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Tag Archives: automaton

The Grave Humour of the Georgians

01 Sunday Oct 2017

Posted by Lenora in Bizarre, eighteenth century, General, History, Macabre

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

automaton, Catherine Tylney-Long, Colonel Luttrell, dark humour, death, eighteenth century, gallows humour, Georgian, haunted houses, history, John Joseph Merlin, Lord Tylney, morbid, Mrs Delany, Wanstead House, William Pendarvis

The Grave humour of the Georgians

It is well-known that the Victorians had a love of all things macabre and death-related: from elaborate funerals to Memento Mori – in the nineteenth century death was in vogue. However, their eighteenth century ancestors, the Georgians, despite being less obviously morbid, certainly knew how to get a kick out of death when the mood suited them.  As Autumn is now upon us, and Halloween fast approaches, a little bit of Georgian ghoulishness may suffice to whet the appetite!

Laughing at death

Scapini Tarot, Image from SheWalksSoftly website.

The tendency for some humans to laugh at death has been likened to a kind of instinctive cognitive behavioural strategy – it allows individuals to face what they fear most, such as their own inevitable demise, whilst offering them the catharsis of laughter [1]. In the past, when death was such a visible part of most people’s lives, a bit of dark humour might help cut death down to size- to tame it a little. Of course, the terrors of the grave could also offer up a damn good scare. In the eighteenth century, the newly emergent Gothic novel found a ready audience of people who revelled in its dark aesthetic. Science and technology also offered opportunities for experiencing horror first hand in the forms of mechanical automatons and the immersive horror offered by magic lantern phantasmagoria shows. In short the Georgian’s were some of the first horror fans.

The following anecdotes have been shamelessly plundered from Julian Litten’s erudite and engrossing book on all things funereal: The English Way of Death: The Common Funeral since 1450.

An invitation to drinks with Sir William Pendarvis

For every thrill seeking eighteenth century libertine, there was an equal and opposite moralist, ready to offer their censure of decadent or immoral behaviour – whilst still relishing the details.

Mrs Delany, strong on piety and moral improvement, related the following tale of death-based debauchery, which occurred in about 1720:

“Sir William Pendarvis’s house was the rendezvous of a very immoral set of men. One of his strange exploits among other frolics, was having a coffin made of copper (which one of his mines had that year produced), and placed in the great hall, and instead of his making use of it as a monitor that might have made him ashamed and terrified at his past life, and induce him to make amends in future, it was filled with punch, and he and his comrades soon made themselves in capable of any sort of reflection; this was often repeated, and hurried him on to that awful moment he had so much reason to dread.”

This early eighteenth century baronet would seem to be no different from many of his dissolute peers, such as the irreligious Philip Wharton of Hell-fire infamy, but perhaps a kinder parallel exists with the irascible Squire Weston of Fielding’s novel, Tom Jones. Mrs Delaney had personal experience of the hard-drinking Pendarvis clan, she had been married at seventeen to sixty year old Alexander Pendarvis, so she clearly had good reason to be unimpressed by Sir William’s antics. But perhaps at the end of the day, Pendarvis was just another of the species of the carousing and bibulous English squire – albeit with a dark sense of humour – no doubt a dreadful husband but probably a great drinking buddy.

I wonder if he was buried in his punch bowl coffin?

‘Mine’s a double!’. Image by Thomas Bewick. British Museum Collection.

Colonel Luttrell’s death masque(rade)

On 6 February 1771 Mrs Cornely held a Masquerade at the Pantheon in London. Such gatherings were popular in the eighteenth century and one could expect to see the usual throng of merrymakers dressed as harlequins, monks and medieval princesses, eager to party the night away. However, one guest, Colonel Luttrell, took things a little too far and his costume somewhat killed the atmosphere. RS Kirby, who witnessed the debacle, related that Luttrell cast such ‘a pall of gloom’ over the other guests that he had to leave almost as soon as he got there. And the reason for this downturn in the festivities…he had come dressed as a coffin!

Remarkable characters at Mrs. Cornely’s masquerade, 1771. British Museum Collection.

Satan-Machines and the human condition

Before elaborating on the third tale of ghastly Georgian humour, in which Lord Tylney alarmed his guests with a gruesome garden ghoul, some preamble may be justified.

Philosophers have argued what it is that makes us human since time immemorial. In the seventeenth century Rene Descartes, in his Passions of the Soul and The Description of the Human Body,  argued that humans and animals were basically automatons, humans distinguished only by their ability to reason. It was natural then, for life-like mechanical automatons to become part of that debate, similar today’s philosophical debates concerning when and if artificial intelligence might achieve sentience. Jessica Riskin, in her essay Machines in the Garden shows that far from viewing these human-machines as soulless – as we often do now – in the past they were often seen as capable of acting unexpectedly, playfully, wilfully and responsively. [2] This certainly comes across in Lord Tylney’s extraordinary display (described in the next section) with a choreographed event involving interaction between the living participants and the automatons.

Millennium Clock, Museum of Scotland. Photo by Lenora

What may seem unusual is that Tylney’s spectacle was so viscerally frightening. The most famous automatons, such as the exquisite silver swan at Bowes Museum or the dainty little keyboard player beloved of Marie Antoinette, may be slightly uncanny, but they are intended to be objects of beauty not fear. Nevertheless, historically, it was not unusual for automatons to be of a more menacing form. For many years the Catholic Church had been using mechanical and hydraulic automata as part of their clocks and organs to illustrate religious themes. But they had also been using automata to scare the devil out of their congregations with much more gruesome automatons – a famous example being the Sforza Devil.

The Devil of SforzaThe Devil of Sforza by G.dallorto (Own work) [Attribution], via Wikimedia Commons

Many of these ‘Satan-machines’ had a pretty dramatic repertoire – wild rolling eyes, demonic expressions, chomping jaws, flapping wings and arms. Evan a tiny monk, created in 1560 by Juanelo Turriano, and now in the Smithsonian, that marched about offering benedictions in a rather sinister manner. Clearly these machines were intended primarily for the spiritual and religious improvement of the congregation, but Riskin also points to plenty of instances where their antics caused amusement [3]. Of course, they were also good for business, drawing crowds of the curious and the faithful.

While the church used automatons in their mission to save their congregations souls, those who could afford to, used automatons for entertainment. Many princes of the church, royalty and noble families in Europe used hydraulic machines to create jump scares and booby traps for unsuspecting guests – water spouts could be triggered to drench guests and mechanical humans, animals, and dragons lurked about gardens and in grottoes to delight and amaze onlookers.

Lord Tylney’s Clockwork Cadaver

Perhaps the most interesting of Litten’s anecdotes occurred in at the fabled and ill-fated Wanstead House, Redbridge, London.

Wanstead House in the 1780’s. Collection of the British Museum.

Wanstead House is most famous as the home of the beautiful and tragic Catherine Tylney Long, whose sad spectre is said to still haunt the grounds of the park. In 1768, long before the lovely Catherine met her tragic end, it was the setting of a spectacular or should that be spooktacular *sighs* practical joke that would be the envy of many modern haunted houses.

The following account is from the pen of an Italian Noblewoman, a guest at Wanstead and witness to the macabre piece of immersive theatre orchestrated by John, 2nd Earl Tylney (1712-84):

“Many lights appear in the trees and on the water. We are off and have great excitement fishing up treasure… tied to bladders. His Lordship is hailed from the shore by a knight, who we are told is King Arthur, have you the sacrifice my Lord, who answers no, then take my sword and smite the water in front of the grot and see what my wizard has done, take also this dove and when asked, give it to the keeper. Off again to some distance from the grotto, the lights are small and the water still, the giant eagle appears and asks, have you the sacrifice, no my Lord answers, so be it and disappears in steam.

His Lordship smites the water with King Arthur’s sword, all the company are still, a rumble sucking noise comes in front of the opening of the grotto the water as if boiling and to the horror of all the company as though from the depth of hell arose a ghastly coffin covered with slime and other things.

Silence as though relief, when suddenly with a creaking and ghostly groaning the lid slid as if off and up sat a terrible apparition with outstretched hand screeching in a hollow voice, give me my gift, with such violence, that some of the company fell into the water and had to be saved and those on the shore scrambled in always confusion was everywhere. We almost fainted with fright and was only stayed from the same fate by the hand of his Lordship, who handed the keeper the dove the keeper shut its hand and with a gurgling noise vanished with a clang of its lid, and all went pitch. Then the roof of the grotto glowed two times lighting the water and the company a little, nothing was to be seen of the keeper or his coffin, as though it did not happen. [sic!]” [4]

A Phantasmagoria; Conjuring-up an Armed Skeleton.1803 James Gillray

His Lordship may have been intending that some beautiful creature would swoon into his arms at the dramatic events, but he may have been a little disappointed that it was the lady in question – as Lord Tylney was not that way inclined.

Litten credits Lord Tylney with the concept for the event. Perhaps he had been influenced by the ghoulish phantasmagoria shows so popular at the time or automatons on display in noble houses and gardens both in England and on the continent. He certainly spent much of his life living in Italy where there were they had been popular for centuries.

But who was the macabre mechanic who breathed life into the drama? Litten looks to clues in the tableau to find the author of the mechanical pyrotechnics. The King Arthur motif would seem to be significant, as are the words ’see what my wizard has done’. Merlin was Arthur’s wizard, could this also be a covert reference to the extraordinary talents of John Joseph Merlin, famed for his exquisite automata such as the silver swan at Bowes Museum in Co. Durham. The eccentric inventor had arrived in England in 1760 and quickly made a reputation for himself (and not just for automata, Merlin had a penchant for cross-dressing and was a keen, if not always proficient, roller-skater). In the small world of the London elite, it is not unlikely that Tylney crossed paths with the brilliant John Joseph Merlin. Especially as Merlin’s penchant for cross-dressing may have appealed to Lord Tylney who is believed to have been homosexual. Merlin would certainly seem an ideal candidate for executing such an elaborate and memorable spectacle – although it is unlikely we will ever know for sure.

Tylney’s macabre drama draws on a long tradition of using automatons to scare and to entertain, but he also draws on elements of cutting edge contemporary culture with his emphasis on the Gothic with its predilection for knights and ghouls and good old jump scares. His guests had the opportunity for a good (safe) scare and a drenching if they weren’t too careful!

Saved from the flames

It is interesting to note that Julian Litten was given this tantalising titbit of Georgian horror by one Stuart Campbell-Adams, who explained that it was nearly lost in the mists of time. In a suitably gothic twist, this vignette of eighteenth century ghoulishness was amongst Tylney family papers intended to be consigned to the flames following the dissolution of Wanstead House. Only the quick thinking of either a maid or female relation of Catherine Tylney-Long saved them from destruction. Whoever the lady was, she clearly had a wicked sense of humour!

Sources and notes

Litten, Julian, ‘The English Way of Death The Common Funeral Since 1450’ Robert Hale, 1992 [4]
Riskin, Jessica, ‘Machines in the garden’ at-http://arcade.stanford.edu/sites/default/files/article_pdfs/roflv01i02_03riskin_comp3_083010_JM_0.pdf [2] [3]
It’s Good to be Bad: The psychological benefit of dark humour’ by Meg, 2014) at – http://megsanity.com/article.asp?post=14 [1]

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Merlin and the Silver Swan

14 Friday Jun 2013

Posted by Lenora in Bizarre, eighteenth century, General, History, Stately Homes

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

Age of Enlightenment, automaton, Bowes Museum, Charles Babbage, early computers, eighteenth century, Georgian Society, history, John Joseph Merlin, North East England, robots

Swan

The Silver Swan, 1774, created by John Joseph Merlin and James Cox.

The eighteenth century was a time of magic and mystery despite – or perhaps because of – the Enlightenment.  The more scientific, rational and demystified the world became, the more people sought out the shadows, the unknown and the extraordinary.  From the passion for the Gothic Novel, to the vogue for seances and Phantasmagoria, the thrill seekers and the curious were desperate to be amazed.  Science helped to fulfill this need, and Scientists became the new Wizards of the age – often just as good showmen and PR guru’s as any  market-place mountebank.

Automata were at the forefront of eighteenth century technological developments, yet they were also things of beauty and wonder that posed philosophical questions about the human condition.

One of the most sublime and magical of the Automata, in my opinion,  is the Silver Swan created by a later-day Merlin.  Truly a master of mechanical magical arts – John Joseph Merlin (1735 – 1803) was an eccentric Belgian inventor who came Britain.

John Joseph Merlin

John Joseph Merlin, by Gainsborough, Public Domain via Wikipedia

John Joseph Merlin, by Gainsborough, Public Domain via Wikipedia

Merlin was from an early age a genius with clockwork.  He studied at the Academie des Sciences in Paris and at only 25 years old he was already a well-known inventor, so much so that he was brought to England by the Spanish Ambassador.

He enthusiastically threw himself into the heart of Georgian celebrity culture, he had a knack for hanging out with the intellectual and artistic ‘in-crowd’ (Dr Johnson, Gainsborough, Walpole and JC Bach (son of JS) to name but a few).  He also had a talent for publicity.   One of his favourite publicity stunts was to attend soirees dressed up as a barmaid, whilst whizzing round the bemused guests on roller skates (also his invention) serving drinks – or playing the violin (he could do that as well –the smarty pants!).

On the subject of his inventing roller skates, I can’t help but mention on of the most famous and oft-repeated anecdotes about him, which was recorded by Thomas Busby in 1805 (some years after Merlin’s death):

“One of his ingenious novelties was a pair of skaites contrived to run on wheels.  Supplied with these and a violin, he mixed in the motley group of one Mrs Cowley’s masquerades at Carlisle House; when not having provided the means of retarding his velocity, or commanding its direction, he impelled himself against a mirror of more than five hundred pounds value, dashed it to atoms, broke his instrument to pieces and wounded himself most severely”

Note the wonderful eighteenth century emphasis on the damage to property prioritized over personal injury! Fortunately Merlin is said to have had a good sense of humour (and a strong constitution – one hopes).

He was also noted for being very musical (hence the violin) and inventing and improving various musical instruments including a Barrel Organ for a princess and a compound harpsichord with pianoforte action which was used by Bach.

The Silver Swan and the modern computer

The famous Silver Swan came about through a partnership between Merlin and James Cox.  Cox was a jeweller and clockmaker with brassy flare of a showman.  The perfect promoter for top end exquisite and exclusive Automata.

The Silver Swan, Bowes Museum, Durham

The Silver Swan, Bowes Museum, Durham

The Silver Swan, created in 1773, was a show stopper from the start drawing huge crowds to ‘The Mechanical Museum of James Cox’ in London.  It was exhibited in 1867 at the Paris Exhibition, and bought by John and Josephine Bowes in 1872 for their museum in Barnard Castle.  And that is where it remains to this day – as the star turn of Bowes Museum.

The Swan is the ultimate luxury object – solid silver, with a top of the range clockwork mechanism and artistic touches such as the uneven glass rods that form the water in which the swan sits – Cox gave the Swan its beauty whilst Merlin gave it life.

Imagine the swan in action in candle-light, flickering flames making the water shimmer as the swan inclines its elegant silvery neck, whilst eerie music plays from within its mechanism.

In 1783, after Cox ran into financial difficulties, Merlin opened his own show room: ‘Merlin’s Mechanical Museum’; it ran with great success for a number of years. Amongst his clock-work masterpiece was a perpetual motion machine run by changes in atmospheric pressure as well as his famous automatons.

Charles Babbage, inventor of an early proto-type for modern computers visited this museum as a child and was mesmerised by what he saw, and became hooked on the potential of automata.

He was so taken with two saucy little nude automata that years later he eventually acquired them for his own delectation (all in the course of research – naturally).  He described them thus:

“..she used an eye-glass occasionally and bowed frequently as if recognizing her acquaintances….” the other “..an admirable danseuse, with a bird on the forefinger of her right hand, which wagged its tail, flapped its wings and opened its beak….the lady attitudinized in a most fascinating manner.  Her eyes were full of imagination, and irresistible.”

The price of perfection

There was also a dark side to this beauty and technology.  For much of the eighteenth century these beautiful and innovative creations were produced by highly skilled low paid workers.  Artisans who worked by candle-light on tiny mechanisms.  Many of them must have damaged their eyesight or gone blind.  And of course, most ordinary people would never have been allowed to glimpse these marvels of the age as they were primarily for the entertainment of the wealthy elite. One famous maker – Pierre Jaquet-Droz even vowed that no servant would ever see his creations.

piano playing lady

Automaton owned by Marie Antoinnette, Versailles collection.

Automatons were so much associated with the elites and ruling classes that during the French Revolution, revolutionaries likened the hated aristo’s to the automatons that they loved so much: “bodies without souls, covered in lace”.

The Legacy of Celestial Clockwork

Mark Twain described his viewing of the Silver Swan in action in his book ‘Innocents Abroad’:

“I watched the Silver Swan, which had a living grace about his movement and a living intelligence in his eyes – watched him swimming about as comfortably and unconcernedly as if he had been born in a morass instead of a jeweller’s shop – watched him seize a silver fish from under the water and hold up his head and go through the customary and elaborate motions of swallowing it..”

clockwork

Automaton from Dr Who ‘The Girl in the Fireplace’

I think Mark Twain truly captures the essence of automata here, they were not just imitations of life, there was a growing philosophy that the body and machine could become one and be recreated in clockwork.  Scientists and philosophers saw automatic movements and processes in the way the bodies of humans and animals worked and many automaton’s were designed to replicate these processes and in doing so posed the question were humans really any different from machines?

These early Automatons also hinted at the industrial revolution and the mechanisation of many industries (such as the textile industry) which had a direct impact on the working classes.  They were also very early precursors of the computer: automatons were directed in their actions by Cams, each cut differently, and capable of ordering the movements of the automaton.  Often hundreds of cams were required, and as many were numbered, potentially an automaton could be programmed to perform a variety of tasks by rearranging them – a mechanical form of computer programming.

They have also helped inspire and drive the creative imagination in literature and in science in the form of robots and androids.  And reality is fast catching up with sci-fi with sophisticated robots such as Asimo, and the current debate about the possibility of creating ‘killer’ robots in the not to distant future.

**

Unfortunately very few of the original automatons survive, and those that do, are often just as inaccessible to ordinary people as they were in the eighteenth century.  However, it is still sometimes possible to glimpse one of these remarkable creations in action.  The Silver Swan at Bowes Museum, Barnard Castle, is operated every day at 2pm for the public.  I have seen the swan in action, it is incredible to watch a clockwork masterpiece built 240 years ago working so perfectly.  You can see it in action on You Tube on the link below, and details of how to visit can also be found  below.

Link to Silver Swan display:

Sources

Bowes Museum website, http://www.thebowesmuseum.org.uk/collections/the-silver-swan/history/
Busby, Thomas, 1805, ‘Concert Room and Orchestra Anecdotes’
Leinhard John H, John Joseph Merlin, http://www.uh.edu/engines/epi630.htm
Rendell Mike, John Joseph Merlin Part One, http://blog.mikerendell.com/?p=5077
Rendell, Mike, John Joseph Merlin Part Two, http://blog.mikerendell.com/?p=5097
Schaffer, Simon, Mechanical Marvels: Clockwork Dreams, BBC4 Broadcast 3/6/13
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Joseph_Merlin
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Cox_%28inventor%29
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silver_Swan_%28automaton%29

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