Georgian London

November 19, 2009

Circulating Libraries

As long as there have been books, there have been booksellers. Book-selling isn't like selling bread or boots, because people don't need books, they can survive without them but the demand for what is between the covers remains. Booksellers had long understood that lending their stock to careful readers for a small price allowed them to keep money coming in when times were hard.

In 1661, Francis Kirkman lent some of his stock 'to be read', and in 1674 Widow Page (a retailer of histories) offered 'all sorts of histories to buy or to be let out and read'. Although the first documented libraries are in Edinburgh and Bristol, London was a warren of bookshops at the time, most of them located between the Strand and the River. T. Wright, William Bathoe and Samuel Fancourt were the first to advertise 'circularly' libraries in London, and Fancourt's, in Crane Court off Fleet Street rapidly became the biggest and best. By 1748, he was producing a large catalogue of the Books and Catalogues Belonging to the Circulating Library in Crane Court (2 volumes).

The Fleet Street and Strand area was the hub of second-hand book sales. Between 1600 and 1900, over thirty three streets catered for the book trade. Dealers specialized in subject matter such as theology, pornography, travel, poetry etc., and lent out books to trusted clientele. It was possible to buy a library subscription for 'The Season', or to rent on a per book basis. From our debased perspective in the here and now, we imagine the the dandies of the 18thC spending their time on Ovid, Tacitus and Shakespeare, but a reading the catalogues shows a much wider range of available texts:

The National OEconomy
A Present for Married People of Both Sexes...containing some Hints and Directions on Several Subjects
The Female Spectator
The Proceedings of the King's Commission
The London and Country Builder's Vade-Medum
Arithmetick, in Epitome
Genuine and Impartial Memoirs

In 1903-4, the whole area, between Temple and Charing Cross was redeveloped, displacing almost 4000 people. All of the streets, and the book stalls, shops and libraries were lost.

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November 16, 2009

The Birth of the Surveillance Society

Morals reformed - health preserved - industry invigorated, instruction diffused - public burthens lightened - Economy seated, as it were, upon a rock - the gordian knot of the Poor-Laws are not cut, but untied - all by a simple idea in Architecture!

Jeremy Bentham, The Panopticon

Jeremy Bentham was, without doubt, a genius. Born in Spitalfields in 1748 to a Tory family, he began his formal education at the age of 3 after showing remarkable precocity. He went on to promote equal rights for women (and also animal rights), recommend the decriminalization of homosexuality, the hanging of pederasts, experimentation with bestiality and the banning of masturbation. A mixed bag then.

He was a Utilitarian, which is an excellent idea in theory, but results in the sort of inflexibility that left him unmarried despite desiring greatly to acquire a wife. His emphasis upon purpose and utility, plus his experience of the law led him to create the Panopticon, a new kind of prison. Prisons at the time were usually either older buildings, adapted with varying degrees of success, or purpose-built hulks interested only in segregation and secure confinement. Bentham's proposals for the Panopticon, produced in 1787, read very reasonably and there is much to recommend, but along the way it becomes something far more than the sum of its parts: a monster. A circular prison whose capacity was limited only by the contemporary inability to build much above four stories, cells were ranged about a central observation tower. In the tower, a hidden warder was able to watch each barred cell without the inmates knowing if he was even there or not. They could not rely on a warder's inattention, even for a moment, but nor could they assume their actions, or lack of said were even noted. Now, we are used to the omniscience of CCTV, and some even find being watched throughout their day reassuring. At the end of the 18thC, this was a seriously disturbing concept and not one readily adopted by prison planners (although many other of Bentham's recommendations, such as central heating for prisoners were adopted in new prisons). Whilst they were keen on the idea of being able to leave prisoners unfettered, and on the economies allowed by dramatically reducing warder to prisoner ratio, the idea of being watched by a faceless entity was viewed as deeply sinister, a fact that slipped past Bentham completely:

A building circular... The prisoners in their cells, occupying the circumference—The officers in the centre. By blinds and other contrivances, the Inspectors concealed... from the observation of the prisoners: hence the sentiment of a sort of omnipresence—The whole circuit reviewable with little, or... without any, change of place. One station in the inspection part affording the most perfect view of every cell.

The Panopticon has gone on the fire the imagination of almost every philosopher, not to mention science-fiction writer since (1984 anyone?). For reasons I cannot quite place, it is one of the most disturbing ideas ever concocted for honest, humanitarian reasons. The only true Panopticons ever built were in North America, to Bentham's model. (Pentonville prison is often incorrectly cited as an example.) There's tons I could write on Bentham, but instead I shall let you consider the Panopticon through the gallery.

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Filed under // Jeremy Bentham Panopticon prisons Utilitarianism

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November 13, 2009

Deen Mahomet and London's First Indian Restaurant*-

Enough of diverting scandal, I must blog about my favourite subject: the foreigner in Georgian London. One such character is Deen Mahomet (later Sake Dean Mahomed). Mahomet is rightly remembered a flamboyant character. Born to a Muslim family in Bihar in 1759 he grew up to serve in the Bengal branch of the British East India Army as a surgeon, but had been attached to the Army in some capacity since he was 10. An Anglo-Irish officer, Captain Godfrey Baker seems to have become the boy's patron, but in 1782, Baker was forced from the Army in disgrace (after extorting money from villagers: always the mark of a gentleman). Deen left to accompany his friend back to Ireland. It is unclear whether he was involved in Baker's activities.

By 1784, Deen was in Cork. There he met Jane Daly, an Irish girl, and in 1786 they eloped to marry due to her family's disapproval. Deen began to write the story of his travels, and in 1794 published what is thought to be the first book by an Indian written in English: The Travels of Dean Mahomet. It's a great read and very enlightening on the details of the British in India, but there's a lot of fudging by Deen on the story of his life, and around this time, his name and self-styled titles begin to change. He and Jane came to London, and here Deen found employment with the Hon. Basil Cochrane, who had made a fortune in India and liked the people and way of life. He opened a bath house at 12 Portman Square and employed Deen to offer 'shampooing services'. No doubt he washed hair, but what he actually offered was Indian head and body massage with perfumed oils. It became a huge success.

Late in 1809, Deen opened the Hindostanee Coffee House, announcing its arrival with the following advertisement:

HINDOSTANEE COFFEE-HOUSE, No. 34 George-street, Portman square - MAHOMED, East-Indian, informs the Nobility and Gentry, he has fitted up the above house, neatly and elegantly, for the entertainment of Indian gentlemen, where they may enjoy the Hoakha, with real Chilm tobacco, and India dishes, in the highest perfection, and allowed by the greated epicures to be unequalled to any curries ever made in England with choice wines, and every accommodation, and now looks up to them for their future patronage and support, and gratefully acknowledges himself indebted for their former favours, and trusts it will merit the highest satisfaction when made known to the public.

At the same time, Deen adopted the 'Sake' bit of his name, meaning 'Venerable One'. Although reviewed very favourably in the publications of the time, Deen struggled. This is probably because he had started his establishment in what he thought was the perfect area (plenty of Nabobs around Marylebone at that time), but the thing was, most of them had brought Indian cooks with them who catered for their every whim, without going out to a restaurant. Although clearly a great ideas man, Deen expanded too quickly after early success, and by 1813 he was bankrupt (although the coffeehouse continued until 1833 under different management).

Deen and his wife moved down to Brighton, where the building of the Pavilion was lending an exotic flavour to things. He became 'shampooing surgeon' to both Prinny and later, William IV. His financial misfortunes continued, but he appears to have been a philosophical soul, eventually dying in 1851, of a decline, after the death of his wife from uterine cancer. They are buried together in St Nicholas's churchyard, Brighton.

Deen and Jane had at least five children together, although the records are conflicting. Their son William became a postman in the West End and held that position for his lifetime. Another son, Frederick took over where his father left off in Brighton, also teaching both boxing and fencing. His own son, also Frederick, became a surgeon at Guy's Hospital and completed pioneering research into hypertension before his early death at 35.

Deen Mahomet and his family are an excellent example of the delicate balance between promoting one's own 'otherness' and yet becoming thoroughly immersed in a new culture. Their integration into British society is a heady mixture of affection, family, money, skill and intellect as well as financial mismanagement and disaster, and one that deserves to be more widely known.

*I am aware that to claim any establishment as London's first anything is dangerous. As soon as there is a small community, there are establishments to feed them with a taste of home. However, the Deen Mahomet appears to be the first Indian to market his cuisine to the London market, rather than solely catering for his fellow Indians.

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Filed under // coffee houses Deen Mahomet food history Guy's Hospital Indian London Marylebone Muslim London restaurants

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November 12, 2009

A detestable crime-

Before the Great Fire there were many complaints over the centuries about how Old St Paul's cathedral had become overtaken by the populace as a place to stand and gossip (as you can see from the gallery), and even do business due to the close proximity of the City merchants. The commerce was of every nature, and increasingly, complaints were made about the prostitutes who plied their trade in the many shadows of the church. By the Great Fire, it had become commonplace for suitably inclined apprentices to spend their Sunday afternoons there, where they might be propositioned by an interested gentleman, and make a little money to add to their wages. Needless to say, the authorities were less than happy with the situation, but it was so well-established there wasn't that much they could do about it, besides moan. When the new cathedral was built, the traders were banished to the Royal Exchange and the prostitutes chased out by wardens. However, it remained a place to make new friends, paid or unpaid.

On the 4th of December, 1730 the Old Bailey trial records contain the following case:

William Hollywell and William Huggins, were indicted, the former for an Assault, with an Intent to commit the detestable Crime of Buggery upon the latter, and he for consenting and submitting to the same.

John Rowden depos'd, That it had been for many Years his Business to show the upper part of the Cathedral of St. Paul's; that the 19th of November , betwixt 12 and 1 o'Clock, he was going to Dinner, and having heard the old Man's Door shut, he afterwards heard some Persons that seem'd to be coming up softly, he hearken'd, but heard no Voices, that suspecting something more than usual, he look'd through the Light of the Newel Stairs, he being about 30 or 40 Steps from the Prisoners, and did discover the Prisoners in very indecent Postures, whereupon he made haste to them, and surpriz'd them in the following Posture; Huggins's Breeches were down, he stooping very low, so that he could not see his Head, his Shirt was turn'd up on his Back, and his Back-side was bare; Hollywell was standing close by, with his fore Parts to the other's Posteriors, and his Body in Motion, but his fore Parts he could not then see, his Back being towards him, this Evidence: That having thus surpriz'd them, Huggins was busy'd in putting up his Breeches, and Hollywell struggled with him to have got from him, and to have gone off, and tore his Turnover, but he having disengag'd himself, Hollywell got to the Church Door, but could not get out, it being Lock'd, and he having the Key in his Pocket, so he Lock'd them into the Side-Isle , and went to get the Clerk of the Works to go with him to acquaint the Dean with the Matter; that when he came again, Hollywell was got out of the Place where he left him, and could not be found for a considerable time, but at last was found hidden in a Gallery adjoining to the Organ-Loft ; and when they were before the Justice, Hollywell's Shirt was examin'd , and there appear'd plain Tokens of Emission.

The Prisoner Huggins call'd a great many of his Neighbours, who gave him the Character of an industrious Man in his Calling (which was that of a Waterman) of a loving Husband to his Wife, of a tender Father to his Children, of an honest Man in his Dealings , and of a religious Man that kept to his Church constantly on Sundays, and one of the last Men they should have suspected as to such Practices, and should more readily have credited his Familiarity with Women, he commonly associating himself with Women more than Men, but this Character did not avail him against positive and credible Evidence; and Hollywell not calling one single Evidence to his Character, and the Fact being plainly prov'd, the Jury found them both Guilty of the Indictment.

Gay subculture in Georgian London has been explored very thoroughly (no pun intended) by various writers, although often their reading is from a 20thC point of view and too keen to see both homosexuality and homophobia lurking in every shady corner. There are plenty of records that lend themselves to the study of what appears to be a flourishing and diverse set of people, from the cross-dressing, effeminate 'mollys', to the 'rough trade' cruising Moorfields (the term 'rough trade' comes from the fact that many of these men were from the rougher trades, such as blacksmithing, the watermen, etc). Apprentices occasionally complained to their guilds about being used in a fashion not mentioned in their contracts, but the matter was always sorted out privately. There are records of homosexuals, particularly aristocrats living openly. Exclusive homosexuality seems to have been relatively rare, and many men who had long term male lovers were also married and had children. At the end of the 17thC, the Society for the Reformation of Manners (as in morals) got underway to root out sodomitical practices. Quite why they thought this was necessary is a bit bizarre, and they used attractive young men to entrap the 'sodomites', which is unfair to say the least. In rare cases, the punishment was hanging. The delight court recorders took in detailing the minutiae of the clothing and 'fore Parts' and so on is extraordinary for a crime so 'detestable'.

This case is exceptional, not just for the location: they were clearly guilty and had entrapped themselves. Furthermore it is indicative of a culture of casual sex between consenting male adults, rather than the exploitative relationships between younger boys and older men made so much of in the recent studies of the subject. Huggins attempted to have his punishment lessened by demonstrating good character (or rank hypocrisy), but Hollywell didn't bother. It is also worth noting that Huggins got a worse punishment that Hollywell, as he was the receiver, rather than the giver, which carried a greater stigma. Both men were pilloried, then imprisoned. Being pilloried was no joke. I have included an image in the gallery of the Charing Cross pillory to give an idea. It was typical to stand for no more than an hour, but an account of your crimes was posted up next to you and St Pauls was a well-known place for sodomites to be exhibited. During the hour, whatever happened to you was bad luck, although in theory, no one was allowed on the raised platform along with you. Kickings and beatings are recorded, but more usual was to be pelted with refuse, excrement and even dead cats and dogs. No doubt the unfortunate Mrs Huggins was at the very front of the crowd for this one, with a big handful of something truly disgusting.

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Filed under // apprentices crime homosexuality old bailey pillory punishment sexual crimes sodomy St Paul's subculture

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November 11, 2009

I thought all was over-

I find military history morbid and difficult. I am in no way squeamish, but I don't like the accounts of lonely deaths in muddy fields that seem to enthrall some. However, one such remarkable account from the field at Waterloo has long stuck my head: that of Frederick Ponsonby, the brother of Lady Caroline Lamb. He was a career soldier, like others in his family, and he was 32 the year of Waterloo in 1815. As a cavalry officer, he was part of the charge of the Light Company and they overshot their mark, badly, after having made the charge downhill. The following is his account of what happened after that:

In the melee I was almost instantly disabled in both arms, losing first my sword, and then my reins; and followed by a few men, who were presently cut down, no quarter being allowed, asked, or given, I was carried along by my horse, till, receiving a blow from a sabre, I fell senseless on my face to the ground.

Recovering, I raised myself a little to look around, being at that time, I believe, in a condition to get up and run away; when a lancer, passing by, cried out, 'Tu, n'es pas mort, coquin!' and struck his lance through my back. My head dropped, the blood gushed into my mouth, a difficulty of breathing came on, and I thought all was over.

Not long afterwards (it was impossible to measure time, but I must have fallen in less than ten minutes after the onset) a tirailleur stopped to plunder me, threatening my life. I directed him to a small side pocket, in which he found three dollars, all I had; but he continued to threaten, and I said he might search me: this he did immediately, unloosing my stock and tearing open my waist coat, and leaving me in a very uneasy posture.

But he was no sooner gone than an officer bringing up some troops, to which probably the tirailleur belonged, and happening to halt where I lay, stooped down and addressed me, saying he feared I was badly wounded; I said that I was, and expressed a wish to be removed to the rear. He said it was against their orders to remove even their own men; but that if they gained the day... every attention in his power would be shown me. I complained of thirst, and he held his brandy-bottle to my lips, directing one of the soldiers to lay me straight on my side and place a knapsack under my head. He then passed on into action...Of what rank he was, I cannot say: he wore a great-coat. By and by another tirailleur came up, a fine young man, full of ardor. He knelt down and fired over me, loading and firing many times, and conversing with me all the while. At last he ran off, exclaiming, 'You will probably not be sorry to hear that we are going to retreat. Good day, my friend.' It was dusk when two squadrons of Prussian cavalry, each of them two deep, came across the valley and passed over me in full trot, lifting me from the ground and tumbling me about cruelly.

The battle was now at an end, or removed to a distance. The shouts, the imprecations, the outcries of 'Vive l'Empereur!' the discharge of musketry and cannon, were over; and the groans of the wounded all around me became every moment more and more audible. I thought the night would never end. Much about this time I found a soldier of the Royals lying across my legs—he had probably crawled thither in his agony; and his weight, his convulsive motions, and the air issuing through a wound in his side, distressed me greatly; the last circumstance most of all, as I had a wound of the same nature myself.

It was not a dark night, and the Prussians were wandering about to plunder...though no women appeared. Several stragglers looked at me, as they passed by, one after another, and at last one of them stopped to examine me. I told him as well as I could, for I spoke German very imperfectly, that I was a British officer, and had been plundered already; he did not desist, however, and pulled me about roughly. An hour before midnight I saw a man in an English uniform walking towards me. He was, I suspect, on the same errand, and he came and looked in my face. I spoke instantly, telling him who I was, and assuring him of a reward if he would remain by me. He said he belonged to the 40th, and had missed his regiment; he released me from the dying soldier, and, being unarmed, took up a sword from the ground and stood over me, pacing backward and forward. Day broke; and at six o'clock in the morning some English were seen at a distance, and he ran to them. A messenger being sent off to Hervey, a cart came for me, and I was placed in it, and carried to the village of Waterloo...

Happily, Frederick survived his seven sounds, was nursed back to health by his sister Caroline, married, fathered six children and went on to a successful career in the Army, but the British aristocracy would never recover from the battle of Waterloo: too many of its young men died in the field and the landscape of British society was changed forever. Frederick Ponsonby's experience of battle is timeless, and universal to all those who have fought and continue to do so. That he survived to relate it is a testament to the human spirit.

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November 10, 2009

The Wit's Vade-Mecum-

Joe Miller was a London actor, active from about 1708 and dying in 1738. A notorious wit and man-about-town, he was well-connected and had made notes of some of the funniest things he had heard in his time in London. The year after his death, these jokes were published by his friend Elijah Jenkins and became an instant bestseller. There are some excellent and very dirty jokes in his little book, but also wit on topical subjects of the day and famous names make an appearance quite often. Here I have picked out a few of my favourites, and include the link to the online resource of 'The Vade-Mecum' (Vade Mecum is Latin for go with me)

-A Lady’s Age happening to be questioned, she affirmed, she was but Forty, and call’d upon a Gentleman that was in Company for his Opinion; Cousin, said she, do you believe I am in the Right, when I say I am but Forty? I ought not to dispute it, Madam, reply’d he, for I have heard you say so these ten Years.

-After the Fire of London, there was an Act of Parliament to regulate the Buildings of the City, every House was to be three Stories high, and there were to be no Balconies backwards: A Gloucestershire Gentleman, a Man of great Wit and Humour, just after this Act passed, going along the Street, and seeing a little crooked Gentlewoman, on the other Side of the Way, he runs over to her in great haste, Lord, Madam, said he, how dare you walk the Streets thus publickly? Walk the Streets! why not? answer’d the little Woman. Because said he, you are built directly contrary to Act of Parliament, you are but two Stories high, and your Balcony hangs over your House-of-Office.

-A Gentleman said of a young Wench, who constantly ply’d about the Temple, that if she had as much Law in her Head, as she had had in her Tail, she would be one of the ablest Counsel England.

-Sir Godfrey Kneller, and the late Dr. Ratcliffe, had a Garden in common, but with one Gate: Sir Godfrey, upon some Occasion, ordered the Gate to be nail’d up; when the Doctor heard of it, he said, He did not Care what Sir Godfrey did to the Gate, so he did not paint it. This being told Sir Godfrey, he replied, He would take that, or any Thing from his good Friend, the Doctor, but his Physick.

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November 9, 2009

The Tart Hall Sale-

Part of what I do (when I'm not blogging, tweeting or shouting at the lost and noisy tourists in the courtyard) involves finding things: finding reference to them in old auction catalogues, or when they were sold through the 'Three Dees': death, divorce and dearth. People, houses, even original drawings by interior designers, or Rate books, surveys, taxes, letters, newspapers and even laws: references to objects turn up everywhere, not just in Wills.

For as long as there have been old objects of great beauty, there have been those who collect them. The most notable of the early recorded collectors is Thomas Howard, Earl of Arundel (1585-1646). He is most famous for the Arundel Marbles he bought in Italy on his Grand Tour, but he was a voracious buyer of anything that interested him. Thomas was born into a family with plenty of title and no money. The Howards were eternal plotters, and could not reconcile their Catholic faith with the Protestant Elizabeth Ist, and understandably she did not favour them. However, Thomas married well and his wife provided the vast estates in Yorkshire and elsewhere that would form the basis of a massive fortune extant today. Employed on the Continent by Charles Ist, Thomas kept buying, but he also bought up home grown treasures, as we will see. I happened upon a brief description of parts of Tart Hall (next to Buckingham 'House' - see map section), their London home, written in 1641, which included carpets of yellow leather in rooms hung with green and yellow taffeta, Titians, a Tintoretto, a Bassano and a Honthorst. Obviously, a hovel.

Upon Thomas's death in 1646, the family rapidly backed the wrong horse (again), and Cromwell came down on them, hard. A nasty divorce in 1700 further split the collection, and in 1720, Henry Charles Howard died and parts of the Arundel Collection were sold off in a sale at the house. Tart Hall was then pulled down, for reasons that are no longer clear. I would dearly love to see an auction catalogue for this one, and indeed there is record of one being printed, and marked at the sale by a member of the Howard family. Applebee's records some details for the sale as follows (I have highlighted in bold what one might term 'the star lots'):

The Sale of that part of the Old Arundel Collection as belong'd to the late Earl of Stafford, and after his Demise devolv'd to the Honourable Henry Charles Howard, deceas'd, about a Month ago, for whole Use it was sold, is over, and appears to be the greatest of its kind that ever was known in England, the whole amounting to near 30000l. being one half more than was expected it would sell for. Among many other Rarities were sold these following, Viz.

-A Cabinet of Ebony, finely painted, and Silver Ornaments, in the Inner Room, and Mosasick Work, being the Curiosity in Europe, for 310L. to a Lady in Soho-Square.

-A Folding Japan Chair, the finest that ever was seen in England, for 47 Gunineas,

-A Knot of fine Rubies set in Gold, worn by Queen Elizabeth, sold for 27l. 6s.

-Twenty four Buttons of Gold and Pearl, worn by the said Queen, sold for 42l. 11s. both bought by Sir Andrew Fountaine for her Royal Highness the Princess.

-A curious Head of Jupiter in Brass, bought by Sir Andrew Fountaine for his Royal Highness the Prince, for 43l. 1s.

-A fine Persian Carpet, sold for 299l. 5s. to Baron Swartz, the great Jew.

-Two Manuscripts of about 1200 Years standing; the one being a Translation of the New Testament; and the other a Book of Prayer; the former sold for 60l and the latter for 76l. bought by the Lord Edward Harley, Son of the Earl of Oxford.

-A Pack of Cards, the first that ever were used in England, sold for 15l. 4s. 6d. to James Bateman, of Soho-Square, Esq;

-The Handle of a Brush of Japan, not a Foot in length, for its Workmanship the finest in Eurpe, sold for 13l 2s. 6d. to the same Gentleman.

-A gilt Box with 30 Cards, made of Silver, sold for 6s. 3d. per Ounce, to the same Gentleman.

-A Coronet and a Buckle of some Diamonds, sold to the Prince for 4l. 1s.

-Nine Lotts of curious Japan Wares, the like not in Europe, were bought by her Grace the Dutchess of Marlborough.

-The Two Parcels of Combs of great Antiquity, belonging to an Empress of Germany, sold at 32s. 6d. and the Person who bought them was the next Day offered 5l. for each Comb.

-A fine large Eagle Stone, sold at 38l. 8s. 6d.

-A Representation of Heaven, and the Saints, Father, Martyrs &c. in Painting, by Rottenhamer, sold at 52 Guineas.

-The Head of John Vanike, done in Oil by himself, he being the first that invented the Art of Painting in Oil, sold at 52 Guineas, and 300l. has since been bid for it.

-A Dagger worn by King Henry the 8th, set with Jacynths in Gold sold at 43l. 1s. bought by Sir Andrew Fontaine for the Prince.

-A Profile, with a white agate Head and Busto, rarely done, sold at 294l. bought by a Foreign Minister.

-Two Bottles of gilted China, made 1500 Years ago, sold at 116l. 11s.

-Ditto, a Madonna of the Holy Family, sold at 57l. 15s.

-Fourteen Drawings by Julio Romano, sold at 110l. 5s.

-Two Stone Tables, said to be Oriental Marble, a great Curiosity, at 42l.

-A Gold Pair of Scales, sold at 55 Guineas to Mr. Warner, a Goldsmith.

-Some certain pieces of Plate, sold at 26s. 21s. 20s per ounce, being the Workmanship of Veanna, the most celebrated silversmith of his Age.

Many other surprizing Curiosities and Rarities were sold, the Particulars of which are too tedious to insert.

The last line is immortal. One of the things too tedious to insert was the remarkable 'Head of Homer', purchased by Dr Mead and not in the collection of the British Museum. I have tracked down a few of the pieces from this sale for the sake of this post (although I'm not sure about the Henry the VIIIth dagger), and as a simplified (and very glorified) illustration of what I do, and you can see them in the gallery. The importance and magnitude of this sale is astonishing, as is the amount of money raised, in the tens of millions in today's money. The early 18thC was the very beginning of real art and antique collecting amongst the English aristocracy, and through extant records it is possible to track some of the most important works of art in their journeys down the centuries. They often disappear for a while, but I like to think that is because people are using or enjoying them quietly, before one of the Three Dees forces them back onto the market.

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Filed under // antiques art artisans auctions Earl of Arundel Sir Andrew Fountaine Tart Hall

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November 6, 2009

The little Black girl who helped end slavery in Britain: Dido Elizabeth Belle

In my previous post on 'On Matters Pertaining to Slavery-' I related Lord Mansfield's role in bringing about the beginning of the end of slavery in Britain, at least as far as the law was concerned, in 1772. Mansfield was a moderate and educated man, but at his home, Kenwood House in Hampstead was a young person who no doubt influenced his thinking: Dido Elizabeth Belle, his illegitimate, mixed-race grand-niece.

John Lindsay was Lord Mansfield's nephew and a Captain in the Royal Navy, stationed in the Caribbean. When he was 23 or 24, he had a relationship with a Black woman named Maria Belle who bore him a daughter c. 1762. There has been a great deal of speculation about Maria Belle's status: whether enslaved, captured, free and so on. It is likely she was a slave aboard a captured Spanish ship. These points are moot, as far as I can see, as John Lindsay was sufficiently fond of the child (indicating a continuing relationship with the mother) to send her to his uncle before 1766, when she was baptized in St George's Church, Bloomsbury. There is no further record of Maria Belle, so far.

John Lindsay's daughter wasn't the only child at Kenwood. There was already another little girl there: Elizabeth Murray, an orphaned cousin. Lord and Lady Mansfield were childless and the presence of the two little girls must have been a great boon. However, when Elizabeth Lindsay arrived, it was clear another name would have to be found for her, to differentiate between the two children, and so she was baptized with the name of the African Queen Dido.

The two girls were playmates, although no letters or records have so far come to light about their relationship. The most detailed account of Dido's presence in the house is from the diary of Thomas Hutchinson, an American Loyalist living in London. In August 1779 he attended a dinner at Kenwood (in reality a late lunch) and had the following to say:

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. I knew her history before, buyt my Lord mentioned it again. Sir John Lindsay having taken her mother prisoner in a Spanish vessel, brought her to England where she was delivered of this girl, of which she was then with child, and which was taken care of by Lord M., and has been educated by his family. He calls her Dido, which I suppose is all the name she has. He knows he has been reproached for showing fondness for her - I dare not day criminal.

A few years ago there was a cause before his Lordship bro't by a Black for recovery of his liberty. A Jamaica planter being asked what judgement his Ldship would give? "No doubt" he answered "He will be set free, for Lord Mansfield keeps a Black in his house which governs him and the whole family."

She is a sort of Superintendant over the dairy, poultry yard, etc, which we visited. And she was called upon by my Lord every minute for this thing and that, and shewed the greatest attention to everything he said.

Dido would have been about fifteen at the time, so this is no small achievement. That her position within the household was slightly uncertain is no surprise, but the fact that she joined the family in the dining room, and that the guest was taken to see her domestic successes is a mark of how highly they regarded her. Around the same time, the portrait at the head of the gallery was painted. For a long time it was attributed to Johann Zoffany, although I think it is clear he did not paint it (it lacks the crystalline clarity usually present in his work, although the detailing of the costumes is indicative of Zoffany). It is however, a high quality portrait that was painted to hang prominently. Elizabeth Murray wears an aristocratic/pastoral costume of the style of the 1760s, to emphasize her Englishness and a book to show her ladylike tastes. Dido wears a modish and exotic silk-satin dress with a turban (meant to signify her 'foreign' status), plus a very expensive pearl earring. She carries a basket of exotic fruit, which may indicate her position within the household as being concerned with the gardens, or supply of food, plus another indication of her 'exotic' origins. There have been many readings of this portrait, but I find many of them grasp at straws. My reading is that the portrait is intended almost like a photograph: the two girls are walking in the grounds of Kenwood, and are 'surprised' by the artist, who attempts to capture them. Dido laughingly points to her complexion and makes to leave Elizabeth alone, but her cousin and friend attempts to restrain her, smiling for the artist. The moment is captured, as Lord and Lady Mansfield no doubt intended when they had it commissioned.

Dido was a favourite with her great-uncle and acted as his secretary when his sight began to fail. The fact that she was a valuable and well-cared-for member of the family is evident from the account books (one entry for her allowance is in the gallery). In 1770, Edward Lonsdale furnished the family with a bill for 'a mahogany table for Dido'. A good dentist was employed to extract two of her teeth at some expense in 1789 at 5 shillings each. Her bed of was draped with chintz which was starched and finished by a professional brought in to do the job. Asses milk was purchased for her (presumably over a period of time during an illness) at the vast expense of over £3 in 1791. Her £30 annual allowance was way short of Elizabeth's but then Elizabeth was an heiress in her own right, and it was still plenty of money for a young girl whose keep was funded anyway.

Elizabeth left Kenwood to marry in 1785, and Dido was left alone, although she continued to scribe for her great-uncle. Her father died in 1788, and left his wife (by whom he had had no children) £1000 to split between John, another illegitimate child and Dido, indicating her awareness and acceptance of his children. Nothing is known about John, but Lindsay's obituary records Dido as 'amiable' and 'accomplished'. Lord Mansfield wrote a will in 1783 confirming Dido's freedom and leaving her some money. This has been construed by various historians as meaning she was previously enslaved, but much more likely is that Lord Mansfield wanted to make her status absolutely clear in the event of his death. He died in 1793, and left Dido an annuity.

In December 1793, Dido was married in St George's Church, Hanover Square, to a John Davinier, very likely a steward at Kenwood. He was not English, having arrived some time in the 1780s, but little else is known about him. It seems likely that they waited until after Lord Mansfield died to marry. She and Davinier had three sons together: twin boys, Charles and Edward in 1795, and William Thomas in 1800. They lived in what is now Ebury Street in Pimlico. Dido died in 1804, aged a little over 40, and was buried in the St George's burial ground. Her remains were exhumed and reburied, along with all the others in 1960 when the area was redeveloped.

Fifteen years later, in 1975, Dido's last relative, Harold Daviniere died a free white South African in a land still struggling under apartheid.

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Filed under // black london Dido Elizabeth Belle Kenwood House Lord Mansfield slavery

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November 5, 2009

Whipping Tom, The Crack's Terror

In my search for obscure references and bits of information on London immigrants, often from unlikely sources, I came across the story of Whipping Tom, the 'Tall Black Man' of Fleet Street during the late 1670s. As it turns out, he probably wasn't Black, but dressed all in black and covered his face with a black cloth. The idea that he was an immigrant is cast into even further improbability by his peculiarly English perversion: spanking. Yes, Tom would wait in dark alleys for unsuspecting ladies out and about at night, grab them, lift up their skirts and beat 'an Alarum' upon 'their Tobies' with his bare hand as he cried out 'Spanko!'.

Tom's speed and skill led him to be described 'as nimble as an Eel' in the execution of his work, and made him impossible to resist, or to catch. He often assaulted prostitutes, or 'Cracks', but any lady walking alone at night could be his target. His attacks went no further than a harsh spanking, but a contemporary account recorded that one one occasion 'he so swinged her tail, that tis thought, she will not be capable of her Trade for some time.' It is clear from the records involving Tom that he was seen as something of a joke. He was clearly a pervert who gained sexual gratification from his activities, but there is no record of him doing anything other than spanking, which the pamphlet pictured above describes in great detail. Especially detailed is the tale of the poor, stunned pease-pudding seller:

Another time the Woman that cries hot Gray Pease about the Streets, coming up Ram Alley in Fleet Street … a cold hand was lay’d upon her, and up flew her heels, and down fell the Pease Tub, when (as she has farther related) her sences were so charmed, that she lost all power of Resistance, and left him to Tyranize over her Posteriors at pleasure, the which when he had done, he left her to scrape up her ware as well as she could, for the use of such longing Ladies as are affected with such Diet.

Such anecdotes are amusing, but the relish with which it was reported places some culpability upon the victim, who must have enjoyed the attention in some way to be so acquiescent. Whipping Tom achieved no small fame, and Aphra Behn hit the nail on the head in her 1682 play The City Heiress when one of her characters chastises the other for his drunken moaning on women:

I shall have you whining when you are sober again, traversing your Chamber with Arms across, railing on Love and Women, and at last defeated, turn whipping Tom, to revenge your self on the whole Sex.

The belief was that Tom's victims were out and about alone at night (although the pease-pudding seller had every reason to be), and therefore deserved a spanking: Tom was an agent of social and sexual justice. He disappeared as quickly as he had come, perhaps leaving London, perhaps dying, but his legend lived on. Whipping Tom had passed so far into the London sub-conscious that in 1751, a Thomas Wallis was named Whipping Tom in the press after a sex-crime spree in, wait for it...yes, it's Hackney! Even better, our faithful Hackney Nightwatch came to the rescue. Thomas Wallis was a dangerous deviant whose attacks began with a spanking, but soon evolved into serious sexual assault. In 1751, Mr Hawkins had the trial and details printed up as a pamphlet to satisfy the popular curiosity. As always in the popular press at this time, coy wording and especial attention to the rude bits go hand in hand:

Mary Sutten the Milkmaid of Hackney also deposed that when the Prisener whipt'd her Backside in a Ditch near Shoulder of Mutten Fields, to prevent her Crying out, he stuff'd his Handkerchief into her Mouth, and wuld have thrust something else into another place, had not the Watchmen come happely to her assistance.

Thomas Wallis was dealt with in the appropriate 18thC manner for rapists: hanging. His namesake never quite fell out of the minds of Londoners walking the streets at night, but he was followed by more unpleasant attackers such as the piquerisitic London Monster (more on him another time). The reporting of Whipping Tom's attacks is uniquely English and a great illustration of the humour of the time. His assaults were viewed as terrifying for the victims, but ultimately harmless and with heavy comic potential. Poor Robin even implied in his Intelligence of 1677 that women walked the night-time streets of London in anticipation of having their 'Butt ends' made to cry 'Spanko!' Come on ladies, own up, you know you want it really....

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Filed under // black london fetishism Hackney Poor Robin sexual crimes Whipping Tom

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November 3, 2009

John Keats: Apothecary, Surgeon's Pupil, Poet-

The airwaves are abuzz with Bright Star, Jane Campion's biopic of John Keats (1795-1821). Of all the Romantic poets he is the 'real' Londoner and as such I find his life interesting; more interesting than his poetry anyway.

John Keats' short and painful life began at the Hoop and Swan by Moorgate where he was the eldest of three boys and a girl. His father Thomas was a barman who came to manage or even own the pub (now Keats and the Globe for some reason, being nowhere near The Globe). When Keats was seven he was sent to a school in Enfield, North London. Nine months after he started at the school, John's father came to visit him and on the way home was thrown from his horse. Thomas Keats's skull was fractured and he died. John's mother, Frances, remarried almost instantly but it wasn't a success and she was forced to move in with her mother in north London. She died in March 1810, leaving her fourteen year old son in the charge of Thomas Hammond, an apothecary. He shared Hammond's lodgings, giving him a sense of continuity and an interest in medicine that would lead John to become a student at Guy's Hospital when he was 18. He would study there for 5 years, as a dresser (attending in theatre and dressing the patients' wounds after surgery). In 1816 Keats took his apothecary exams, and passed. He was an avid letter writer (although his handwriting was often more 'doctor' than 'poet'), rapidly developing a friendship with Leigh Hunt, Ben Haydon and others. He frequently left off 'spouting Shakespeare' to go and attend a surgery. In that year, Hunt helped him achieve publication with his first poem, and the following year, a collection of his poems were put before the public, to little success.

During a Scottish summer holiday in 1818 with his friend Charles Brown, Keats developed a cold so severe he could not continue and for the first time began to drop weight. When he came home, it was to the reality of his brother Tom's full-blown tuberculosis. Keats nursed Tom, but was probably succumbing to the early stages of TB himself. Their other brother George had left for America (although he would later return to borrow money from John, who was broke anyway and complained that 'He ought not to have asked,'). Tom died late in 1818 and by that time Keats had started his own slow decline. He had also started to take laudanum, claiming it eased the tightness in his chest, but it soon became a habit, and one he and Brown fell out over more than once. The two friends moved to Hampstead, where he met the elusive Miss Fanny Brawne, who would inspire so much of his work. Keats knew himself to be extreme in nature, and it is almost amusing he chose someone so practical and down-to-earth as Fanny to fall in love with. She was an incorrigible flirt and not just with John, which tore him up. He wrote her cruel and often spiteful notes, then others full of contrition. She seems to have taken them all in her stride and they developed a close relationship which would lead to an engagement. The convention of the day insisted John raise enough money to provide her with at least somewhere to live before they married, but he wished to devote himself to poetry, and so had to make some money out of writing. These hopes were almost dashed in 1819 with the publication of Endymion. It was savaged by the critics and Keats was heartbroken. Byron sniped at Keats as a 'Cockney' and a 'dirty little blackguard', but he was genuinely sorry for his fellow poet's mauling at the hands of the critics.

'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,

Should let itself be snuffed out by an Article.

Keats' odd appearance was perhaps one of the factors that drove his unbalanced character. He was of short stature, perhaps no more than five feet tall, and delicately built. He was painfully aware of a mismatch between his mind and his body. He perceived himself as unattractive to women and regarded them with suspicion, perhaps always imagining them to be laughing behind their hands at him. Severn's appalling duck-faced, fuzzy-headed portrait remains one of the most popular images of John. Much better are the various sketches featured in the gallery, by various artists. His life mask shows a fine sensitive face with remarkable eyelashes and a beautiful, if slightly top-heavy mouth (emphasised in the silhouette). The touching image of him asleep as he was dying, also by Severn, conveys both the heartbreak of a friend, and the character of the patient.

Joseph Severn was to become Keats' greatest friend, and also his nursemaid, but through an odd series of events. Towards the end of winter in 1820, Keats returned from the City to Brown's house, thoroughly chilled. He was sent to bed by Brown, who brought him up a glass of spirits. Keats coughed once, but blood hit the sheet. He ordered Brown to bring him the candle in order to see the colour of the blood. His surgical training allowed him to recognize it as arterial blood, meaning his lungs were compromised. 'That drop of blood is my death warrant,' he told his friend. Later that night, he had his first serious lung haemorrhage, his mouth filling with blood. Brown later remembered the calm with which Keats wiped his chin and remarked, 'This is unfortunate.'

This period was one of his most productive, and with Leigh Hunt's support he began to think that it may be possible to support himself, and a wife through writing. John had run through three doctors, who seemed to have no idea what to do with him. He was bled, starved, fattened and opiated. He fretted for Fanny's company and began to suffer palpitations. Finally, the doctors recommended a warm climate. Joseph Severn, a promising young artist with an award for travel from the Royal Academy was singled out as a good friend for John, and he became a regular visitor, along with Coleridge. John was living with the Hunts, but found the noise and the children distressing. An odd incident drove all matters to a head: a letter from Fanny was opened by mistake. Keats had a tantrum then began to cry, walking the streets in a distracted state. He passed the house where his brother had died, then made his way to the Brawne house, where he collapsed. Mrs Brawne took him in and she and her daughter nursed John for a month. His lungs became more congested and he began to produce blood on a regular basis. Rome was settled upon as the place for him to convalesce, and Jospeh Severn as the companion. Fanny gave John paper that he might write to her and a large marble she used to cool her fingers when sewing. It would rarely leave his reach for the rest of his life.

John and Joseph Severn left England on the 17th of September 1820. As the distance from Fanny grew, John's spirits sank. Severn did not know how to help him, but listened when the poet talked. They employed an English doctor, who encouraged a robust diet and walking. When Keats continued to decline, the doctor confirmed what John already knew: that he was dying. Keats became set upon suicide by laudanum, determined not to suffer the loss of dignity his brother Tom had undergone. Severn confiscated Keats' supply of the drug and John punished him with descriptions of the incontinence, vomiting and raving that was to come. Severn was a stoic and ignored his friend, nursing him as his health plummeted early in 1821. Their friendship was a rare one. Keats became frightened of the dark, so Severn rigged up a system whereby one faltering candle would light the wick of the next, an invention Keats named 'the fairy lamplighter'. The sketch at the head of the gallery was drawn on 28th of January 1821 in the light of one of those candles.

Keats became resigned to his fate and encouraged Severn in his nursing: 'Now you must be firm for it will not last long.' A letter arrived from Fanny, but he would not open it, only asking for it to be placed in his coffin with his lock of her hair. On the 23rd of February, his lungs began 'to boil'. He asked Severn to lift him up and hold him, resolving to die easily, and soon. So he and Severn sat, hand in hand for the next seven hours, until John Keats died. The Police visited the house the following day (as was the law in Italy for consumptive deaths) and ordered all destroyed. Severn saved some things for himself, but Keats was buried in the Protestant cemetery as they had agreed. Severn wrote to Brown to tell him the news:

I am broken down from four nights' watching, and no sleep since, and my poor Keats gone. Three days since, the body was opened; the lungs were completely gone. The Doctors could not conceive by what means he had lived these two months. I followed his poor body to the grave on Monday...

The news took a month to reach London, where it was published in The Times on March 23rd, 1821.

At Rome on the 23rd of Feb., of a decline, John Keats, the poet, aged 25.