in her suite. By the time it was discovered (by a needlewoman named Brown who noticed the passageway was full of smoke), the room in which Lady Salisbury had been sitting was a mass of flames and so densely filled with smoke that it was impossible for anyone to enter.

A female servant, and one of old Lady Salisbury’s men-servants, attempted to do so; but the man fell down stupefied by the smoke, as soon as he had crossed the threshold, and was with difficulty saved. It appears certain that the fire must have commenced about twenty minutes before it was discovered; and the apartments being all wainscoted, its progress was terrifically rapid. No vestige of the Marchioness was discovered by any one; nor was a sound heard by those who first approached the room, except the moaning of an old favourite dog who was shut up with her.

Lord Salisbury arrived on the scene and had to be forcibly held back from attempts to rush into the flames and save his mother. The west wing of Hatfield House was destroyed and all that remained of the dowager marchioness were a few fragments of bone.

Sources:

Spectator, 5th December 1835

Cecil [née Hill], Mary Amelia [Emily Mary], marchioness of Salisbury by E H Chalus, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography

Tales of English Eccentrics, Tony Grumley-Grennan

Her First Dance, William Quiller Orchardson

A guide to entertaining in Regency London

Social Meetings

The social meetings of the fashionable world consist of balls, musical parties, and routs. The latter appear to be formed on the model of the Italian conversaziones; except that they are in general so crowded, as entirely to preclude conversation. Cards, upon these occasions, are usually provided for the senior part of the company.

An evening party, George Cruikshank.
An evening party, George Cruikshank. The Met

General Expense of these Entertainments

The expense attendant on these entertainments depends entirely on the species of amusement which is provided. If balls are given, the expense is very considerable, as it is usual to give a supper to the company; and if in the early part of the season, April and May, the fruit is necessarily very scarce, and of high price. It is said, that a ball given by the Marquess of Anglesea [sic] cost 1,500l. These repasts are generally provided by some confectioner of repute, at a stipulated sum, (from 400l. to 1,000l.) who also provides chairs, glasses, and plates. The most celebrated of these are Gunter and Grange.

Elegant Company Dancing by Thomas Rowlandson.
Elegant Company Dancing by Thomas Rowlandson. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

General Time of Assembling

The time for assembling is generally from ten to twelve o’clock, or even later, as many persons visit several of these places in one evening. The hours of departure are various and uncertain; but from balls, the latest being sometimes seven or eight o’clock in the morning before the whole have separated. In this case, it is usual to cause coffee, tea, &c. to be handed to the company.

The Next Dance, George Goodwin Kilburne,
The Next Dance, George Goodwin Kilburne, Wikimedia Commons

Dress

The dress for these entertainments is that of the most reigning fashion. The persons who provide most fashionable for ladies on these occasions, are Mrs Gill, Cork Street; Mrs Griffiths, Little Ryder Street; Mrs Lacon, Albermarle Street; Miss Steward, &c. &c. The principal hairdressers and perfumers are, Woodman, in Piccadilly; Marshall, Wynne, Smyth, Rigge, &c.

Her First Dance, William Quiller Orchardson
Her First Dance, William Quiller Orchardson; Tate

Sunday Parties

Parties on Sundays are not very common. The Marchioness of Salisbury, however, has always a conversazione during the season on that day. It is usually attended by great numbers of persons of rank and distinction, and frequently some eminent musical professors are attendant on the occasion. The Countess St Antonio also sometimes gives musical parties on Sundays.

The Rehearsal, George Goodwin Kilburne
The Rehearsal, George Goodwin Kilburne

Sunday Dinners

Many grand dinners are constantly given on this day.

Regency dinner table.
Image sourced via Pinterest.

Source:

Leigh’s New Picture of London: or, a view of the political, religious, medical, literary, municipal, commercial, and moral state of the British Metropolis: presenting a brief and luminous guide to the stranger, on all subjects connected with general information, business, or amusement. 1818

La Duthé couchée by Lié Louis Périn-Salbreux.

Rosalie Duthé: courtesan, opera dancer and the first ‘dumb blonde’

Courtesan, dancer and – reputedly – the first ‘dumb blonde’, Catherine-Rosalie Duthé was a true eighteenth-century celebrity.

Portrait of a young lady by Jean-Honoré Fragonard, 1770. Traditionally identified as Rosalie Duthé.
Portrait of a young lady by Jean-Honoré Fragonard, 1770. Traditionally identified as Rosalie Duthé. © Carmen Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection on loan at the Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza

She was born on the 23rd November 1748, in Versailles to Jean-François Gérard, an ‘officier’ or gentleman servant to the king at the royal palace, and his wife, Louise-Rosalie Caumont. At the registration of her birth four days later, Catherine-Rosalie’s father was absent – perhaps away in attendance upon Louis XV – and the official document was signed by her grandmother and Christophe Broilleux, her godfather.

A view of the Palace of Versailles towards the garden.
A view of the Palace of Versailles towards the garden. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

After being educated at the convent of Saint Aure in Paris she was sent, aged 15, to live with an aunt, Madame Duval. It is claimed that Catherine-Rosalie’s aunt introduced her to two well-known courtesans and actresses, Marie and Géneviève Rinteau of Verrières, the beautiful daughters of a lemonade merchant who caught the eye of men such as Maurice, Count of Saxony. (In 1748, the same year as Catherine-Rosalie’s birth, Marie had given birth to an illegitimate daughter, Marie Aurore by the Count of Saxony.)

Marie Rinteau, called Mademoiselle de Verrières by François Hubert Drouais, 1761.
Marie Rinteau, called Mademoiselle de Verrières by François Hubert Drouais, 1761. Metropolitan Museum of Art

Marie and Géneviève took the young, pink-cheeked and fair-haired Catherine-Rosalie under their wing, and, at their home on the rue de la Chaussée d’Antin, taught her the tricks of their trade. Under their tutelage, she learnt signing, comedy and gallantry. Probably very intelligent, the tag of being the ‘first dumb blonde’ was given as Catherine-Rosalie was lampooned in her day due to her habit of leaving long pregnant pauses before speaking. Soon, the young Mademoiselle Gérard was dancing at the Paris Opera and adopted the name by which she is remembered, Rosalie Duthé.

Mademoiselle Duthé dancing by Jean-Frédéric Schall.
Mademoiselle Duthé dancing by Jean-Frédéric Schall. Sothebys

She had watched Marie and Géneviève profit from their various lovers and determined to follow in their path. Arthur Richard Dillon, Archbishop of Narbonne, the French born son of Count Dillon (an Irish Jacobite), was her first protector; Rosalie was just 17, he was 44.

Many men were then seduced by Rosalie’s youthful beauty and she even captivated the young Duke of Chartres (the future Philippe, Duke of Orléans, Philippe Égalité). With this royal approval, even more men hastened to pay court to Rosalie, and the more lovers she collected, the wealthier she became. Even Christian VII of Denmark, on a visit to Paris, fell for her charms.

Portrait of Rosalie Duthé by Lié Louis Périn-Salbreux, 1775.
Portrait of Rosalie Duthé by Lié Louis Périn-Salbreux, 1775. Collection privée, Foulon de Vaulx

With her new found money and fame, Rosalie was painted by many of the best artists in France. The Count of Artois, youngest brother to Louis XVI (and the future Charles X) saw her portrait and hastened to Paris to court the beauty (his wife, Marie Thérèse of Savoy, was pregnant with their first child at the time).

Every night he came to follow her in the alleys of the Palais-Royal, publicly displaying a passion that he should have hidden for the sake of his rank.

Showering Rosalie with jewels and money, Artois conquered her affections and the two enjoyed a six month affair, from July 1775 to February 1776. One story relates that during these months, Rosalie was turned out of the Champs Elysées by Queen Marie Antoinette when she appeared with her carriage and equipage more sumptuously decorated with rare and expensive flowers than that of the Queen. Marie Thérèse of Savoy could not compete with Rosalie in terms of beauty. Playing on her surname (thé means tea in French) critics unkindly remarked that:

The prince, having had an indigestion with the cake of Savoy, comes to take tea in Paris.

Marie-Thérèse de Savoie, comtesse d'Artois by François Hubert Drouais, c.1775.
Marie-Thérèse de Savoie, comtesse d’Artois by François Hubert Drouais, c.1775. Via Wikimedia

Artois commissioned Lié Louis Périn-Salbreux to paint Rosalie sitting naked on the end of her bath, a work of art which the count displayed in the bathroom at château de Bagatelle, his pleasure house in the Bois de Boulogne.  Another portrait of Rosalie by Périn-Salbreux, possibly also painted for her royal lover, depicts her laying semi-naked on a bed, her hair loose and falling around her shoulders.

La Duthé couchée by Lié Louis Périn-Salbreux, 1775.
La Duthé couchée by Lié Louis Périn-Salbreux, 1775. Reims; musée des beaux-arts

Criss-crossing the Channel, Rosalie entertained a succession of wealthy and influential men both in Paris and in London. Paris was her home though, and it was there that she invested her money is a series of fine mansions but, in 1786, she sailed once again for England, imported, as it were, by George Wyndham, 3rd Earl of Egremont whom she ruined financially.

During the summer of 1786, the 4th Earl of Cholmondeley and Madame Saint-Albin were to be found in Kingsgate at Margate. The earl had been the former lover of Grace Dalrymple Elliott, until that infamous courtesan left for Paris and the arms of the Duke of Orléans. Marie-Françoise Henriette, Madame Saint-Albin had supplanted Grace in the earl’s affections and they were taking the sea air in the same house he had spent a summer of pleasure in with Grace almost a decade earlier. The couple were joined there by Lord Coleraine, another disreputable rake accompanied by his new courtesan of choice, Marie-Françoise Henriette’s countrywoman and compatriot, Rosalie Duthé. The two Frenchwomen moved in England, as they had in France, in similar circles. Mrs Elliott was also Rosalie’s contemporary; they both shared a lover in the person of the Duke of Orléans so were rivals, if not friends.

Presumed portrait of Rosalie Duthé, attributed to Claude-Jean-Baptiste Hoin.
Presumed portrait of Rosalie Duthé, attributed to Claude-Jean-Baptiste Hoin. MFA Boston

Rosalie escaped the terrors of the French Revolution, remaining in safety in England although she was declared an émigré and her house which she had owned since 1775 on rue du Mont-Blanc (at the corner of rue Saint-Lazare, formerly the rue de la Chaussée d’Antin and where she had lived with Marie and Géneviève Rinteau) was forfeit and declared ‘national goods’ in her absence.

She returned to Paris briefly to try to reclaim her property, aided by her friend and banker Jean-Frédéric Perregaux who commissioned a portrait of Rosalie by Danloux which was painted in London during 1792.

Portrait of Mlle Duthé by Henri-Pierre Danloux, c.1792.
Portrait of Mlle Duthé by Henri-Pierre Danloux, c.1792. © MAD, Paris / photo: Jean Tholance

Perregaux was the banker of choice for foreign travellers to Paris including Rosalie’s friend, Lord Cholmondeley and of known spies, as well as of courtesans like Rosalie. He lived on the same Parisian street, the rue de la Chaussée d’Antin. It is said that when Perregaux died, in 1808, he did so while contemplating his portrait of Rosalie Duthé who had remained one of his greatest friends.

Rosalie remained in London until 1816, then returned to Paris. She continued to receive many visitors and lived peacefully although in her later years she was almost blind. She died 24th September 1830 aged 82 years and was buried in the Père-Lachaise cemetery underneath two cedar trees. Rosalie left no will but two of her cousins, Madame Malacrida, a widow living in the Rue Laffitte, and Marie-Angélique Malacrida profited from the sale of her furniture which made 9,000 francs.

Rosalie Duthé by Antoine Vestier
Rosalie Duthé by Antoine Vestier. Bonhams

Notes:

Catherine-Rosalie’s father is named as Jean-Baptiste Gérard in many sources, but on the register of her birth, it is Jean-François.

The rue de la Chaussée d’Antin was renamed the rue de Mirabeau in 1793 in honour of the revolutionary leader Honoré Gabriel Riqueti, Count of Mirabeau and then, when Mirabeau was proscribed in 1793, the rue du Mont-Blanc in 1793, but it reverted to its former name in 1815.

Marie Rinteau is the great-grandmother of the writer, George Sand.

Sources:

Souvenirs de Mlle Duthé de l’Opéra (1748-1830), Louis-Michaud, 1909

Archives nationales, Paris

Registres paroissiaux et d’état civil, St Louis, Versailles

The Morning Post, 15th September, 1786

On Blondes by Joanne Pitman, 2004

Christmas Festivities: Tales, Sketches, and Characters with Beauties of the Modern Drama, in Four Specimens by John Poole, 1845

The trial of Lord Baltimore for alleged rape

Frederick Calvert was born in the early 1730s, son of Charles Calvert, 5th Baron Baltimore. His father was a Gentleman of the Bedchamber in the service of Frederick Louis, Prince of Wales, the son of King George II. Educated at Eton, Frederick Calvert was subsequently described as being ‘one of their less reputable pupils’ for reasons which will become clear.

Frederick Calvert, 6th Baltimore.
Frederick Calvert, 6th Baltimore. Wikimedia Commons

In his early twenties upon the death of his father, Frederick inherited the title 6th Lord Baltimore and shortly after married Diana Egerton, the daughter of Scroop Egerton, 1st Duke of Bridgewater. This marriage was a disaster and the couple formally separated after only three years of marriage due to his obsession with other women. He was very much a young man of means, spending money like water, taking mistresses left, right and centre, with forging a career full of extravagance and licentiousness.

Frederick Calvert, 6th Lord Baltimore. Courtesy of thepeerage.com
Frederick Calvert, 6th Lord Baltimore. Courtesy of thepeerage.com

It is reputed that his obsession for sexual gratification was such that he converted his house into a something more akin to a seraglio and that it was most certainly not the sort of place that any respectable woman would consider visiting. He even used Elizabeth Griffenberg, wife of Dr Griffenberg and Anne Harvey otherwise known as Anne Darby to find suitable women for his pleasure.

It was in 1768 however, that he found fame, but for all the wrong reasons. In March 1768, he found himself on trial, accused of raping a young woman, Miss Sarah Woodcock. Also accused, as accessories to the fact, were Griffenberg and Harvey.

A Perspective View of Tower Hill and the Place of Execution of the Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino on Monday 18 of August 1746.
A Perspective View of Tower Hill. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Sarah, the daughter of Joseph Woodcock was a milliner and lived near Tower Hill in London with her father and sister. It was in November 1767 that Mrs Harvey visited her shop, was impressed by her beauty and recommended her to Lord Baltimore as someone he might enjoy meeting. With that, he visited her shop twice on the pretext of buying articles from her. He then invited her to attend the theatre with him, but she said that due to her strict upbringing she refused to attend such a venue.

Baltimore, not one to accept failure, was alleged to have hatched a plan to get Sarah to his house by using Mrs Harvey, who was to visit Sarah and persuade Sarah to make up a pair of bespoke laced ruffles for a lady who, if she liked them would become a good customer. Harvey called the next day and paid for the ruffles and asked that they plus some other items be brought to her house in Shoreditch, to which Sarah duly complied. Sarah was then persuaded to travel with Harvey to meet the lady she had spoken of. On reaching the destination she was greeted by Baltimore and Dr Griffenberg and persuade to stay for tea. The evening drew on and Sarah explained that her absence would be noticed, and she needed to get home. Somehow, despite her anxiety, Baltimore persuaded Sarah to stay longer and to have supper with them.

A Milliner's Shop.
A Milliner’s Shop. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

At this stage, Baltimore began to behave improperly toward her with assistance from Harvey and Mrs Griffenberg. Sarah again attempted to leave but was told that no coach could be summoned to take her home and that she would have to stay. They all tried to persuade her to go to bed, but Sarah would not settle and walked about the entire night. In the morning Sarah spotted a young woman walking past the window, she tried to summon her to ask her to let her father know that she was being held there against her will. This attempt to free herself proved unsuccessful.

Baltimore and Dr Griffenberg appeared and were astonished at her behaviour as Baltimore had promised that she could go home at twelve o’clock. Sarah said she wished to leave immediately. Baltimore, on the other hand, had other ideas and declared his undying love for her and showed her a letter he had prepared to send to her father, along with two hundred pounds, reassuring him that his daughter was safe. Sarah disbelieved him, again she tried to reach the window to shout for help but in vain. Sarah by then realised that she could not escape and wept for hours. A letter, it appeared had been sent to her father to meet someone named Smith for Sarah received a reply not from her father, but from her sister.

Sarah was then to spend another night under the roof Baltimore, still distressed, she only calmed when talking to Harvey about a young man who she was very fond of and that they were to settle in business as soon as the marriage should take place.

The following morning Sarah again pleaded with Baltimore to let her go home. At this stage, he became angry and threatened to either throw her out of the window, or send her home in a wheelbarrow, with her petticoats tied over her head, but still, he would not let her leave. Sarah by this time was becoming ill and Baltimore insisted she drink some medicine. After supper he made six several attempts to ravish her within two hours; but she repulsed by him in such a determined manner, that it was impossible for him to accomplish his dishonourable purpose. The following day she was taken to his country estate at Epsom, where she experienced several more acts of indecency. They then returned to London, where Sarah hope to attract the attention of someone she knew in her bid for freedom.

William Murray, 1st Earl of Mansfield by Jean Baptiste van Loo
William Murray, 1st Earl of Mansfield by Jean Baptiste van Loo. © National Portrait Gallery, London

Sarah’s friends, especially a Mr Davis worked out where she might be being held, so went to Baltimore’s house and briefly attracted her attention before Harvey stopped this dialogue. Mr Davis then informed her father of his discovery who immediately took advice from a friend who recommended he apply to Lord Mansfield for a writ of habeas corpus. In the meantime, Baltimore told her that she should see her father and he said he would make a settlement on her for life if she would acknowledge that she had been well treated. This she agreed to, in the hope of obtaining her freedom. She was then told that Mrs Harvey had been taken into custody. The attorney called at Lord Baltimore’s house with a writ of habeas corpus.

A View of Bloomsbury Square in London, 1787.
A View of Bloomsbury Square in London, 1787. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Eventually, he was permitted to speak to Sarah and seemingly ascertained that she was there by her own consent, but that she was anxious to see her father. With this he left, but all parties were summoned to Lord Mansfield’s house in Bloomsbury Square, where Sarah was examined by Lord Mansfield and she told him that she was willing to live with his lordship, but that she desperately wished to see her family and friends first until she realised that he had the power to free her from the situation.

Mrs Griffenberg and Harvey were arrested and taken into custody, a warrant was issued for the arrest of Baltimore. Having been apprehended Baltimore and the women were granted bail to appear at trial in Kingston, Surrey.  The case with all its graphic detail was heard and somehow Baltimore appeared totally convincing. It took the jury just one hour and twenty minutes to reach their verdict – all three were found – not guilty.

Have escaped conviction he decided that there was nothing more for him in England, so sold his entire estate, packed his bags and left for Europe accompanied by an entourage of women. In 1770 he wrote his will, perhaps knowing that his life was to be short-lived. To give him his due, he tried to ensure that as many of his illegitimate children would benefit from his estate. Quite whether he made provision for all of them, remains unknown.

On 4th September 1771 Frederick, Lord Baltimore, proprietor and Governor of Maryland died in Naples from a fever.

The City of Naples.
Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

His body was returned to London, where it lay in state at the Great Room of Exeter Exchange on the Strand. After mourners had retired, a mob broke into the room where the body lay, stripped the room of everything and were preparing to throw the corpse and coffin out of the window, but were prevented at the last minute by a guard who spotted them. Ultimately, he was taken for burial in the family vault.

That concludes the life the of Frederick Calvert, but what became of Sarah after her ordeal? Well, reader, you may well be relieved to know that she found happiness as just a few months later, on 2nd August 1768 Sarah’s name appeared in the marriage register at St Botolph Without Bishopsgate.  She married the young man John Davis. If that name looks familiar it is because he was the gentleman referred to in the court case.

Marriage of John Davis to Sarah Woodcock in the presence of her father Joseph
Marriage of John Davis to Sarah Woodcock in the presence of her father Joseph

Sources used:

Manchester Mercury 15 October 1771

Middlesex Journal or Chronicle of Liberty, January 23, 1772 – January 25, 1772

Eton School Archives

The Ipswich Journal 26 October 1771

Newgate Calendar online – full trial

 

Wagers at White’s

White’s is the oldest gentleman’s club in London. It was founded in 1693 when it was a chocolate house where people visited to drink hot chocolate and have a chat. Towards the end of the 1700s White’s took rooms on St. James’s at which time they limited membership to a certain number of male subscribers and remains exclusive today.

In the second half of the Eighteenth Century, the passion for making wagers reached its height, in those days many members of White’s were almost addicted to chance. Men would stake their guineas lavishly on any chance that might occur to them, bets ranged from a few shillings to hundreds of pounds.

White's Club Coat of Arms by Grignion, Charles, 1721-1810, printmaker. Courtesy of Lewis Walpole Library
White’s Club Coat of Arms by Grignion, Charles, 1721-1810, printmaker. Courtesy of Lewis Walpole Library

Never failing subjects for wagers were the duration of a person’s life, the increase of a lady’s family right through to which raindrop on a window pane would reach the bottom first, but curiously enough the Betting Book contained very few wagers on legitimate matters such as sport and athletics. We thought we would share with you some of the bets placed.

William, the 5th Lord Bryon’s love affairs always proved a popular topic for discussion and therefore an obvious choice to place a wager on. Who would he marry?

September 12th, 1746 – Mr James Jeffreys bets Mr John Jeffreys one hundred guineas that Lord Byron is married to Miss Shaw before Michaelmas 1748. If Lord Byron or Miss Shaw die or either of them marries any other person Mr James Jeffreys loses his hundred guineas.

A kick-up at a hazard table! Rowlandson. Courtesy of Lewis Walpole Library
A kick-up at a hazard table! Rowlandson. Courtesy of Lewis Walpole Library

October 20th, 1746 – Mr James Jeffreys bets Mr Fanshaw fifty guineas that Lord Byron is married to Miss Shaw on or before Lady-day next.  A Captain Draper also went five guineas with Mr Jeffreys in this bet.

It appears that Mr James Jeffreys won his bet as Lord Byron did, in fact, marry Miss Elizabeth Shaw, the daughter and heiress of Besthorpe, Norfolk on March 28th, 1747.

A Worn Out Debauchée. Duke of Queensbury. Courtesy of Yale Center for British Art
A Worn Out Debauchée. Duke of Queensbury. Courtesy of Yale Center for British Art

March 3rd, 1784 – The Duke of Queensbury bets Mr Grenville ten guineas that Mr Fox does not stand a poll for Westminster if the parliament should be dissolved within a month from today. If a coalition takes place between Mr Pitt and Mr Fox this bet is to be off.

A more curious bet Mr Talbot bets Mr Beau Brummell five guineas that one of the editors of the three papers, the Examiner, the British Press and the Chronicle, is committed to prison for libellous matter contained in one of the said three papers before March 29th, 1812.

November 18th, 1817 Mr Bouverie bets Ld. Yarmouth a hundred and fifty that H.R.H the Duke of Clarence has not a legitimate child within 2 years of this day.

Mr Bouverie must have won, as the Duke of Clarence, who became King William IV had no legitimate children.

William IV, when Duke of Clarence (1765-1837). Signed and dated 1791 by Richard Cosway. Courtesy of Royal Collection
William IV, when Duke of Clarence (1765-1837). Signed and dated 1791 by Richard Cosway. Courtesy of Royal Collection

On November 4th, 1754, is entered the following wager, Lord Montfort wagers Sir John Bland one hundred guineas that Mr Nash outlives Mr Cibber. This refers to two very old men, Colley Cibber the actor, and Beau Nash. Below this entry is written in a different hand ‘Both Lord M. and Sir John Bland put an end to their own lives before the bet was decided’.

The first of these tragedies took place on New Year’s Day, 1755. Lord Montfort’s death and the circumstances of it attracted great attention.  He had come to the end of his fortune and had spent vast sums of money on his house, lived in extravagance and no doubt lost heavily at White’s.

The final blow seems to have been the loss of sixteen hundred a year by the deaths on the same day of the Earl of Albemarle and Lord Gage, who presumably paid him annuities during their lives. After this, he became reckless and even staked his life on receiving a government appointment. He hoped to be appointed as the governor of Virginia or to be granted Mastership of the Royal Hounds – he received neither. Immediately after this, he enquired of his friends as to the easiest mode of self-destruction. He allayed these suspicions by asking the same friends to dine with him at White’s that evening. He and his friends saw in the new year together. The following morning Lord Montfort sent for his lawyers and witnesses and having made a will, asked if it would hold good even though a man should shoot himself. He was informed that it would. On receiving this, he asked the lawyer to wait for a minute, stepped into an adjoining room and shot himself.

In September of the same year, the second party to this wager, Sir John Bland of Kippax Park, found himself in financial difficulties reputed to be due entirely to gambling. Walpole said that he had flirted away his whole fortune and that during a single sitting had lost about thirty-two thousand pounds. Sir John shot himself on the road from Calais to Paris.

It could be argued that given members ability to bet on virtually anything that possibly they found it difficult to amuse themselves!

Sources Used

London Evening Standard 22 September 1892

Bourke, Algernon Henry, 1854-1922. The history of Whites [with the Betting Book from 1743 to 1878 and a list of members from 1736 to 1892]

Featured Image

A Club of Gentlemen. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Hellgate – He Lived for The Moment

Once upon a time, there were three brothers, with the surname Barry and with the nicknames ‘Newgate ’alias Augustus, as this was said to be the only prison he had been in.  Henry, known as ‘Cripplegate’ due to his club foot and then there is the one we are going to look at, Richard Barry, the 7th Earl of Barrymore, better known as ‘Hellgate’ as this was the gateway he was destined to enter.

Richard as a child - how angelic! © National Portrait Gallery, London
Richard as a child – how angelic! © National Portrait Gallery, London

Richard was born 1769, the eldest surviving of the four sons born to the 6th Earl of Barrymore and his wife Lady Amelia Stanhope during their short marriage. As the eldest son, Richard naturally inherited his father’s title when he died in August 1773 in Ireland from a fever.

The death of the 6th Earl left Amelia in their London home at Portman Square, to raise alone, a daughter plus the three boys. The youngest, Augustus was born only a few days before his father’s death.

This must have been a dreadful time for her, so she placed Richard under the care of the Reverend John Tickell, Wargrave, Berkshire until he was old enough to go up to Eton which he duly did from 1784 until he was 18.  However, in 1780 Lady Barrymore, aged just 31, died in France, after a lingering illness, her body, preserved in spirits was returned to England for burial. This left the four children, orphans, who were in part raised by their grandmother, Countess Harrington, who appeared to have little control of them allowing them free reign to do as they pleased, so of course, they ran wild.  The death of both parents must have had a profound effect on the children, especially Richard, which might explain the way he lived the rest of his life, for live his life he did in a way that today we call ‘living life on the edge’.

Scrub & Bonniface, or, Three brave lads against one poor Roscius Newgate invt. ; Cripplegate direxit ; Hellgate fecit. Lewis Walpole Library.
Scrub & Bonniface, or, Three brave lads against one poor Roscius Newgate invt. ; Cripplegate direxit ; Hellgate fecit. Lewis Walpole Library.

He rented a house in Wargrave and with his passion for the theatre he borrowed an advance on his inheritance which he would receive when aged twenty-one and had a theatre built opposite the house to indulge his passion. His inheritance was estimated to be around eleven thousand pounds a year, a nest egg which had been accumulating year on year since the death of his father, so around £190,000 when he reached his majority and from then on around £24,000 per year.

Richard certainly enjoyed the finer things in life and was a prolific gambler, lover of horse racing and of boxing and bare fist fighting, both watching and participating in as well as hosting parties for the great and the good of the day including the Prince Regent. He lived at a time when clubs were all the rage and he was a member of most, and if they did not exist he created them, such as the ‘Two O’Clock Club’, which was named for the hour of the morning they met. The ‘Star and Garter’ which was a tavern they met in.

George IV by Sir Thomas Lawrence. © National Portrait Gallery, London
George IV by Sir Thomas Lawrence. © National Portrait Gallery, London

He had an immense passion for gambling and would gamble on virtually anything. One of his more obscure bets took place in 1788 when the newspapers reported a bet between Richard and the Duke of Bedford, that he could produce a man who could eat a live cat. Quite what the sum of this wager was we may never know but he did win his bet two weeks later by producing a man who tore the cat limb from limb and devoured every morsel.  Later that year Richard continued with another of his passions, that of the theatre by performing at the theatre in Brighton.

A Royal Salute
Courtesy of Yale Center for British Art

On another occasion, he wagered that he could beat a Mr Bullock in a race around Brighton. Richard left the gentleman to set the course, the gentleman was somewhat rotund and set the course in incorporate a very narrow lane that Richard was unaware of. Richard gave him a thirty-five-yard start, then he set off, assuming this race would be easy to win. However, when they reached the narrow lane he could not pass Mr Bullock and so Richard lost the bet.

To add to his many vices, Richard had a fondness for the ladies and they for him in return, after all what was there not to like him, on receiving his inheritance he would be exceptionally wealthy, he was tall, very handsome, excellent physique, charming, witty, a skilled boxer, handy with a sword and an excellent horseman. He even learnt a language, which he was reputedly taught by the Duchess of Bolton, which was unintelligible to anyone who was not a party to the secret language, thereby allowing those ‘in the know’ to converse about everyone around them without them understanding a word of it.

His love of women led him to have several liaisons with women, married or otherwise including a Miss Ponsonby who had a connection to the Dukes of Devonshire, but her father put a stop to this liaison as Richard was not a wealthy or possibly suitable match for his daughter. He then had a brief, but intense relationship with a Mary Ann Pearce who benefitted from the luxurious lifestyle, living with him in his splendid house and with her own carriage.

Their relationship came to an end when he eloped in 1792, aged twenty-two, to Gretna Green where he married Charlotte Goulding, the daughter of a London sedan chairman and niece to Lady Letitia (Letty) Lade who had made a scandalous marriage with Sir John Lade, one of the inner circle of the Prince of Wales. In 1791, owing a great deal of money, and in order to stave off his creditors, Richard decided to become a member of Parliament for Heytesbury.

Letitia, Lady Lade by George Stubbs, 1793. Royal Collection
Letitia, Lady Lade by George Stubbs, 1793. Royal Collection

He was a Captain in the Royal Berkshire Militia and had been driving a gig which was taking French prisoners of war to Dover when his musket accidentally discharged. He was buried at Wargrave, Berkshire on 17th March 1793, so didn’t quite make it to his 24th birthday. Even after his death, there were rumours that he had been buried in secret to prevent his creditors from taking his corpse until his considerable debts had been paid. As he died intestate his estate was administered in March 1794 and valued at under £5,000, so did he gamble away all his wealth? It certainly would appear to be the case.

Sources Used

Pasquin, Anthony. The life of the late Earl of Barrymore

A Personal Observer. Truth Opposed to Fiction: Or, An Authentic and Impartial Review of the Life of the Late, Right Honourable the Earl of Barrymore

Saint Martin in the Fields, Westminster, marriage register

The Ipswich Journal 18 September 1773

Stamford Mercury 11 April 1788

Ipswich Journal 29 August 1789

Bury and Norwich Post 23 September 1789

Featured Image

Theatrical peer of Berks/ Theatrical peer of Berkshire. Courtesy of Lewis Walpole Library

An Elephant Never Forgets

The adage that an elephant never forgets seems very appropriate given the following accounts.

The scientific elephant now displays his sagacity and the uncommon improvement of his natural powers, at Pidcock’s Grand Menageries, Exeter ‘Change, Strand, where, at the desire of the company and command of the keeper, he exhibits a perfect knowledge of the value of different pieces of money; tells with the greatest precision the hour and minutes of the day, when shown a watch by any of the spectators; locks and unlocks doors, takes off and puts on any lady’s or gentleman’s bonnet or hat, that he may be requested of him, with a great and pleasing variety of other performances. His improvement in the space of the last six months exceeds all belief.

Courtesy of Yale Center for British Art
Courtesy of Yale Center for British Art

In another story to confirm that an elephant never forgets, we offer this account which was reported in an English newspaper, although the event took place in Paris, 1799.

A sentinel on duty at the menagerie, agreeably to the orders he had received, was always particularly careful to caution the visitors not to feed the elephants. However, his behaviour was not calculated to gain him the favour of the elephants. One of the females especially resented his officious zeal to enforce his orders and several times she attempted to correct his bad habits by throwing water on his head with her trunk.

A few days ago, a great number of people came to see the elephants, which the latter considered a fine opportunity to receive, by stealth, plenty of scraps of bread. Unfortunately, for her, however, the officious sentinel was on guard that day.

The female took her station beside him, watched all his words and gestures, and the first time he began to give his usual notice she squirted him in the face with her trunk full of water much to the immense amusement of the audience. The sentinel quietly wiped his face and retiring a little way, he continued to give his notice to everyone informing them not to give any bread to the elephants and the elephants were likewise instructed not to take any.

This time, however, the female was ready and waiting, she took hold of his musket, whirled it around with her trunk, then trod on it, it was not until she had twisted it like a screw did she return it.

Destruction of the noble elephant at Mr Cross's, Exeter 'Change
Courtesy of Lewis Walpole

From the Bath Chronicle of August 1791, we offer a somewhat tragic story.

Among the elephants that were sent to Madras with the troops in 1781, under the command of the late Colonel Pearce, there was apparently one keeper who it was reported was quite neglectful and who pilfered from his drams on the line of march. Upon every such occasion, the elephant discovered signs of anger and resentment, as if he was insensible to negligence, nor ignorant of the mal-practices, of his keeper.

One morning the cattle etc. were ordered to be mustered for review and when the commanding officer, in going along the line, passed in front of the elephant, the animal roared out as if to attract the commanding officer’s attention. When he caught the eye of the Colonel the elephant took hold of his keeper with his trunk, put him under his feet and instantly crushed him to death.

The elephant then immediately fell upon his knees and salaamed to the Colonel for pardon. The singularity of this act induced Colonel Pearce to make an immediate enquiry respecting it, when he learnt that the elephant had been forced, contrary to his natural disposition, to inflict this punishment on his keeper, for the incorrigible neglect he was prone to commit and the frauds practised on his daily allowance. Unfortunately, we do not know the outcome of this investigation, but punishment had already been served.

 

The Bum Shop, 1785 Lewis Walpole Library

False Rumps!

Fashions are continually changing but briefly, during the 1770s and early 1780s, women wore the most amazing items known as false rumps. They were large pieces of cork worn in ‘pockets’ under the straps of their stays, which enhanced the lady’s posterior and made her waist look smaller and more delicate. Think Kim Kardashian: does she know that she would have been the ultimate late eighteenth-century fashion icon, we wonder? False rumps were mocked mercilessly by the press and in satirical caricatures (the old-fashioned way of breaking the internet!), and there was even a suggestion that they should be taxed to raise money for the government.

Captain Cork Rump. Yale Center for British Art
Courtesy of Yale Center for British Art

Surely, they can’t have been comfortable but, on at least one occasion, the wearing of a cork rump acted as a life preserver (Norfolk Chronicle 04 July 1778).

On Sunday evening a very ludicrous accident happened at Henley upon Thames. A large party from town went after tea to enjoy the coolness of the evening on the banks of the river. Youth and spirits hurried them into such sallies of vivacity, that in running with too much precipitation, a lady’s foot tripped and she fell into the Thames. The consternation was general; but somehow everyone was surprised to see her swim like a fishing float, half immersed, and half above the water. It seems that the lady had been furnished with an immoderate sized cork rump, which buoyed her up so completely that she looked like Venus rising from the water. She was towed to shore by a gentleman’s cane without the least injury but wet petticoats.

So, fashion it seems did have its uses.

Chloe's Cushion, or, the Cork Rump. © The Trustees of the British Museum
Chloe’s Cushion, or, the Cork Rump. © The Trustees of the British Museum

Your fake derriere was also a great place to hide contraband according to a report from Paris:

The present fashionable protuberances, so much in vogue among the females, have by the adroitness of two dressy fair ones of this capital, been turned to a profitable instead of expensive fashion and gave rise to a laughable adventure: the females in question had contrived to fill bladders with brandy, which they substituted for cork, wool wire etc and thus equipped in the most outré prominence of the mode, they passed several times daily unsuspected through the gates of Paris, smuggling no inconsiderable quantity of brandy.  The frequency of their excursions caused suspicion among the officers at the gates, who attempted to touch their garments, but this was resisted by the fair ones with every appearance of affected modesty. However, one of the officers, having sufficient information of what was going on determined to detect them, and providing himself with a sharp pointed instrument, he slyly pierced what nowadays is usually made from cork, when lo! A fountain of brandy played from the orifice to the great diversion of the spectators, and to no small confusion of the fair one. The result was rather serious, as they were both confined; and there are now actually females at the gates, whose business it is as decently as possible, to examine into the protuberances of such ladies as appear to be in outré of the present fashion. What a pity, as there are so few means for females to gain a decent living, that they should not be permitted to dress to advantage when fashion will admit of it.

The Gates of Paris, or, Brandy Rumps Detected. Lewis Walpole Library
The Gates of Paris, or, Brandy Rumps Detected. Lewis Walpole Library

When a riot broke out in Covent Garden during the hustings for the election of 1784, it was reported that one lady’s cork rump was shot off and an elderly woman, who was not so fashion forward and whose behind was not so well padded, received a bullet in her… ahem, well! We’re sure you can guess!

The back-biters, or High bum-fiddle pig bow wow. Courtesy of Lewis Walpole Library
The back-biters, or High bum-fiddle pig bow wow. Courtesy of Lewis Walpole Library

As a fashion accessory, the cork rump was short lived and by the end of the 1780s ‘bum-less beauties’ became all the rage.

Featured Image

Courtesy of the British Museum

 

The story of a domesticated tiger

On December 26th, 1788 the ship, Pitt East Indiaman, which was owned by the East India Company and captained by Edward Manning set sail for St Helena, Benkulen and then China. She reached St Helena in March 1789, Benkulen in July, arriving in China November 1789.

The 'Pitt' near Dover returning from China, 1787. Wikimedia Commons.
The ‘Pitt’ near Dover returning from China, 1787. Wikimedia Commons.

In China, she collected her cargo began the return journey back to England via St Helena, reaching England in August 1790.  There was nothing unusual in journey except that when they arrived in China they acquired an additional piece of cargo – a tiger.

A Tiger Resting: the frontispiece for "Oriental Field Sports", 1805, Samuel Howitt. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.
A Tiger Resting: the frontispiece for “Oriental Field Sports”, Samuel Howitt. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.

When first brought on board, the tiger was no larger than a puppy of one month to six weeks old, and the ship’s company were determined, if possible, to tame him. The familiarities used with this creature grew with his growth and strengthened with his strength until by the time he was almost a year old he was harmless and as playful as a young kitten.

We have no explanation as to why this tiger was onboard, whether it was destined for a circus in England we cannot say. The animal was described by the newspapers as:

a beautiful young male tiger, about ten or twelve months old and nearly the size of a large mastiff dog.

The Kentish Gazette in its coverage described the animal as being:

a singular instance of the practicability of taming and domesticating wild beasts, a tiger being allowed to be the most ferocious of the savage creatures.

Until he grew too large he lived in the carpenter’s cabin and frequently slept with the sailors in their hammocks, each becoming very fond of the animal.

During the passage home, he was mischievous as most young animals are and frequently stole the sailor’s shoes and hid their clothes, at one time he had in his concealment no less than twenty-five pairs of silk breeches.

He was extremely playful and would often climb about the ship like a cat and perform antics which you would have to have seen to believe.  He was known to play with the dog on board, tossing him in the air and catching him in his paws. The sailors used to make him lie down on the deck and three of them at one time would rest their heads on him using him as a pillow, the tiger never stirred until the sailors had taken their nap.

In return for this familiarity he was known to steal their meat – they became so fond of the creature that he was never really punished. One day during the voyage, however, he also stole the carpenter’s favourite roast beef, the carpenter followed the tiger and retrieved the piece of meat. On this occasion, the animal was punished but apparently ‘took it with the patience of a spaniel’.

Caricature of a sailor. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.
Caricature of a sailor. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.

Mr Murray, the purser, having left his cabin door open, the tiger jumped into the cot whilst he was asleep, but not liking his bedfellow Murray hastily jumped out leaving the tiger in full possession of both his cot and his cabin.

When the ship arrived at Gravesend, an old woman came on board with a basket of gingerbread to sell, the tiger set upon the old woman as a cat does when chasing a mouse, seized its opportunity, sprang at her, jumped upon her from behind and threw his paws around her neck. This unexpected attack, on the part of the woman was depicted with every tragic emotion; the basket, gingerbread, fruit and all its contents fell on the deck, which when done, as if conscious of the woman’s situation, he released his prisoner and wandered off to find something else to do in another part of the ship.

Six or eight sailors, part of the men put on board the ship to work her up to the moorings at Deptford, had at this time their portion of fresh beef served to them; and whilst they were debating whether it should be boiled or roasted, a diversity of opinions having taken place, the tiger who lay close by watched for a favourable opportunity, made a sudden spring and seized it, which not only ended the contest, but even saved them the trouble of preparing it, as the tiger it had been observed, preferred his meat  raw rather than boiled or roasted.

A Tiger by Charles Towne, 1818; Wolverhampton Arts and Heritage
A Tiger by Charles Towne; Wolverhampton Arts and Heritage

The above story was reputed to be true and was verified by a gentleman who went on board the Pitt. This gentleman wishing to see this domesticated tiger was led to the carpenter’s cabin, where the tiger lay sleeping at the feet of the carpenter’s wife and sister. Encouraged by the account he was given of this docility, he first ventured to touch him, and after growling a little, which he always did when disturbed from sleep, he patted him in the most familiar manner and then proceeded to put his hand into the tiger’s mouth. The tiger was perfectly content with this.

What became of the tiger we have no idea, but presumably he came part of the circus, but it would be nice to think he remained on board with the carpenter, but it seems unlikely as only a few months later the ship, still under Manning’s command became a convict ship.

Sources Used

Kentish Gazette 31 August 1790

Featured Image

Three Tigers in a Rocky Landscape by Sawrey Gilpin. Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection.

Singleton, Henry; The Pastor's Fireside: The family of Sir Thomas Acland, 10th Bt, Being Read to by the Vicar of Silverton; National Trust, Killerton

Infamy, scandals and heroines in the Georgian era: read on to discover more…

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A View of Paris from the Pont Neuf by Nicolas-Jean-Baptiste Raguenet, 1763, Getty Museum (image via Wikimedia Commons)
A View of Paris from the Pont Neuf by Nicolas-Jean-Baptiste Raguenet, 1763, Getty Museum (image via Wikimedia Commons)

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