Strawberry Hill Gothick: the art of gloomth and the beauty of horror

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Architecture, Castle of Otranto, Chopp'd straw hall, committee of taste, eighteenth century, English Villa, fellow goths, Georgian taste, gloomth, Gothic, Gothick, Grand tour, Horace Walpole, horror, John Chute, Lady Waldegrave, literature, Richard Bentley, stained glass, Strawberry Hill House, Twickenham

Strawberry Hill – a dream of gloomth

South View of Strawberry Hill.

Miss Jessel and I recently had the opportunity to coordinate our haunted schedules and take a trip to Twickenham to visit one of the most unusual and, to my mind, beautiful houses in England.

Strawberry Hill is a unique building in English architecture – one that fits nowhere comfortably.  It is not a castle, nor a venerable ancestral seat, nor yet is it a picaresque folly or a classic English Villa.  What is, is drama, theatricality, the promise of dark mysteries and unfolding horror….In short, Strawberry Hill is as idiosyncratic, affected and inspired as the extraordinary man who created it.  A man who, saturated as he was with the gloomth and venerable barbarism he made fashionable, let his Gothic architectural masterpiece inspire his Gothic literary masterpiece…and thereafter spawn a whole genre of Gothic literature and popular culture.

Horace Walpole (1717 -1797): connoisseur, writer, art critic and gossip

Horace Walpole by Joshua Reynolds, 1756. Image Wikimedia.

It is hard to read any history or biography concerning the eighteenth century without coming across some usually acerbically witty observations from Horace Walpole.  A voluminous correspondent, writer and art critic, he was deeply concerned with recording events around him, seeing on the spot observations as valuable tools for historians.  From the Coronation of George II to the Cock Lane Ghost, Walpole was there to offer his spiky comments to his correspondents and to posterity.

He was born in 1717 into the powerful elite of eighteenth century society. His father, Sir Robert Walpole, was, in all but name, Britain’s first Prime Minister.  This is proved extremely beneficial for Horace, as his father ensured he never had to work by granting him 3 lucrative sinecures.  His mother, Catherine Shorter, whom he is said to have taken after, was from a family of eccentrics.

Walpole’s parents, hanging in the Blue Bed Chamber (the origial frame was re-created on a 3D printer).

Like most of his contemporaries Walpole rounded off his formal education with a Grand Tour to the continent.  From 1739 -1741, accompanied by his friend, the poet Thomas Gray, he traveled to Italy.  Temperamentally very different: Gray liked to spend hours studying historical sites, while Walpole preferred living it up and partying on down, they soon fell out [1].  This tour, and its cultural influence was to have an important impact on his later ideas for Strawberry Hill as he endeavored to re-create the ‘gloomth of abbeys and cathedrals’ at home.

English tourists on the Grand Tour, 18th Century image. Source BBC.

Horace Walpole, by Rosalba Carriera. Source Wikipedia.

By 1747, Sir Robert had been in his grave for two years, leaving Horace, his youngest son the lease on a London property and enough money to begin looking about for a country retreat. Nothing as grand as Houghton Hall where he had grown up, but something more bijou and compact. A bachelor pad, but with enough space for the chi-chi little house parties that Walpole was so fond of throwing.  It had to be somewhere fashionable, after-all Walpole was a man of taste and refinement, and it had to have good transport connections to the capital with its social and political scene.

At that time Twickenham was being what we would now call gentrified.  By the time Walpole went house-hunting, Twickenham’s rustic cottages had been transformed into stylish English Villa’s (such as the classically elegant Marble Hill, home to Henrietta Howard, Countess of Suffolk, and long-suffering mistress of George II)  and real estate was in seriously short supply. Walpole was lucky though, and snapped up the last vacant plot – Chopp’d Straw Hall – from one Mrs Chenevix, a luxury ‘toy’ woman (think uber-posh geegaws for the very rich, rather than Barbie dolls and teddy bears for the proletariat).  This image of the house as an exquisite toy seemed to tickle Walpole and he often referred to his home in those terms:

“It is a little play-thing of a house that I got out of Mrs Chenevix’s shop, and is the prettiest bauble you ever saw.”

He was to spend the next fifty years adding and elaborating on the original house – as Maev Kennedy wrote, Walpole achieved a:

‘spectacular conjuring trick [..] [a] miniature medieval castle wrapped around a modest little country house.’ [2]

How not to build English Villa – throwing away the rule book

Plate showing ‘the five orders’ from a book by da Vignola. 16th Century. Source Wikipedia.

From Palladio to Inigo Jones and Lord Burlington, by the eighteenth century the prevailing architectural fashion was Classical: symmetrical, ordered, regulated by the ‘noble rules’ and harking back to the roman country villa [3].

When Walpole chose to buck the trend and go Gothick, he was not the first. Vanbrugh and William Kent had been earlier trailblazers.  Where he was different was in using actual architectural examples to create a new Gothic building.  He was not adding a sympathetic extension, or restoring an existing Gothic building like Vanbrugh and Kent had done.  He was taking research and turning it into a reality, twisting the invariably Classical  English Villa into something more organic, more irregular, dramatic, more English.  And it was completely at odds with the dominant Classicism of the day.  As Michael Snoddin, curator at the V&A commented:

“The most striking external feature of Strawberry Hill was its irregular plan and broken picturesque silhouette.” [4]

It must have seemed shocking to his neighbors!

Yet, despite its oddity, it also fitted with the sensibility of the eighteenth century perfectly, the Picaresque movement was popular at the time, and the very nature of eighteenth century style was very feminine – think Rococo curves.  It also tapped into the growing interest of Antiquarians in the Medieval past of Britain, whilst not omitting modern conveniences, as Walpole was at pains to point out:

The Tribune, where Walpole displayed his most valued treasures.

“In truth, I did not mean to make my house so Gothic as to exclude convenience, and modern refinement in luxury.  The designs of the inside and outside are strictly ancient, but the decorations are modern.”

There was almost a national pride in the resurgence of the style – something that would become more pronounced in the 19th Century when the Victorian’s enthusiastically embraced the Gothic style of architecture.  Walpole certainly appreciated that England’s Medieval heritage needed to be preserved, and this is typified in his method of using actual examples of medieval decoration and interior design.  His preferred period was the Perpendicular period of 1330 – 1550, and this is evident at Strawberry Hill [5].

According to Anna Chalcraft and Judith Viscardi:

“Horace Walpole used new materials, had amazing ideas, but utilized these to reinvest the past with excitement.  Both Georgian and Victorian Gothic architecture grew from a style which recalled the past but which was also the epitome of modernity.” [6]

Hence the term Strawberry Hill Gothic, or Gothick with a ‘k’ was coined,  to distinguish this modern Gothic from true Gothic style.

Detail of the Entrance hall wallpaper, a design taken from Prince Arthur’s tomb at Worcester cathedral.

My Fellow Goths

The Stunning Long Gallery

Although Walpole was the driving force behind Strawberry Hill, he also deferred to and acted upon the decor and design suggested by his Committee of Taste, his ‘fellow Goths’.  Membership varied over the years but the two most prominent members were John Chute, who specialized in early buildings, antiquarianism, and heraldry; with Richard Bentley influencing interiors, furniture and decoration.

Together Walpole and his Committee created a theatrical experience using a range of techniques: use of light (the windows are slightly larger than might be expected), the absence of light (blue glass and stained glass give a wonderful Gloomth to many of the rooms), use of vivid colour and rich gilding (one can only imagine how gorgeous the Long Gallery must have looked by candle-light – with its gilded fan vaults ablaze and casting eerie shadows on the walls).

Many of the rooms are vivid hues – the Blue Bed Chamber, the Rich Red of the Long Gallery, the purple of the Holbein Room. – while some rooms are muted – the entrance hall and staircase, the trunk-ceiled passage setting a more sombre scene.  Whereas today, the sheer peacockery of the place removes any sense of dark mystery or foreboding, in the eighteenth century the impression would have been quite different.

The Glorious Gloomth of the Library.

As Chalcraft and Viscardi note, Walpole used illusion to create a mood for each room – nothing is quite what it seems. Plaster, wood and paint imitate stone carvings, giving, as Sally Jeffrey observed, an almost illustrated delicacy to the building reminiscent of its academic sources [7]. Throughout the building, the vistas are carefully planned, the visitor moves through the house in a particular way,  the design and layout is immersive, intended to alter the mood of the viewer, or focus their attention on a particular object or scene.  Today, the house is sparsely furnished, but in Walpole’s day it was crammed with the six thousand objects he had collected, each placed for maximum impact and each with its own story to tell.

From darkness into the light. Planned vistas in Strawberry Hill.

No surprise then that the house has always attracted visitors, Walpole was even occasionally run out of his own home by the massed hordes of upper crust sight-seers, and he would retreat to a cottage nearby.  However, oh the whole he seemed to have rather enjoyed the attention, even going so far as to create rules for visitors and issuing the very first country house guide in 1774, for their edification.

Walpole’s rules for visitors to Strawberry Hill.

 The Castle of Otranto

Of course, the fame of Strawberry Hill also lies in it being the inspiration for the tale cited as the first ever Gothic Horror story – The Castle of Otranto.

On 9th March 1765 Horace Walpole wrote to the Rev William Cole:

” I waked one morning in the beginning of last June from a dream, of which all I could recover was, that I thought myself in an ancient castle (a very natural dream for a head filled like mine with Gothic story) and that on the uppermost bannister of great staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour.  In the evening I sat down and began to write, without knowing in the least what I intended to say or relate…” [8]

Staircase, designed by Richard Bentley and inspired by Rouen cathedral, and the supposed setting of Walpole’s dream.

And so the Gothic Horror Genre was born. The story is rather like the house itself, which is not quite what it purports to be.  in 1764 Otranto was launched onto the reading public as an ancient Italian Tale, discovered in a remote library and translated by the antiquarian William Marshall.  Once its warm reception had been assured, subsequent editions named Walpole as the author.

Unfortunately, rather like the house itself, the tale has lost some of its sense of dread and mystery over the years, leaving a theatrical, slightly breathless melodrama in its stead: death by gigantic helmet, portraits coming to life, a rotting corpse hermit with a message from beyond the grave and swooning maidens aside, the tale does lay out the standard tropes enthusiastically adopted in later Gothic tales.  There is a cursed noble family, a long-lost heir, a doomed highborn beauty.  Earthly moral peril and otherworldly threat create dynamic tension and heighten the drama.

Mario Praz, in his excellent introduction to the Penguin edition, despite acknowledging The Castle of Otranto  to be the first of its genre, sees it as a rather weak example of  Gothic horror, noting somewhat dismissively that like Strawberry Hill itself, Otranto was merely – ‘Rococo in Gothic disguise’.  [9]

Walpole’s source of inspiration? Carceri series, by Piranesi. Image public domain, via Wikimedia.

Despite the modern criticisms, in the Eighteenth century the tale was a ‘best seller’. The popularity of the Castle of Otranto may seem to be a paradox in the Enlightened eighteenth century.  However, the century that prided itself on the rational and scientific progress was also a century that saw more and more people becoming urbanized and losing their connection to the countryside in the wake of ‘progress’.  Almost as a counterbalance to things becoming to rational and to classical, there was a growing interest in the picturesque and in Britain’s medieval past as people yearned to rediscover and reconnect with the chaos of nature.

In literature De Sade and in art Piranesi tapped into and exploited this desire for primordial chaos and destruction.  As Praz explains, a sensibility grew up where horror became a source of delight – charm and repulsion were combined and “the ‘beautiful horrid’ passed by insensible degrees into the ‘horribly beautiful'” [10]

Walpole can be seen in his creation of Strawberry Hill  and his writing of The Castle of Otranto successfully tapping into the zeitgeist of the mid-eighteenth century and in doing so became both a fore-runner of the Gothic  literature so popular later in the century and of the Gothic architectural style so beloved of the Victorians.

The armoury from the staircase.  A great plumed helmet, reminiscent of Otranto, can be seen in the middle arch.

So, despite Walpole’s fears that ‘My buildings are paper…and will all be blown away in ten years after I am dead’ both of his great works, Strawberry Hill and The Castle of Otranto, have survived the centuries to become culturally significant landmarks.

Strawberry Hill today

After Walpole’s death in 1797, Strawberry Hill suffered a checkered fate with some sympathetic and some not so sympathetic custodians.  Sadly, the famed collection was broken up and sold in the 1840’s.

The 19th Century Waldegrave Wing.

Restoration in progress – hand-woven sheets are laid out on the table.

By 2004 Strawberry Hill was listed as endangered by the World Monument Fund.    But, thanks to the Strawberry Hill Trust the house was saved.  The Trust are restoring the house to the state it was when Horace Walpole lived in it, so the colours are vivid and the textiles fresh.  The visitor may sometimes have difficulty telling what is ‘real’ and what is a reconstruction, but the overall effect is glorious and I feel sure Walpole would have approved.

It is the 300th anniversary of Horace Walpole’s birth next year, and as part of the celebrations the Trust planned to try to reunite Horace Walpole’s lost collection with Strawberry Hill.  Bringing together hundreds of items from all over the world is a huge undertaking, and now it looks like this won’t happen until 2018.  However, it should be well worth the wait.

To find out more about visiting Strawberry Hill, you can find their website at:

http://www.strawberryhillhouse.org.uk/

To find out more about the Walpole Collection, visit the Lewis Walpole Library:

http://www.library.yale.edu/walpole/

 Sources and notes

Images:  By Lenora unless otherwise stated.

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Horace-Walpole-4th-earl-of-Orford [1]

Chalcraft, Anna and Viscardi, Judith, 2011, ‘Strawberry Hill Horace Walpole’s Gothic Castle’ Francis Lincoln Ltd [5] [6] [7] [and most quotes from Horace Walpole]

Fairclough, Peter, ed. and Praz, Mario, 1986, ‘Three Gothic Novels’, Penguin [8] [9]

Jeffery Sally, ‘Architecture’ in Ford, Boris, Ed, 1995, ‘The Cambridge Cultural History of Britain Vol 5 Eighteenth Century Britain’, Cambridge University Press [3] [7]

Kennedy, Maev, 25 Feb 2015, ‘Strawberry Hill, Horace Walpole’s fantasy castle, to open its doors again’ , The Guardian.  https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2015/feb/25/strawberry-hill-horace-walpole-gothic-castle-otranto-open-again [2]

Walpole, Horace, republished 2016, ‘A Description of Strawberry Hill’ The Strawberry Hill Trust.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horace_Walpole [4]

 

 

 

Clandestine Marriages: Five tales of abduction from the 17th and 18th centuries

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bride abductions, Bridget Hyde, clandestine, Earl of Rochester, eighteenth century, Elizabeth Malet, fleet marriages, forced, heiress, Marriage, Marriage Act 1753, Mary Wharton, Pleasant Rawlins, seventeenth century, Sibble Morris

Lovelace and Clarissa Harlowe. Wikimedia.

Nowadays the idea of anything being clandestine suggests something having an unsavoury, grubby and secretive undertone but in the 17^th and 18^th centuries many couples preferred to have a clandestine marriage. Tens of thousands of couples from all walks of life were legally and respectably married in clandestine ceremonies.

Clandestine marriages were recognised in Canon Law as long as the ceremony was performed by an ordained clergyman. A clandestine marriage had a number of advantages over an official marriage for instance it did away with the need for publishing banns and buying a licence making the ceremony cheaper and quicker, the betrothed couple were not restricted to marrying in their own parish, if need be the date could be backdated to cover an unplanned pregnancy and couples could be married away from the public eye as well as interfering relatives. This type of marriage could be especially convenient for foreign couples who had just moved to England and as yet were not registered in a parish or soldiers and sailors on limited leave[1].

A number of places became well-known centres for clandestine marriages including All Hallows Church in Honey Lane, St Pancreas in Soper Lane, Mayfair Chapel (which tried to encourage business by having as a centrepiece the supposedly embalmed corpse of the wife of the parson[2]) and the notorious area of the Fleet.

Under The Rules of the Fleet

Strangely enough the Fleet Prison was one of the most popular settings for clandestine marriages in the 17^th and 18^th centuries and whereas elsewhere this type of marriage was seen as perfectly reputable, Fleet marriages were often viewed with suspicion.

Prior to the law of 1711 (which closed a quirky loophole in the law) marriages took place in the prison chapel. The prison was well set up for the celebration of nuptials with the happy couple able to enjoy a range of facilities including a tap-room, coffee-house, public kitchen and eating room and even a sports area which had been built to accommodate the hundreds of visitors the prison attracted each week[3]. As with all prisons at the time bribery was rife and anyone willing to pay could do as they pleased. This ensured that the prison wardens and clergy for the correct fee would obligingly look the other way if the marriage was in any way dodgy.

The Fleet Prison. Image Wikimedia.

When the prison was finally banned from holding marriages, business just moved outside its walls to an area which for some bizarre reason fell beyond the jurisdiction of the church but was still classed as being under ‘the Rules of the Fleet’. This unsavoury neighbourhood which had sprung up allowed prisoners to live in lodgings outside the prison compound as long as they paid the keeper a fee for loss of earnings[4]. The taverns and coffee houses such as the Bull and Garter, The Great Hand and Pen and The Star took full advantage of the new business opportunity and turned themselves into extremely profitable ‘marriage houses’ (half the marriages in London took place in the Fleet)[5]. These marriage houses used any means possible to encourage business and some even had their own in-house clergyman such as Dr Gainham who could be found at the Rainbow Coffee House[6].

Touts were employed to harass and persuade visiting couples to pop into their marriage house for a quick ceremony and even single gentlemen were approached – I guess that there must have been a pool of potential wives that you could marry at short notice!

It is not surprising then given the character of the place, the booming marriage industry and the fierce competition amongst around 80 disgraced clergymen at a loose end and living in the area, that everyone involved was prepared to turn a blind eye to unwilling participants or repeat customers.

Fleet Street Marriage. Via Wikimedia.

Hardwicke’s Marriage Act of 1753

The passing of the Marriage Act proposed in 1753 by Lord Chancellor Hardwicke and implemented the following year put an end to clandestine marriages. From then on it was illegal to get married without bans or a licence, girls under the age of 21 had to get the permission of their parents or guardians and the marriage itself had to take place in an Anglican church (Jews and Quakers were exempt). Verbal and written contracts were no longer accepted as legal evidence of marriage. Couples had to register their marriages in a parish’s register and the signatures of the bride and groom had to be witnessed[7].

Lord Hardwicke. Image Gretna Green Website.

This Act would have appealed to Daniel Defoe and other like-minded individuals who believed that prior to this “a gentleman might have the satisfaction of hanging a thief that stole and old horse from him, but could have no justice against a rogue for stealing his daughter” [8] and who had to confine his daughters to their chambers to prevent them from being abducted by “rogues, cheats, gamesters and such like starving crew…”[9].

It took six days for the new legislation to be passed as there were influential opponents of the law who believed that all that was needed was a tightening up of the current system and better record keeping. The politician Henry Fox was concerned that the delay which publishing banns and obtaining a licence created might even ruin some women. He believed that some rogues would convince their intended wife to compromise herself and then drop her before they got to the altar. The Act was also accused of being used to protect the insular nature of the aristocracy by barring new blood and commoners from entering its hallowed circle and some worried that the law would prevent children from being legitimised[10].

The downside of the current system was the few but distressing cases of forced marriages of young girls in particular heiresses and the numerous cases of bigamy which came up regularly at the Old Bailey. Although these cases gave weight to the necessity of the Act, the MP Charles Townshend questioned those who regularly spouted these examples. He believed that the legislation was an overreaction and asked his peers to consider that although forced marriages were scandalous and “a public evil. But how rarely do such infamous marriages happen, especially with respect to those that are under age”[11].

How often did these sorts of marriages really occur is difficult to gauge. Forced marriages did happen but in reality Charles Townshend was correct and these incidents were rare. Nevertheless the damage and distress they caused their unfortunate victims should not be underestimated.

The notion that an unscrupulous and undesirable suitor could persuade or force a wealthy young heiress into an unsuitable marriage against the wishes of her family generated a high level of paranoia amongst the aristocratic and wealthy classes. Older relatives trying to pre-empt and restrict inappropriate behaviour in their female offspring recounted to them cautionary tales of the perils of abduction and impulsive marriages.

The Bolt by Fragonard.

Elizabeth Malet

Elizabeth Malet by Peter Lely.

“Here, upon my [Samuel Pepys] telling her [Lady Sandwich] a story of my Lord Rochester’s running away on Friday night last with Mrs. Mallett, the great beauty and fortune of the North, who had supped at White Hall with Mrs. Stewart, and was going home to her lodgings with her grandfather, my Lord Haly, by coach; and was at Charing Cross seized on by both horse and foot men, and forcibly taken from him, and put into a coach with six horses, and two women provided to receive her, and carried away.”[12]

The abduction of the wealthy heiress Elizabeth Malet on the 26

May 1665 scandalised London and infuriated King Charles II who quickly signed a warrant for the arrest of Lord Rochester. Sent to the Tower and later to sea, it seems that Rochester’s had not abandoned his matrimonial plans as in January 1667 he again ran off with Elizabeth (this time with her consent). They married in a clandestine ceremony at Knightsbridge Chapel against the wishes of her father, John Malet.[13]

Bridget Hyde

Bridget was the daughter of the acknowledged beauty Mary Hyde and the wealthy Sir Thomas Hyde. On the death of her father shortly after she was born, Bridget became an heiress worth £100,000 and a pawn in her relatives’ tug of war game.

The Family of Sir Robert Vyner (Bridget is on the far left). Image NPG 5568;

In 1674, Mary became seriously ill and Bridget now aged about twelve was sent to stay with her mother’s sisters, Susan and Sara in Hertfordshire.  Her aunts had not done quite as well in their marriages as their successful sister, marrying two brothers of the name Emerton who worked as bailiffs on the Hyde estate[14]. Aware that Bridget’s step-father, Robert Vyner was hoping to marry Bridget to the son of Lord Danby (in return for a cancellation of his debts which were the result of lending money to Charles II) and afraid for their own livelihood, Bridget’s aunts decided to marry her to her cousin, John. Probably presenting the marriage in the form of a game, Sara and Susan convinced Bridget to go through the ceremony which was conducted by the morally challenged priest, John Brandling. When Vyner found out about the marriage he was furious seeing all his plans falling apart. Determined not to be bested by his wife’s deceitful relatives, Vyner took the case to the Ecclesiastical Court to have it declared null and void. In the meantime Bridget returned to her step-father’s care but her estates were awarded by the Court of the King’s Bench to Emerton. The case lasted six years!

Lovelace Abducting Clarissa Harlowe – Louis Edouard Dubuf

For some reason, Bridget seemed to attract trouble like a moth to a flame. Whilst the legality of her marriage was being debated she became the subject of a second marriage plot. One fateful night, Vyner invited a man known as Henry Wroth to dinner at his house in Ickenham. On finishing his dinner Wroth repaid his host’s hospitality by pulling out a gun and absconding with Bridget. Wroth with his ‘unwilling bride to be’ headed towards Richmond where he had a ferry waiting for them. Vyner pursued and Wroth was arrested. Bridget was unharmed except for losing an amber necklace and a hankerchief[15].

In 1680 the Ecclesiastical Court finally came to a decision and announced in favour of Emerton (possibly due to the key witnesses being unable to testify as they had been excommunicated) [16]despite the fact that the marriage was conducted without the consent of the Bridget’s guardian, Vyner or even Bridget herself. The story did not end there as Danby was still determined that Bridget would eventually marry his son. For the next two years Danby and Vyner entered into negotiations with Emerton. All Emerton had ever really wanted was financial compensation in order for him to renounce the marriage. Thinking that things were progressing far too slowly, Viscount Dunblane decided to matters into his own hands and eloped with a this time willing Bridget to St Marylebone Church (another notorious location for clandestine marriages). The Ecclesiastical Court ever mindful of their own interests, suddenly decided that the marriage with Emerton was not legal!

Although it is sad that even after all this, Bridget did not have the fairy tale ending she deserved (as in a few years Dunblane had run through all his wife’s fortune forcing her “to part with all her plate”) she did in a way finally get the man she wanted as shortly after their marriage it was reported “The Lord Dunblane is dancing with his mistress day and night, and she dotes on him.”[17]

Pleasant Rawlins

Contemporary pamphlet from the abduction trial. Source Heineonline.

In 1701, the seventeen year old heiress, Pleasant Rawlins was arrested for an imaginary unpaid debt of £200 trumped up by a Haagen Swendsen, a German adventurer whose advances Pleasant had previously rebuffed.

Seized under false pretences, Pleasant was taken first to the Star and Garter in Drury Lane and then moved to The Vine in Holborn where Swendsen’s accomplice, a Mrs Baynton convinced Pleasant that she would be incarcerated in Newgate if she refused to go through with the marriage. Now more afraid of being murdered by her captors than worried about imprisonment, a terrified Pleasant reluctantly agreed to the union and was married to Swendsen in the Fleet Prison.

When Pleasant’s horrified family finally found out what had happened to her, Swendsen and Mrs Baynton were arrested and the marriage ruled illegal. Swendsen was found guilty and hung but a pregnant Baynton escaped the death penalty[18].

Mary Wharton

The Honourable James Campbell of the Clan Campbell was an officer in the Royal Scots Army and the British Army, politician[19] and unsuccessful kidnapper. In November 1690 Campbell conspired with Sir John Johnson to abduct the thirteen year old daughter of the late Philip Wharton (cousin of Lord Wharton) worth £1500 and heiress to Goldsborough Hall in North Yorkshire from outside the home of her mother in Westminster.

Image by Hogarth.

Her aunt and cousins who had been in the coach with Mary testified in court that after having returned from dinning with a Mr Archibald Montgomery in Soho they saw a coach drive hurry past them. On stopping, three men jumped out and in the process of forcing Mary into the six horses coach knocked the footman down and pushed one of her cousins into the gutter. Mary was taken to Watson the coachman’s house where despite being in tears and protesting she was coerced in to marrying Campbell. Disturbingly evidence from the Old Bailey trail also suggests that she tricked into sleeping in the same bed as Campbell by his female accomplice, Mrs Clewer[20] (whether or not Mary was raped by Campbell can’t be ruled out but is not inevitable as often girls married before their 14th birthday would sleep in the same bed as their husband on their wedding night but actually consummate the marriage a few years later).

The next day Campbell compelled Mary to write a reassuring letter to her aunt telling her that she was happily and safely wed and that they would soon visit. Whilst Mary and Campbell were having breakfast, Mary felt ill and was taken to an apothecary where her family finally found her and removed her from Campbell’s clutches by order of the Lord Chief Justice.

Although Johnson was convicted of abduction and sentenced to death, Campbell escaped due to a plea of ignorance of English law. Apparently in Scotland at the time abduction was a conventional method of obtaining a wife and he was falsely led to believe by Johnson that such practices were also accepted in England. Even though his excuse was accepted as reasonable by the powers that be it does sound a little dubious to me.

The marriage was annulled on the 20 December of that year and Mary later married her guardian, the son of her aunt. Hopefully after undergoing such a horrible ordeal Mary went on to have a happy and successful life.

Sibble Morris

The evidence given in the case of Sibble Morris is particularly disturbing and heart-breaking and does clearly reveal how vulnerable young girls could be.

On the 5 March 1728, Sibble Morris and her maid Anne Holiday were paying a second reluctant visit to a Mrs Hendron. On the way they met two acquaintances of theirs, Kitty Pendergrass and Peggy Johnson who told them that Mrs Hendron was not at home and was instead visiting a house in New Round Court in the Strand. They convinced Sibble to accompany them there. On arrival they all entered the house and made their way to a shuttered candle lit room filled with a number of people including a Mr Richard Russel (who Sibble had met only once on the previous visit to Mrs Pendergrass’ house and whom she believed to be a wealthy merchant) and a clergyman.

Frightened and wanting to leave both Sibble and her maid were pulled into the room and the door closed behind them. Mrs Pendergrass told Sibble that it was no use screaming as no-one would hear her. Despite the fact that the girl was young only about 16 years old, was in a near faint and had to be held up throughout the ceremony and could not speak, the clergyman seemed not to notice anything amiss. Even when questioned in the trial he maintained his innocence and stated that he was under the impression that he was marrying a gentleman to a servant and that she was just overcome by the whole situation.

After the ceremony, “Hendron and others dragg’d her [Sibble] up Stairs to a Bed-Chamber, which was also shut up with Shutters, and Kitty Pendergrass and Peggy Johnson, pulled off her Cloaths by Force, Hendron holding her Hands; and that one Mrs. Rigy was there present while all this was done, that they forc’d her into Bed, and that Hendron held her down in Bed”[21] and waited until Russel joined them.

Futile Resistance by Fragonard.

It was only on the following Thursday that Sibble’s father heard about the marriage from a man who had pretended to be a friend of Russel. On hearing the devastating news Mr Morris confronted his daughter, who in her distress admitted that it was due to fear and shame that she had not told him what had happened. Mr Morris refused to speak to Russel who on hearing that a warrant for his arrest had been issued, fled.

Throughout the trial, Sibble maintained that she had never at any point agreed to the marriage. Russel’s female accomplices were found guilty of aiding and abetting a kidnap and rape and sentenced to death but the incompetent, oblivious and brainless clergyman (if you can believe he really did not know what was going on) was let off[22].

To love, honour and OBEY!

What did Hardwicke’s law really achieve? Girls were still forced to marry men they abhorred and detested just now they did it with their parents or guardians’ blessing. The main objective of the Act was never the welfare of vulnerable young girls but the protection of a family’s property by placing complete control on where it would be bestowed in the hands of the heiress’s parents or guardian. Girls lost any power or control they may once have had over their own lives and became just a pawn in their family’s dynastic game of chess. Any chance of escaping their family’s clutches and marrying their own choice of husband was now cut off (although the long shot of Gretna Green was still available).

In an ironic way if one of the aims of the Marriage Act was to protect women it did so by imprisoning them within their families and making them even more vulnerable to forced marriages then before.

The ambitious mother and the obliging clergyman by Charles Dana Gibson.

Bibliography

Elizabeth Wilmot, Countess of Rochester: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Wilmot,_Countess_of_Rochester

Samuel Pepys, Diary of Samuel Pepys

Georgian London: http://www.georgianlondon/post/494612709431/fleet-marriages

Marriage among Londoners before Hardwicke’s Act of 1753: when, where and why?  http://www.geog.cam.ac.uk/people/newton/MarriageArticleDRAFT.pdf

Fleet Prison: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fleet_Prison

The Fleet Prison: http://www.okima.com/tour/fleet.html

From Fleet Street to Gretna Green: The Reform of “Clandestine Marriage” under Lord Chancellor Hardwicke’s Marriage Act of 1753, http://jenpayne10.info/clandestine.html

Daniel Defoe: Conjugal Lewdness or Matrimonial Whoredom

Nigel Pickford: The Sad History of Bridget Hyde

Nigel Pickford, Lady Bette and the Murder of Mr Thynne, 2014

Naomi Clifford: Two 18th-century bride abductions http://www.naomiclifford.com/two-18th-century-bride-abductions/

James Campbell (of Burnbank and Boquhan): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Campbell_(of_Burnbank_and_Boquhan)

John Johnson, William Clewer, S – C -, Grace Wiggan, Miscellaneous > kidnapping, 10th December 1690: http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?div=t16901210-56

Mary Hendron, John Wheeler, Margaret Pendergrass, Miscellaneous > kidnapping, 1st May 1728. http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17280501-13-off75&div=t17280501-13#highlight

Guardian Shorts: A Marriage Proposal by Sophie Ward http://www.theguardian.com/news/2015/jan/30/guardian-shorts-a-marriage-proposal-by-sophie-ward-chapter-1

The History of Parliament: http://www.historyofparliamentonline.org/volume/1660-1690/member/osborne-peregrine-1659-1729

Jacqueline Rose: Godly kingship in restoration England: The politics of the royal Supremacy, 2011

Notes

[1] Georgian London: georgianlondon/post/494612709431/fleet-marriages

[2] Marriage among Londoners before Hardwicke’s Act of 1753: when, where and why?  http://www.geog.cam.ac.uk/people/newton/MarriageArticleDRAFT.pdf

[3] ibid

[4] Fleet Prison: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fleet_Prison

[5] Full text of “The history of the Fleet marriages [electronic resource] http://www.archive.org/stream/historyoffleetma00burnrich/historyoffleetma00burnrich_djvu.txt

[6] ibid

[7] From Fleet Street to Gretna Green: The Reform of “Clandestine Marriage” under Lord Chancellor Hardwicke’s Marriage Act of 1753, http://jenpayne10.info/clandestine.html

[8] Daniel Defoe: Conjugal Lewdness or Matrimonial Whoredom

[9] Nigel Pickford: The Sad History of Bridget Hyde: http://nigelpickford.com/sad-history-bridget-hyde-2/

[10] From Fleet Street to Gretna Green: The Reform of “Clandestine Marriage” under Lord Chancellor Hardwicke’s Marriage Act of 1753, http://jenpayne10.info/clandestine.html

[11] ibid

[12] Samuel Pepys, Diary of Samuel Pepys, Entry on the 28 May 1665

[13] Elizabeth Wilmot, Countess of Rochester: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Wilmot,_Countess_of_Rochester

[14] Nigel Pickford: The Sad History of Bridget Hyde: http://nigelpickford.com/sad-history-bridget-hyde-2/

[15] ibid

[16] Nigel Pickford, Lady Bette and the Murder of Mr Thynne, 2014

[17] ibid

[18] Naomi Clifford: Two 18th-century bride abductions http://www.naomiclifford.com/two-18th-century-bride-abductions/ Naomi Clifford

[19] James Campbell (of Burnbank and Boquhan): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Campbell_(of_Burnbank_and_Boquhan)

[20] John Johnson, William Clewer, S – C -, Grace Wiggan, Miscellaneous > kidnapping, 10th December 1690: http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?div=t16901210-56

[21] Mary Hendron, John Wheeler, Margaret Pendergrass, Miscellaneous > kidnapping, 1st May 1728. http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17280501-13-off75&div=t17280501-13#highlight

[22] ibid

The Bloody Code and the Black Nun of Threadneedle Street

Tags

ann hurle, black nun, bloody code, capital punishment, crime and punishment, eighteenth century, forgery, ghost of the bank of england, Ghosts, hanging in England, historical crimes, nineteenth century, philip whitehead, sarah whitehead, the black nun, thomas maynard, threadneedle street, william dodd

“Criminals do not die by the hands of the law. They die by the hands of other men.” ― George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman 

Engraving by William Heath (1794–1840).  Image via Durham University 4schools.

Death as a form of punishment has been around for as long as people have existed although the form it has taken has varied with hung, drawn and quartered; boiling in oil; burning at the stake; beheading with a sword and hanging varying in popularity at different times. Hanging for crimes was first introduced by the Anglo-Germanic tribes in the 5^th century but was abolished during the reign of William the Conqueror’s and replaced with the more ‘humane’ punishment of castration and blinding for all but the crime of poaching royal deer. Hanging was reintroduced by Henry I and in the 18^th century was the ‘principle punishment for capital offenses’[1]. Beheading (last used in 1747 in the execution of Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat) was only used for those from the high born classes whilst women found guilty of counterfeiting or murdering their husbands were burnt (witches in England were hung rather than burnt as in Scotland). Burning at the stake was abolished in England in 1790[2]. Public executions were ended in 1868 with the curtain finally falling on capital punishment in the United Kingdom in 1969.

The Bloody Code

Sir Samuel Romilly, legal reformer. By Sir Thomas Lawrence via Wikimedia.

“[There is] no country on the face of the earth in which there [have] been so many different offences according to the law to be punished with death as in England” ― Sir Samuel Romilly

In 1688, there were 50 crimes punishable by death in English law, in 1765 this number had risen to 160 and astonishingly in 1815 this figure had reached more than 220. The reason for this was a new penal code introduced in 1791 which turned most minor misdemeanors into capital offences. This code became known by the grim nickname of ‘The Bloody Code’ and between its introduction and abolition in 1822 more than 10,000 men, women and children were sentenced to death[3]. The implementation of the code reveals a deep anxiety in the minds of the wealthy and powerful classes to  any threat to their possessions, rights or properties. This anxiety was intensified by the events of the French Revolution which saw the accepted social order turned on its head.

Amongst the usual offences such as arson, murder, piracy, rape and treason were a number which would seem extremely peculiar to us today.

• Begging in the company of gipsies for a month
• Malicious maiming of cattle
• Damaging Westminster Bridge
• Impersonating a Chelsea Pensioner
• Strong evidence of malice in children seven to fourteen years old
• Stealing from a shipwreck
• General poaching
• Begging without a licence if you are a soldier or sailor
• Writing a threatening letter
• Destroying turnpike roads
• Stealing from a rabbit warren
• Pick pocketing goods worth more than one shilling
• Being out at night with a blackened face
• Cutting down trees
• Unmarried mothers concealing a stillborn child

William Hogarth – Industry and Idleness, Plate 11; The Idle ‘Prentice Executed at Tyburn.  Image via Wikimedia.

Despite the severity of the punishment many people charged with these crimes (with the exception of murder, robbery and burglary) were not executed but instead had their sentences either commuted to transportation or permanently postponed often on the grounds of pregnancy of the offender, benefit of clergy, official pardons or performance of military service[4]. Confusion about punishments and the whims of judges affected the consistency of the rule of law as well affecting the strength of the sentences handed as judges were sometimes unwilling to find a defendant guilty knowing they would be executed[5]. People were in general inured to the death and severity of the punishments handed out to criminals and in a society where children were treated as adults the hanging of Michael Hammond and his sister Ann, possibly aged 7 and 11 respectively at Kings Lynne for theft in 1708 made little impact[6].

The Heinous Crime of Forgery

“[Forgery] the false making or altering of a document, with intent to defraud” – Collins Concise Dictionary

In 18^th and 19^th century law forgery was listed under the category of ‘Deception’ which also included bankruptcy, fraud, perjury and a miscellaneous section which included the illegal procurement of documents such as marriage licences or the unlawful insertion of names into registers. In England the offence of forgery was considered as serious as murder and was treated with the same harshness. Although the early records of the Old Bailey show that many of those convicted of forgery were punished with the pillory and fines later as the Bloody Code legislation was implemented more and more were sent to the gallows.

The earliest cases from the Old Bailey records show that the pillory was initially the punishment of choice for most judges for example in May 1689 a John Ingham was indicted for forging the signatures of two Justices of the Peace. His aim was to obtain the release of an Edward Williams from Newgate. He was sentenced to spend three days in the pillory: the first day at Hick’s Hall; the second at Temple Bar and; the third at Westminster Hall Gate as well as finding sureties for his good behaviour for twelve months[7].

The pillory. Image from Old Bailey Online.

One of the reasons that forgery came to be seen as such a heinous crime was that with the establishment of the Bank of England in 1694, the English financial system became dependent on paper credit so any attempt to fraudulently copy or counterfeit documents such as stamps or bonds was perceived as an attack on the very foundations on which England stood. In the 1820s forgery along with arson at the Royal Docks, treason, murder, piracy and burglary was one of the last offences which carried a capital sentence. In 1832 forgery (with the exception of the forgery of wills and certain powers of attorney) was taken off that list by a parliamentary act. Eventually in 1837 all forms of forgery were exempt[8].

The minister, the mastermind and the scammer: Three cases of forgery

William Dodd at Tyburn. Image via Wikimedia.

William Dodd – The decadent Anglican minister

William Dodd lived above his means. He enjoyed the good things in life but unfortunately his partiality for fine living resulted in him accumulating bills he was unable to honour. In order to save himself and his wife from bankruptcy he decided to forge a bond for £4200 in the name of a former pupil, the Earl of Chesterfield. All was going well and the banker accepted the bond in good faith. Unluckily Dodd was not the best forger and the banker noticed a blot on the bond and decided to go and see the Earl to get a clean copy signed. Dodd confessed immediately to the fraud and despite a public campaign for a Royal pardon he was hung at Tyburn in June 1777[9]. Dodd was the last person to be hanged for forgery at Tyburn.

 

Ann Hurle – The master criminal

One of the cleverest and ambitious although ultimately doomed forgery scams was attempted by the 22-year-old Ann Hurle. Her background was sketchy but on the 10 December 1803 she met her friend of six months, a stock broker, George Frenallon at the Bank Coffee House. She persuaded him to obtain a power of attorney for her as she wanted to sell a Bank of England 3% stock which she had been given by a Benjamin Allin of Greenwich. Ann told George that the stock had been given to her as a present in thanks for the good work her aunt, his housekeeper had performed over the years. Once Ann received the power of attorney, she disappeared. On returning with the signed document, she had it witnessed and then took it to Thomas Bateman, a bank clerk at the Bank of England. Bateman who knew Allin’s signature became suspicious as the signature differed from that found on other documents. Despite Ann’s reassurances that the differences were due to Allin’s being over 90 years old, Bateman was not satisfied and he decided to go in person and see Allin. Allin confirmed that the signature was not his. Ann was arrested at Bermondsey and tried and convicted of the charge of attempting to defraud the Bank of England of £500 (which is in today’s money over a quarter of a million pounds). On Wednesday 8^th February Ann was hanged near St Sepulchre’s Church[10].

1709 Bank of England Exchequer Bill. Image from Just Collecting website.

Thomas Maynard – The shameless scammer

Thomas Maynard was hanged at Newgate on the 31 December 1829. His crime was defrauding His Majesty’s Custom House of the amount of £1973 by counterfeiting a warrant order and fixing the signatures of three Commissioners of Customs to it.  He was also accused of a secondary charge of trying to defraud a Sir William Boothby. Witnesses attested to Maynard’s and his accomplice, Richard Hubbard Jones decadent behaviour after receiving the money. They said that the two men lived extravagantly, showing off their money and allowing women who called themselves their wives to run up huge debts with tradesmen. Both Maynard and Hubbard were arrested trying to travel to France. £280 were found on Maynard and £250 on another unknown man who was traveling with them. Strangely only Maynard was convicted of the crime, for some reason Jones was not tried. Maynard has the distinction of being the last person to be hanged for forgery in England.

Sarah Whitehead:The Black Nun of Threadneedle Street

The Bank of England, Threadneedle Street. Image via Wikimedia.

One of the most famous hauntings in London and the one that always sends chills along my spine is believed to be that of the ghost of Sarah Whitehead, otherwise known as the Black Nun. Sarah’s tragic tale begins in 1811 when her brother, Philip, a disgruntled former clerk in the Cashiers Office of the Bank of England was found guilty of forgery and attempting to defraud the bank. On the day of the trial, Sarah’s friends worried about her reaction kept the news of his conviction from her by persuading her to leave the rooms which she shared with her brother and go with them to their house off of Fleet Street. When her brother failed to return home, Sarah tried to find him. Either her brother had never told her he had left the bank or she had nowhere else to look since she kept going back to the bank in the desperate hope that someone would have heard from him. Eventually either out of annoyance or pity, one of the clerks finally blurted out the truth. The shock destroyed her mind. On her death she was buried in the churchyard of St Christopher le Stocks. When the church was demolished in 1781 in order to extend the bank’s premises, the bodies were re-interred at Nunhead Cemetery. The former graveyard became the gardens of the bank.

There are different accounts of what happened after Sarah was finally told the truth. One version is that she visited the bank every day for the remainder of her 25 years asking politely for her brother whilst another that on her visits she was verbally abusive to the bank’s staff.  A third recounts how she became convinced that the bank had stolen money from her and would demand that they return what they had taken. Eventually in 1818 the bank’s governors tired of her constant presence gave her a sum of money on the provision that she would never come back, a promise she kept.

Even though the precise details of the story vary slightly, the one thing they all agree on is Sarah’s appearance. For the rest of her life she always wore full mourning weeds which consisted of a long black gown and full black veil.

Have you seen my brother?

Sarah Whitehead – The Black Nun of Threadneedle St. Public Domain(?)

For over the next two hundred years Sarah’s spirit has been unable to rest. She has been seen at the Bank of England itself, at Bank station (where railway staff have recalled how she leaves behind a feeling of terrible sorrow and hopelessness[11]) and in the former graveyard of the church where she was originally buried. Those witnesses who have seen her in the garden have said that she walks hesitantly, groping her way along as if she is blind then she falls to her knees and beats the ground with her fists, crying and shaking violently before she suddenly vanishes[12].

She has been most often seen at night wandering the streets around the bank and in particular Threadneedle Street still intent on finding her beloved brother. She has been reportedly seen by numerous people, some who knew the legend, most who didn’t. People of all ages, beliefs and lifestyles, people alone or with others have claimed to have seen a woman dressed peculiarly in black, walking slowly along the road. It is usually her strange attire which first catches their eye. Sometimes she stops them and with eyes downcast asks politely about her brother. Receiving a negative answer she turns and walks dejectedly away, disappearing from sight. Some people seeing her walk past are overcome by a feeling of intense grief and loneliness and approach her asking her if she needs help. Needless to say she just turns and asks her constant question, ‘Have you seen my brother?’

History or urban legend?

When looking at different websites and accounts of the Black Nun they all give Sarah’s brother’s name as Philip. On one of the websites the blogger states that there is no record of a Philip Whitehead appearing in the Old Bailey. Searching through the online records I agree, there is no evidence of Philip Whitehead but there is a Paul Whitehead aged 36 who was convicted of forgery and sentenced to be hanged. Looking at the proceedings of the trial, certain details emerge which fit with the legend surrounding Sarah Whitehead including the date of the trial, the 30^th October 1811 and the fact that Whitehead was a former clerk in the Cashiers Office at the Bank of England. The transcript from the trial records that Whitehead was indicted on six counts of forgery, the main charge being ‘’for feloniously forging and counterfeiting an acceptance on a certain bill of exchange for 87 l. 10 s. with [the] intention to defraud [13]”. Whitehead was hanged at Newgate on the 29^th January 1812 in front of a large crowd. He was described as being of ‘genteel appearance’ and who together with the five other condemned men “met their fate with decent fortitude, and when on the fatal scaffold shook hands, after which they were launched into eternity…”[14].

Courtroom scene at the Old Bailey. Image via Wikimedia.

Maybe Paul Whitehead is not Philip Whitehead but if he isn’t then why is there no record of the latter’s trial or maybe the legend of Sarah has been fabricated based on Paul Whitehead’s crime and death. Personally I believe that it was a mistake and Philip is Paul Whitehead and that the story of the historical Sarah is true. I also hope that if her spirit is lost that one day she will be reunited with her brother and finally gain the peace of mind she has been searching for, for so long.

Bibliography

Charles Duff, A Handbook on Hanging, 1928

Tim Lambert, A History of the Death Penalty in the UK, http://www.localhistories.org/capital.html

The 222 Victorian crimes that would get a man hanged: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1203828/The-222-Victorian-crimes-man-hanged.html

Capital punishment in the United Kingdom http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capital_punishment_in_the_United_Kingdom

The Bloody Code – http://www.slideshare.net/DHUMPHREYS/the-bloody-code

Sir Samuel Romilly, Memoirs of the Life of Sir Samuel Romilly, 1840

Sara Malton, Forgery in Nineteenth-century Literature and Culture, 2009

Forgery: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forgery

William Dodd: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Dodd_(priest)

The Black nun, http://legendsoflondon.wix.com/1800s#!the-black-nun

The Bank of England and the Black Nun: http://www.mysteriousbritain.co.uk/england/greater-london/hauntings/the-bank-of-england-and-the-black-nun.html

The proceedings of the Old Bailey: https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/index.jsp

Newgate: http://www.exclassics.com/newgate/ng749.htm

The Bloody Code, http://community.dur.ac.uk/4schools/Crime/Bloodycode.htm

Notes

[1] A Handbook on Hanging, Charles Duff, 1928

[2] Tim Lambert, A History of the Death Penalty in the UK, http://www.localhistories.org/capital.html

[3] The 222 Victorian crimes that would get a man hanged: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1203828/The-222-Victorian-crimes-man-hanged.html

[4] Capital punishment in the United Kingdom http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capital_punishment_in_the_United_Kingdom

[5] The Bloody Code, http://community.dur.ac.uk/4schools/Crime/Bloodycode.htm

[6] The Bloody Code – http://www.slideshare.net/DHUMPHREYS/the-bloody-code

[7] John Ingham – https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t16890516-75&div=t16890516-75&terms=forgery#highlight

[8] Forgery: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forgery

[9] William Dodd: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Dodd_(priest)

[10] Ann Hurle – hanged for forgery in 1804: http://www.capitalpunishmentuk.org/hurle.html

[11] The Black nun, http://legendsoflondon.wix.com/1800s#!the-black-nun

[12] Black Nun of the Bank of England (or, the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street): http://www.watkinsbooks.com/ushahidi/reports/view/83

[13] Paul Whitehouse: https://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t18111030-44-defend374&div=t18111030-44#highlight

[14] Newgate: http://www.exclassics.com/newgate/ng749.htm

 

 

The Murder of Martha Ray; or the earl, his mistress and her stalker

Tags

4th Earl of Sandwich, Earl of Sandwich, eighteenth century, erotomania, history, James Hackman, John Montague, Martha Ray, Mistress, Murder, obssession, stalker

A Bloody Scene in Covent Garden

Covent Garden by Balthazar Nebot, 1737, public domain

It was past 11pm on the 7th April 1779, when Mary Anderson, a local fruit-seller, perhaps hoping to profit from the thirsty crowds exiting the theatres, found herself witness to one of the eighteenth century’s most infamous and talked about murders.  Here she describes events in her own words:

“I was standing at the post. Just as the play broke up I saw two ladies and a gentleman coming out of the playhouse; a gentleman in black followed them. Lady Sandwich’s coach was called. When the carriage came up, the gentleman handed the other lady into the carriage; the lady that was shot stood behind. Before the gentleman could come back to hand her into the carriage the gentleman in black came up, laid hold of her by the gown, and pulled out of his pocket two pistols; he shot the right hand pistol at her, and the other at himself. She fell with her hand so [describing it as being on her forehead] and died before she could be got to the first lamp; I believe she died immediately, for her head hung directly. At first I was frightened at the report of the pistol, and ran away. He fired another pistol, and dropped immediately. They fell feet to feet. He beat himself violently over the head with his pistols, and desired somebody would kill him.” [1]

The lady was rushed to the nearby Shakespeare Tavern, a surgeon was called and pronounced her to be dead – the ball of a gun having passed through the crown of her head and exited under her left ear [2]. The murderer, somewhat bloody from his self-inflicted wounds, was apprehended by Constable Richard Blandy and taken to the tavern where he was questioned by Sir John Fielding (the well-known blind magistrate and brother to the celebrated novelist Henry Fielding).  The murderer was committed to Tothills Prison Bridewell and thence to Newgate to await trial.

The Earl and his mistress

Martha Ray and Lord Sandwich, Town and Country Magazine, 1769 © National Portrait Gallery, London

The victim in this very public tragedy was Martha Ray the mistress of the 4th Earl of Sandwich, John Montagu.  The Earl of Sandwich had been so distraught upon hearing of his long-term mistress’ murder, he is  said to have locked himself in his room and wept. He is said to have never fully recovered from her loss.

Although a notorious rake and alleged member of Sir Francis Dashwood’s version of the Hellfire Club, Sandwich was also a diligent and industrious (if often unpopular) servant of the Crown and First Lord of the Admiralty. In fact, it was long hours at the admiralty that gave birth to the greatest convenience food ever – the Sandwich – when the Earl slapped some naval beef between two slices of bread, in order that he need not leave his desk [3]. Lord Sandwich was also of a distinctive appearance, an acquaintance, one Joseph Craddock, on seeing Lord Sandwich walking along a street, commented to his companion:

“I am sure it is Lord Sandwich; for, if you observe, he is walking down both sides of the street at once.” [4]

Compared to her noble lover, Martha Ray had humble beginnings. Ray’s father was a corset-maker in Covent Garden, and his young and charming daughter Martha was an apprentice milliner when Sandwich first set his practiced eye upon her.  Fresh-faced, intelligent and agreeable, Sandwich took her has his mistress when she was only 17.  The partnership stood the test of time, and through Sandwich, Ray was able to educate herself beyond what would have been possible for a working class woman at that time.  Musically gifted she soon became a well-known singer and musician (although rather proprietorially, Sandwich would not allow her to perform in public).

Martha Ray by Nathaniel Dance (1735–1811) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

One man who was captivated by Martha Ray and her talents was Richard Dennison Cumberland, who raved that she was:

“..a second Cleopatra – a woman of thousands, and capable of producing those effects on the heart which the poets talk of so much and of which we are apt to think Chimerical.”

However, not everything in the garden was rosy for Martha and Sandwich, despite the fact that for sixteen years they lived publicly like man and wife, Martha often found herself ostracised by the respectable wives of the Earl’s friends.  This was particularly pronounced when they  visited his country seat Hinchingbrooke in Hertfordshire.  Here local ladies recoiled from associating with a demi-mondaine – Sandwich after all was a married man.  It was at Hinchingbrooke that Lord Sandwich was fated to introduce to Martha, the man who would eventually become her murderer.

Although on the surface the couple’s relationship appeared happy – they had several children together, Ray shared Sandwich’s admiralty apartments and they went about together to concerts and parties – it seems at one time at least, Martha had investigated the possibility of striking out on her own, and making a professional career out of her singing.  Ever possessive, Sandwich appears to have quickly quashed this attempt at independence.

This attempt to break free may have been due to the fact that despite providing Ray with a generous allowance, Sandwich failed to make any financial settlements on Ray or her children – if Sandwich died before Ray she could find herself in dire financial straits. As a practical woman who had grown used to the finer things in life, and with a number of illegitimate children to support, Ray would naturally have been looking for some kind of guarantee of financial security.  She was also talented enough to support herself through her singing. It has been suggested that this wish for financial security, or perhaps respectability, may also have led to her dallying with the idea of marriage to a young man who had ardently pursued her since their first meeting at Hinchingbrooke….[5]

Hinchingbrooke, country home of the Earl of Sandwich c1787, public domain (?)

James Hackman, Soldier, Stalker and murderer

James Hackman, the sentimental killer, public domain via wikimedia

James Hackman was born in 1752 in Gosport, Hampshire.  Described as of too impatient and volatile temper to go into trade [6] in 1772 his parents instead purchased a commission as Ensign in the 68th Regiment of Foot.  Sometime in 1775 he was heading up a recruiting party in Hertfordshire when he was invited to Hinchingbrooke by Lord Sandwich, here he met Miss Ray.

From the very first, the young man was utterly bewitched by the talented, charming and intelligent older woman.  In an age of sentiment and feeling, Hackman became utterly obsessed by Martha Ray, his unattainable goddess.

He was a frequent visitor to Hingingbrooke and seems to have begun pursing Ray with offers of marriage very early in their relationship.  Ray always rejected his offers – perhaps aware that a poorly paid soldier could not afford to keep her in the style to which she was accustomed.  Ray seems a practical and pragmatic woman, prepared to stand on her own two feet given the opportunity, however, as virtually no letters or written accounts exist from Martha Ray herself, it remains speculation as to whether she as an agreeable hostess, merely tolerated Hackman’s advances, or if she welcomed and encouraged them, or whether she feared them.

The day of the murder

On the day of the murder, Hackman, who had recently been ordained a minister of the Church of England (perhaps impatient that his army career often took him away from the object of his obsession),  had tried to approach Martha Ray by letter, but upon calling on her had been turned away by Ray’s companion and fellow singer Caterina Galli.  His letter was returned unopened.

Commemorative Engraving from May 1779, the murder scene is show beneath the portrait © National Portrait Gallery, London

Later that day, he dined with his sister and brother-in-law telling them he would return later in the evening.  However, fired up by his earlier rejection, he instead set out to pursue Miss Ray.  At about 6pm he saw Lord Sandwich’s coach heading out with Miss Ray and Signora Galli, towards Covent Garden.  He pursued it.  The ladies were off to watch Love in a Village by Thomas Arne.  They may have been joined by male companions – friends of Lord Sandwich.  Driven to a frenzy by this perceived betrayal, Hackman rushed back to his lodgings, wrote two letters: one a suicide note to his brother-in-law, the other a love letter to Miss Ray.  He also loaded two pistols.

Just past 11, Miss Ray and Miss Galli were exiting the piazzas at Covent Garden and were being so jostled by the crowd they were unable to reach their coach.  A gallant Irish Attorney, John MacNamarra, stepped in to assist the ladies through the crowds.  Just as he handed Miss Galli into the coach and was about to assist Miss Ray, Hackman stepped out of the crowd and grabbed her arm.  As she turned to him he pulled out two pistols and shot her in the face.  He then tried unsuccessfully to shoot himself.

MacNamarra, who initially thought Ray had just fainted, later recalled his horror at the events:

“The sudden assault of the assassin, the instantaneous death of the victim, and the spattering of the poor girl’s brains all over his own face.” [11]

Hackman later claimed that he had only intended to punish Ray by making her witness his own suicide, but driven into a jealous frenzy at seeing her on the arm of another man, he turned the gun on her as well.

Aftermath

John Brewer in his fascinating book ‘Sentimental Murder’ explores how the story evolved over time.  Initially there was some consensus and agreement about the individuals involved in the event, Hackman’s camp and Sandwich’s camp both agreed to present all participants in the best light. However the sensational murder was a constant source of gossip and speculation, James Boswell visited Hackman in jail; Horace Walpole sniped about the age difference of victim and killer;  Dr Johnson speculated that the fact Hackman took two pistols proved he intended there to be two deaths.

Soon contemporary authors, such as Manasseh Dawes and Sir Herbert Croft began manipulating the story to fit the sentimental ideal of the day, they helped to create in Hackman a sympathetic figure, a paragon of sentimental feeling and a man overtaken by his emotions for a woman whom he had a sexual relationship with, but who had at best rejected him and at worst betrayed him.  Readers were invited to  feel pity for or even identified with the killer rather than the victim [7].  Later still Victorian writers tended to view the tragic outcome of the meeting of Hackman and Ray as the inevitable wages of a sinful life, symptoms of the louche and decadent Georgian age.  Martha became culpable for her own demise.  Yet it seems to me that it is entirely possible that Martha Ray was the innocent victim of a stalker.

Anatomy of a stalker

Stalkers are most commonly men in their thirties, and most frequently men who have had a previous romantic relationship with their victim.  Stalking has been described in such cases as an extension of domestic violence [8] this sub-type of stalker is most likely to fall within the ‘rejected stalker type.  If gossip and later writers were correct in their surmise that Ray and Hackman did have a brief romantic relationship in 1778, this could be a match for Hackman.

Another possible stalker type for Hackman is the ‘intimacy seeker’.  Intimacy seekers may be strangers to the victim, perhaps dazzled by celebrity, talent or beauty (Martha Ray certainly had all three in spade-fulls) and bent on pursing a romantic relationship with that person. This type of stalker can be delusional and suffer from erotomania – a belief that their victim actually reciprocates their feelings [9].  Hackman may only have been a periphery figure in Ray’s social world – the only firm evidence of their meeting is during 1775 and there is no clear evidence that they were ever intimate.  In fact all accounts seem to agree Ray consistently rejected Hackman’s marriage proposals.

Hackman, smitten with Ray, then pursued her at a distance, following her, observing her and writing to her. Unfortunately Ray’s correspondence does not survive so we can never know if she confidently brushed off Hackman’s pursuit, or whether she came to dread his missives, dread the black clad figure constantly dogging her footsteps.

He resorted to murder when he perceived she had betrayed him with another man.

Katherine Ramsland, writing for The Crime Library, gives a five point progression for stalkers which seems to fit with Hackman’s behaviour:

1. After initial contact, the stalker develops feelings like infatuation, and therefore places the love object on a pedestal.
   
2. The stalker then begins to approach the object. It might take a while, but once contact is made, the stalker’s behavior sets him up for rejection.
3. Rejection triggers the delusion through which the stalker projects his own feelings onto the object: She loves me, too.
4. The stalker also develops intense anger to mask his shame, which fuels the obsessive pursuit of the object. He now wants to control through harassment or injury.
5. The stalker must restore his narcissistic fantasy.
6. Violence is most likely to occur when the love object is devalued, as through an imagined betrayal.[10]
   

At his trial, Hackman provoked sympathy, his handsome and polite demeanor coupled with his tears of grief and contrition, all scored points with the sentimental ‘audience’ at the trial.

He claimed he only intended to kill himself, using his letter to his brother-in-law as evidence:

“My Dear Frederick, When this letter reaches you I shall be no more…….You know where my affections were placed; my having by some means or other lost hers,….has driven me to madness…May heaven protect my beloved woman, and forgive this act which alone could relieve me from a world of misery I have long endured.  Oh! If it should be in your power to do her any act of friendship…” [12]

and he justified his actions as those of a man driven to a temporary frenzy by love and jealousy:

“I protest, with that regard to truth which becomes my situation, that the will to destroy her who was ever dearer to me than life, was never mine till a momentary phrensy overcame me, and induced me to commit the deed I now deplore. The letter, which I meant for my brother-in-law after my decease, will have its due weight as to this point with good men.” [13]

Despite his fine appearance and genteel manners, and his ‘extenuating’ circumstances, he was found guilty of the murder of Martha Ray.  James Hackman: soldier, clergyman, stalker and murderer was hanged at Tyburn on 19 April 1779.

James Hackman may have had his just punishment under the law, but in the literature of the following two centuries he was often presented as more of tragic figure rather than a jealous murderer; his motives were explored and he was seen as a victim of his heightened sensibility and of a fickle woman.  Martha Ray, attractive, charming, intelligent and talented, almost becomes the villain of the tragedy or is depicted as at least partially responsible for her own death.  Sympathy is not with the victim of this crime but with the perpetrator.

Perhaps this is somewhat jaded view, but it sometimes seems that little has changed, society and the media all too often seem willing to provide a damning moral judgement on women when they are the victims of violent or sexual crimes.

Notes and sources

Akwagyiram, Alexis http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/3717696.stm [8]
Brewer, John (2005), A Sentimental Murder: Love and Madness in the Eighteenth Century, Farrar, Straus and Giroux
[3] [7] [11] [12]
Castleden, Rodney, Infamous Murderers: Maniacs filled with hatred and rage via googlebooks [6]
Craddock, Joseph, 1826, Literary and Miscellaneous Memoirs [4]
Muller, Robert , Ph.D. In the Mind of a Stalker, 2013, http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/talking-about-trauma/201306/in-the-mind-stalkerPsychology Today [9]
Ramsland, Katherine, ‘Stalkers:The Psychological Terrorist, http://www.crimelibrary.com/criminal_mind/psychology/stalkers/5.html [10]
Trial of James Hackman, http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?ref=t17790404-3 [1] [2] [13]
Tim Hitchcock, Robert Shoemaker, Clive Emsley, Sharon Howard and Jamie McLaughlin, et al., The Old Bailey Proceedings Online, 1674-1913 (www.oldbaileyonline.org, version 7.1, 24 March 2014
Wikipedia,  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martha_Ray [5]
Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Hackman

 

Holkham Hall: an English Arcadia

Tags

1st Earl of Leicester, eighteenth century, English country houses, Holkham Hall, Lord Burlington, Matthew Brettingham, Palladian, Stately Homes, Thomas Coke, William Kent

Holkham Hall (South Face), Norfolk. Image by James Blakeley

That an Englishman’s home is his castle, is a well used phrase about the English love affair with their own bricks and mortar.  But in the eighteenth century it might as well have been stated that an Englishman’s home was his own classical Arcadia.  During that century countless English gentlemen were sent off on the Grand Tour to finish their education and many came back with a passion for all things classical, and quite often they came back with a treasure trove of antiquities as souvenirs (both authentic and fake).

Thomas Coke by Trevisani. Collection of the Earl of Leicester.

One such Grand Tourist who returned to England with a particularly spectacular classical vision was Thomas Coke (1697 1759) 1st Earl of Leicester (fifth creation).

Coke set off on his grand tour between 1712 -1718 and came back not only with an extensive new library, an enviable collection of art and classical sculpture, but also with a BIG idea.  He planned to create a perfect Palladian country house set amidst an Arcadian Idyll in the heart of the English countryside.

During his travels he met Lord Burlington, the man who helped revive the Neo Palladian movement in Britain in the eighteenth century, and William Kent the noted Palladian architect and landscape architect.

Coke sounds like the typically Fielding-esque ‘squire Weston’ type of English gentleman – his favourite pass times were drinking, gambling and cockfighting.  And despite his aristocratic wealth, he wasn’t immune from financial troubles, he suffered heavy financial losses when the South Sea Bubble burst in 1720, which seriously delayed his construction plans.

Nevertheless with the help of Kent and Burlington, and a host of others, Coke set about creating one of Norfolk’s, and England’s, grandest stately homes:  Holkham Hall.  The Holkham estate, with its Perfect Palladian palace and landscape repleat with lake, obelisks, arches and temples was the Earls very own little piece of Italy on English soil.  But despite its visual appeal, it was also an expression of the Earl’s Whig political principles – Whigs were rather fond of likening themselves to the Ancient Romans and his political allies would have recognised Holkham as much as a political statement as an aesthetic and intellectual one.

Holkham Hall, section of the Saloon, Matthew Brettingham 1761.

The hall took so long to complete that, sadly, Thomas did not live to see it finished.  He died in 1759 and it was left to his indomitable widow, Lady Mary Tufton, to ensure that his plans for the hall were carried out.  Holkham Hall was finally finished in 1764, five years after Thomas Coke’s death; and the grounds not until the mid-nineteenth century.  The final cost of the hall has been estimated at £90,000 and this astronomical cost ensured that the hall was left virtually unaltered by subsequent heirs. Holkham Hall remains one of England’s finest Palladian Houses and is still lived in by the Coke family to this day.

Holkham Hall has long been one of my favourite Stately Homes and here are a few of my photographs, taken over a number of years.  With thanks to James Blakeley for permission to reproduce his photographs.  (Other images have been sourced from the internet and credited as appropriate).

Enjoy…

The Marble Hall. The hall is actually made of Derbyshire Alabaster. The coffered dome was based by an Inigo Jones design inspired by the Pantheon at Rome. Image by Lenora.

The Marble Hall. The Fluted Columns may have been based on those from The Temple of Fortuna Virilis. Image by Lenora.

Eighteenth century painting of the interior of the Pantheon in Rome. Artist GP Panini.

The Saloon. Hung with Rich red Genoa Velvet wall hangings, this plush room would have been used by Coke to entertain his Whig friends. Image James Blakeley.

Pier glass and window, the Saloon. Thomas Coke wanted a comfortable, if palatial, home. To ensure the rooms were not too cold, he limited the number of windows to just enough to light each room. Image by Lenora.

Costumes from ‘The Duchess’, starring Keira Knightley, on display in the drawing-room or Saloon. I forget which. Image by Lenora.

A corner of the terrace garden viewed through glass on a rainy day. Image by Lenora.

Rather than corridors, the rooms are enfiladed and open on to each other. Image by Lenora.

The Landscape Room. On his Grand Tour Thomas Coke collected many fine landscape paintings by Claude Lorrain and Poussin. Image by James Blakeley.

The Long Library. Coke brought home many books from his Grand Tour. This is now the Coke family’s main sitting room. Image by Lenora.

Even such a grand house has its cosy corners. Image by Lenora.

A classical bookcase in one of the Tribunes. Image by Lenora.

The Green State Bedroom (bed not visible). Image by James Blakeley

The Parrot Bedroom so-called because of the Frans Snyders painting of Parrots and Macaws that hangs on the wall. Image by Lenora.

Chandelier in the North Tribune. The tribune leads to the gallery that houses the sculptures brought back from the Grand Tour by Thomas Coke. Image by Lenora.

View of one of the interior courtyards tucked away in the Hall. Image by Lenora.

The Chapel in the hall. Designed by Matthew Brettingham snr. Image by James Blakeley.

Cast Iron Kettle from the Old Kitchens. Image by Lenora.

The south face of Holkham Hall. Image by Lenora.

Before refrigerators were invented, those who could afford it had ice houses for storing ice. Image by Lenora.

The grounds were begun in 1729 before the construction of the hall; the the Obelisk which is 80ft high and dominates the parkland was built in 1730 to commemorate this. Image by Paul C. via Wikimedia.

The Doric Temple sited within Obelisk Woods which were planted in the 1720’s and 30’s. Image Xavier de Jauréguiberry by via Pinterest

The Triumphal Arch, designed by William Kent in 1739 and built in 1752. Image by Xavier de Jauréguiberry via Pinterest.

St Withburga Church, half a mile from the hall. Situated on the site of the medieval village of Holkham, the church dates from the 13th Century. It has the flint facings typical of Norfolk churches. Image by Lenora.

Entrance to the walled garden. Image by Lenora.

Holkham and ash tree. Image by Lenora.

Sources

Holkham Guide books – various
Wikipedia

Holkham Hall is open to the public:

http://www.holkham.co.uk/

Celestial Madness – the glass harmonica

Tags

armonica, Benjamin Franklin, bowl organ, crystallophone, eighteenth century, Glass harmonica, Gluck, madness, Marianne Davis, Mesmer, music

Benjamin Franklin at his Armonica by Alan Foster, 1926
(cover from “Etude Magazine”, January 1927)

I first came across the glass harmonica or glass armonica when reading Lydia Syson’s excellent book ‘Doctor of Love: James Graham and his Celestial Bed’ while I was researching that fabulously eccentric eighteenth century sexologist.

Of the many extraordinary and complex musical instruments that enjoyed often brief vogue in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the eerie tones of the Glass Harmonica seemed to fit perfectly into the growing urge for sensation and sensibility.  Graham was no stranger to the glass harmonica, and being an early fan of music therapy he employed it to great effect in his exotic Temple of Health and Hymen.

Other fans included Anton Mesmer, famous proponent of Animal Magnetism and Mesmerism, who used the intense celestial music of the glass harmonica to help guide his patients into a deep trance.

The instrument enjoyed popularity in Britain, Europe and America and over 100 pieces of music were written for the instrument during its heyday including works by Mozart, Bach and Beethoven.

Music for Glass Harmonica by Mozart, source Thomas Bloch website

Benjamin Franklin and the glassychord

The glass harmonica – briefly called the ‘glassychord’ – was a technical upgrade on the ‘wineglass filled with water’ branch of music (a popular form of music in the early eighteenth century); it was developed by none other than Benjamin Franklin during his time in England as Colonial Agent.

Franklin was inspired to create his glass harmonica, or armonica as he later named it, following Edmund Delavals performance on the wine glasses in 1758.  OK, its not as low brow as it sounds, this form of music has been around for hundreds of years, and was very popular.  It was given some very dignified names: Seraphim, Glass harp and (titter ye not) the Angelic Organ.

Franklin (always a fan of more popular than high-brow music) loved the sound of the glasses, but wanted more harmonies in his music (American’s are so demanding LOL) so he set about re-designing the instrument.  Wikipedia describes his innovations thus: “an instrument consisting of variously sized and tuned glass bowls that rotate on a common shaft, played by touching the spinning glass with wet fingers”

Replica of Franklin’s Glass Armonica. Image by Vince Flango, 2008

His main innovation seems to have been tipping the glasses on their side and rotating them. Originally the glasses would have rotated through a trough of water.  Franklin also developed a colour coding system to indicate the note that each glass represented.

His new Glassychord was premiered in 1762, played by the musician Marianne Davies (b.1743/44 -d.1818).

The Bristol Journal advertised it as:

“The celebrated glassy-chord, invented by Mr. Franklin of Philadelphia: who has greatly improved the musical glasses, and formed them into a compleat instrument to accompany the voice; capable of a thorough bass, and never out of tune. Miss Davies from London, was to perform in the month of January, several favourite airs, English, Scotch and Italian, on the Glassychord (being the only one of the Kind that has yet been produced) accompanied occasionally with the voice and the German Flute.” January 12th 1762, quoted in the Papers of Benjamin Franklin (1)

Its harmonies and melodies were so intense and ethereal that it soon became known as the ‘voice of angels’ and was credited with the power to transport the listener to heightened states of emotion and sensation.

Celestial Music or Bad Vibes?

Marianne Davis playing the Glass Harmonica (Collection of Thomas Bloch)

Davies soon became famous for her performances on the instrument, Franklin seems to have had one made for her, whilst keeping one for himself.  She and her sister travelled Europe performing on the instrument to great acclaim.  Davis even taught Marie Antoinette the Armonica.  However, it is her later tribulations with poor health that have helped gain the Armonica its more sinister reputation.

“I had a violent return of my nervous complaints which brought me so low that there were little hopes of my recovery. I was near a twelvemonth confin’d to my Room, and most part of the time to my Bed.”  Extract from a letter from Marianne to Franklin 1783

Marianne eventually died in a mental hospital. It is worth noting she never attributed her illness to her long association with the glass harmonica – but that didn’t stop others making the link. Marianne Kirschgessner was another famous virtuoso on the glass armonica whose career was cut short – some said due to nerve damage caused by the instrument.

Others too, feared the baleful effects of its insanely ethereal tones fearing it could induce hysteria and even madness in listeners.  Tales of deaths during concerts lead to the instrument being banned by order of the police in certain German cities.  People credited it with scaring animals and causing premature births.  Although the eighteenth century was a century of scientific enlightenment, there was also a strong vein of superstition still running through it and some people feared that the otherworldly strains of the glass harmonica would raise the spirits of the dead.  This lead to proscriptions on the instruments usage:  not after midnight, and definitely not near a graveyard.  It may also explain its popularity at magic lantern horror shows.

Although the instrument undoubtedly had its fans:  Mozart, Jefferson, Paganini all adored it – it even featured in Mozart’s final work – it also had its critics:

JM Rogers, writing in his ‘Treatise on the Effects of Music on the Human Body, in 1803 stated:

“Its melancholy tone plunges you into dejection..to a point the strongest man could not hear it for an hour without fainting.”

Thomas Bloch, a contemporary glass harmonica musician provided the following quote from a musical dictionary about the Glass Harmonica’s baleful effects which said its tunes:

“..are of a nearly celestial softness..but can cause spasms” (!)

Suggestions of lead in the paint or glass have been put forward for the instruments unfortunate link with mental illness (Bloch points out that there was a 40% lead content in some glass at that time)…but what ever the cause, it’s association with madness was forever crystalized in the popular mind when Donizetti used it in his 1835 opera Lucia Di Lammermoor.  The eerie piping tones of the armonica emphasis the sense of Lucia’s derangement, following her bloody murder of her bridegroom, in what has become know as the ‘Mad Scene’.

The madness fades…

The instrument was popular on both sides of the Atlantic for about a hundred years, but eventually it fell out of fashion.  It’s sinister reputation for destroying the minds of those who played or heard it must have had an impact, but the fact was that the instrument was not an easy one to master and could be very temperamental.  Being made of glass it was delicate, and in depending on water for its tone, it could react badly if the water was either to hard or to soft.  Oh, and it was also a bit fussy about the temperature.

Its other big problem was that as fashions in music moved from the intimate chamber orchestra’s of the eighteenth century to the huge symphonies of the nineteenth, its voice simply got lost in the vastness of symphony orchestras and huge concert halls.  Amplification was simply not possible at the time.

Lady playing the Armonica, mid-eighteenth century. Image: Thomas Bloch Collection.

These days flutes can often be found replacing the glass harmonica in orchestras, but there are still a dozen or so players in the world today.  This is largely thanks to a Massachusetts glass blower called Finkenbeiner who began something of a renaissance for the instruments in the 1980’s.  Thanks to this you can still occasionally come across performances with this strange and melancholic instrument to this day.

Here are two examples of the Glass Harmonica in action – but remember – listen at your own peril – you have been warned!

Here Hayoung Lee sings Lucia in the ‘Mad Scene’ from Lucia Di Lammamoor by Donizetti, the performance is accompanied by Glass Harmonica

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OviX_kGJg-8

Thomas Bloch playing Mozart on a Glass Harmonica based on Benjamin Franklin’s design:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XPfoFZYso8

Sources & Notes

http://www.benjaminfranklinhouse.org/site/sections/default.htm
http://www.glassarmonica.com/armonica/marianne_davies.php (1)
http://www.historybuff.com/newsletter/novem8.html
Syson, Lydia, 2008, ‘Doctor of Love: James Graham and his Celestial Bed’, Alma Books
http://www.thomasbloch.net/en_glassharmonica.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glass_harmonica

Merlin and the Silver Swan

Tags

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

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

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, 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.

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..”

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

The Beast of Gevaudan: the Napoleon Bonaparte of Wolves*

Tags

Beast of Chazes, Beast of Gévaudan, eighteenth century, france, Jean Chastel, Louis XV, Loup Garou, werewolves, Wolf Hunters, wolves

The Beast of Gévaudan

Max Von Sydow in The Wolfman, 2010, Copyright Universal Pictures

I first came across the legend of the Beast of Gévaudan in The Wolfman, Joe Johnson’s 2010 version of the 1941 film.  Despite the criticism the film garnered I thought it was a very atmospheric take on the  ‘classic’ horror film oeuvre and had some beautifully crafted scenes and wonderful settings.

One of my favourite scenes (which was cut from the theatrical edit but is in the extended version) finds the hero Lawrence Talbot travelling by train to his ancestral home Blackmoor on the wild Yorkshire moors.  He awakes to find a mysterious old gentleman in his compartment (played by the patrician and always slightly menacing Max Von Sydow).

Engaging in conversation Von Sydow offers Talbot his walking cane, a fine stick with an ornate Wolf’s Head handle.  He explains that he obtained the stick in Gévaudan, many years ago.  His character has few words, but what he says holds much significance.  Although Talbot refuses the offer, he wakes later to find the old man gone, and the stick remaining.

Even if you refuse your destiny it has a way of claiming you anyway the scene seems to say.

The History of the Beast

But what was behind this casual but loaded reference to the Beast of Gévaudan – what was the beast?  Was the big bad wolf simply a fairy tale or was it based on real events?  As it turns out, the beast was real, and even came to the attention of a King.

Woman fighting off the Beast of Gevaudan, Public Domain, via Wikimedia

The Beast’s reign of tooth and claw lasted from the early Summer of 1764 to midsummer 1767, it ranged over an area 50miles Sq in the Gévaudan province, in the mountainous South Central region of France.  The beast is said to have attacked over 200 people over 100 of whom died, many of those were partially eaten. Others were injured, and the lucky few escaped unscathed but with one hell of a tale to tell.

Descriptions from survivors had common features – the creature was large and wolf-like, it had sharp fangs, shaggy red fur, a hugely long tail and a foul stink.  It was also noticed that the beast had a marked preference for human prey.   The first sighting was by a woman walking with her cattle, she spotted a fanged beast hurtling out of the treeline towards her and was only saved when the bull of the herd chased the creature away.  That was at the beginning of June 1764.

Later that month teenager Jan Boulet was not so lucky.  She was savaged and killed by the beast.  It had made its first kill and from then on had a taste for blood, human blood.

Another documented attack occurred in January the following year.  A group of friends, both male and female, were attacked en masse by the beast.  They only survived because of the particular bravery of one of their number, Jacques Portefaix, and through sticking together.

By now the gruesome events in the South of France had come to the attention of non other than King Louis XV himself.  Louis made a special award to Jacques, and to his friends for their bravery.   As a keen huntsman himself the beast piqued his interest and he despatched a crack father/son team of huntsmen.  Jean Charles Mare Antoine and Jean-Francoise Vaumesle D’Enneval packed up their guns and their specially trained hounds and set off for Gévaudan.  Despite spending months tracking the beast through forest and field their search was fruitless and the beast’s predation continued.

Undaunted by the failure of his first team of hunters, the King then despatched his own personal harquebus bearer and Lieutenant of the Hunt, Francois Antoine to bring down the Beast of Gévaudan.  He arrived on 22 June 1765 perhaps with as much trepidation as exhilaration; after all his rivals had failed spectacularly so he may have had a general fear of losing the king’s favour and of damaging his reputation as a hunter should the beast elude him as well.

Louis XV meets the king of the Wolves, 1765. Public domain via Wikipedia

Within three months Antoine was proclaiming his triumph over the terrible beast.  On 21 September 1765 he killed a huge grey wolf, which became know as Le Loup de Chazes after the area is was found in.  Despite the fact previous reports had said the wolf-like creature had red fur, a number of survivors identified the lupine corpse as their attacker by various scars on its body.

The carcass of the huge wolf was swiftly transported to Versailles for the edification and entertainment of the King and court.  Antoine was loaded with money and honours for his success.

There was only one small fly in the ointment….the attacks did not end with the death of Le Loup de Chazes.  In December 1765 two children were badly injured in another attack at La Besseyre Saint Mary.  Bringing Antoine’s success into question.

Typical French village viewed from woodland.

Eventually, on 19 June 1767, a pious local hunter called Jean Chastel finally ended the beast of Gévaudan’s reign of blood  – some say with a silver bullet.

Local legend has it that Jean had been hunting the beast but paused to read a prayer from his Bible when the beast appeared.  Instead of following its usual pattern of immediate and devastating attack, the beast patiently waited until Jean finished his prayer and meekly took the bullet when he fired.  This can only have added to the supernatural interpretation of the beast as either a punishment from God or a Loup Garou/werewolf.

Theories about the Beast….

There are many theories about the nature of the beast.  Was it, as some villagers believed, a punishment from God? Was it just an unusually large wolf or a pack of wolves? Or some sort of wolf-domestic dog cross-breed? Or was it a were-wolf?

The Beast of Gevaudan – was it a cross-breed? Public Domain via Wikipedia

When I first read about the wolf, particularly the colour, the savagery of its attacks and the smell, I thought perhaps it had been a Hyena or some other exotic animal collected and released by some local grandee.  But this theory has been dispelled by Michel Louis who referred to the fact that the beast had 42 teeth a lupine characteristic, whereas Hyenas have only 34. He favored the idea of a cross-breed which he felt could account for the strange colouring of the wolf.

In fact the colouring of the wolf killed by Antoine struck me as problematic.  Many witnesses commented on its distinctive red colouring, yet he killed a grey wolf.  Did the King’s huntsman, drop a few coins into the hands of the locals to get them to confirm his kill and enhance his reputation?  Human remains were found in the stomach of the second beast killed – were they also found in Antoine’s kill? Or was there simply more than one beast?

Jean Chastel also comes out as an ambiguous figure.  He is said to have been known for having a large red hound, which made some people think perhaps he had more connection with the beast than he admitted too.  The fact that the beast did not attack him while he was reading also made people suspicious of his part in the tragedy.  But would someone really intentionally release such a beast – after all it killed upwards of 200 people many of whom Chastel would have known.  Was it an accidental breeding from his dog?  Or was he a genuine accidental hero?

The truth is we will probably never know for sure.  It could have been a Wolf, but perhaps a cross-breed might be a more likely explanation.  Except in very harsh winters, or when sick, I have not heard of wolves targeting people over say, cattle or other prey.  A cross-breed might have less fear of humans and be more inclined to attack them.

Oh, and as for the silver bullets, I was devastated to find out they were added into the tale as late as the 1930’s by the novelist Chevalley and are not part of the contemporary tale.

Perhaps the saddest thing is that the huge bounty placed on the beast by the King encouraged masses of hunters to descend on the region and engage in a killing spree. Hundreds of innocent wolves were killed, all of which helped to reinforce the deep rooted mistrust of humans for their lupine neigbours and to ultimately to lead to the point where wolves were nearly wiped out in much of Europe.

Contemporary Wanted Poster for the Beast, Public domain, via Wikipedia.

 Sources

Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beast_of_G%C3%A9vaudan

http://www.unmuseum.org/werewolf.htm

*Stevenson, Robert Louis, Travels with a Donkey (Quote: “the Napoleon Bonaparte of Wolves.”)

Chevalier d’Éon: Soldier, Spy and Transvestite

Tags

Chevalier d’Éon, cross dressing, eighteenth century, espionage, french history, history, LGBT, spy, transgender, transvestite

In June 2012 the National Gallery revealed its new acquisition.  Discovered by the London dealer, Philip Mould at a provincial sale in a suburb of New York, the painting had been mistakenly sold as a portrait of an unknown woman.  Philip Mould immediately recognised it as being a portrait of a man dressed in women’s clothing,

Chevalier d’Eon by Thomas Stewart, bought by the National Portrait Gallery.  Photograph: National Portrait Gallery, London

“Even in its dirty state it was clear that this woman had stubble…basically he was a bloke in a dress with a hat”

Whilst visiting the National Gallery the other day, I came across the painting by accident.  My friend glancing at it from a distance said “It is a woman?” Concentrating on the face I replied that I thought it was man or if not, a very unattractive woman, completely missing the low cut neckline and the hat with a large bow and feather. The name on the caption read “The Chevalier d’Éon”.  Although I have read quite a bit on pre-Revolution France, I couldn’t recall coming across a cross-dressing spy and it is not something that is easy to forget. The painting piqued my interest and as soon as I got home, I began to try to find out as much as I could about this Chevalier but my reading threw up more questions; was the Chevalier forced to wear women’s clothing? Was he transgender or transsexual? How did he manage to convince some of the leading figures of the 18^th century that he was in fact a woman?  The story of the Chevalier is stranger than fiction, a fascinating and confusing character who was brave enough to live life as he wanted and whether as a man or a woman was acclaimed by his peers as a person of exceptional courage and fortitude.

Early years

Charles-Geneviève-Louise-Auguste-Andrée-Timothée d’Éon de Beaumont was born on the 5 October 1728 in Tonnerre in Burgundy to a poor but noble family.  His name a mixture of male and female forenames bizarrely suggests that even his parents weren’t quite sure about the gender of their own child and wanted to hedge their bets! Later in his memoirs d’Éon revealed that his father’s determination to have a son at any cost resulted in him being raised as a boy, a subterfuge which his mother happily took part in. This version differs slightly from the explanation given to the French court when he claimed that his father was forced to raise him as a boy in order to receive an inheritance from his in-laws.

D’Éon apparently excelled at school and in 1743 moved to Paris to study canon and civil law at the College Mazarin.  His first posting on graduation at the age of 21 was as secretary to Bertier de Sauvigny.  Eventually his success and intelligence brought him to the attention of King Louis XV and his initiation into the “Secret du Roi”.

Maid of honour to the Empress of Russia

Catherine the Great, by Fyodor Rokotov [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The Secret du Roi, Louis XV’s personal undercover organisation functioned outside the French government often working on assignments contrary to official policies and treatises.  Around 1756 D’Éon along with the Scottish Jacobite, Chevalier Douglas crossed the border into Russia.  The aim was to meet with Elizabeth, Empress of Russia to convince her to collaborate with them in their intrigues against the Habsburg monarchy. At the time Britain in an attempt to prevent an alliance between France and Russia only allowed French women and children to cross the border.  Although no actual documentation exists to support the theory it is widely believed that D’Éon disguised himself as a woman and calling himself Lea de Beaumont managed to sneak into Russia.  If it is true then he must have been a brilliant actor and fearless as if he had been caught by the French, British or Russians he would have faced execution.  Eventually in order to get as close to the Empress as he could, he arranged for himself to be chosen as one of her maids of honour.  It is hard to imagine how a man would have achieved this.  The Empress’s inner circle would have been fraught with intrigue and gossip and newcomers subject to intense scrutiny.  If the story is true it really could only have succeeded with the support of the Empress. Whatever really happened direct communication between the two countries was re-established, Douglas became the French Ambassador to Russia with D’Éon employed as his secretary.  A role he held from 1756 to 1760.

The Seven Years War

On his return to France, D’Éon was generously rewarded and granted a commission as Captain of the Dragoons. Famed for his bravery and acknowledged as one of the greatest swordsman of his time, D’Éon fought in the later stages of the Seven Years war and at the Battle of Villinghausen in July 1761.  He was wounded later that year at the Battle of Ulstrop.

In 1762 D’Éon was sent to London to negotiate and draft a peace treaty which would end the Seven Years War.  Eventually both the French and British agreed to the terms of the treaty, which was signed in Paris on the 10 February 1763.  In recognition of his service to the French state, D’Éon was awarded the Order of Saint-Louis which permitted him to be called the honorary title of “Chevalier”.

An exile in London

D’Éon stayed in London after the peace treaty had been signed, acting as interim ambassador after the Duc de Nivernais returned home.  Aside from his official duties he continued to act as a member of the Secret du Roi working with other agents to survey the British coastal defences and collect information for a possible invasion.

With the arrival of the new ambassador, the Comte de Guerchy, D’Éon found himself caught in the middle of the various French political factions.  Finding himself put in an impossible position and clearing feeling vulnerable and threatened, D’Éon refused to obey when he was recalled to France.  The British always happy to annoy the French, refused to extradite him.

Hostility between Guerchy and D’Éon reached breaking point when D’Éon in a letter to the Louis XV accused Guerchy of trying to poison him whilst he was dinning at Monmouth House in Soho Square.  In order to gain the upper hand D’Éon published a series of letters about his recall whilst threatening to go public with the letters pertaining to the planned invasion of Britain.  The French faced with the growing support of the British for D’Éon, a lawsuit for attempted murder and guaranteed war if the French invasion plans were revealed, recalled Guerchy and reinstated D’Éon’s pension.  D’Éon kept his papers as an insurance policy and continued to work as a spy, living his life as a political exile.

Life as a woman

By Pierre Adrien LE BEAUd’après Claude-Louis DESRAIS [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

It is unclear when exactly the rumours began that D’Éon was actually a woman.  It must have been sometime in the mid-1770s, shortly before his return to France in 1777.  Did he start the rumours, and if not, who did? Had he already started wearing women’s clothing? Was it a pragmatic move to allow him to return to France and effectively disempower him, removing him as a threat to the French state? Did he actual believe he was a woman? Was he desperately short of money? Whatever the truth,  in 1777 D’Éon had convinced the French government that he was a woman and was permitted by the new king, Louis XVI to return to France on one condition, issued as an edict (possibly the strangest edict ever written by a government)

“By order of the king: Charles-Geneviève-Louise-Auguste-Andrée-Timothée d’Éon de Beaumont is commanded to leave off the dragoon’s uniform which she is wearing, and to dress according to her sex.”

D’Éon agreed to the condition, now called the Chevalière, D’Éon must have been extremely happy when the state granted her funds for a new wardrobe!

Banished from the French court (maybe she was considered an embarrassment), D’Éon returned to Tonnerre, where she lived for six years.  With the start of the revolutionary movement, D’Éon’s property was confiscated and in 1785, she was allowed to return to England.

The Chevalier fencing By Charles Jean Robineau [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

For the next 25 years, D’Éon lived in Britain.  With the diplomatic service closed to her as a woman (D’Éon did write to the French National Assembly offering to lead a division of women soldiers against the Habsburgs) and her pension stopped, D’Éon was forced to give public displays of fencing to earn a living.  Wounded in a show in Southampton in 1796, D’Éon spent her last years living with a widow, Mrs Cole.  Landing in a debtor’s prison, she eventually died in poverty on the 21 May 1810 aged 82.

Contemporary attitudes

D’Éon has often been celebrated as the first open cross dresser accepted in British Society. Personally I think that this is quite a simplistic view. From around 1775, D’Éon encouraged the rumours that he was a woman, forced by his parents to dress and act as a man, “I was born with a caul…and my sex was hidden in nubibus”.

Although Britain was used to eccentricity in its aristocracy, the fact that D’Éon was French might have made the British more inclined to accept his story, as many considered the French a strange breed anyway. D’Éon whether as a woman acting as a man or as a woman fencer was seen as an oddity, a one off, the fact that men might want to be a woman or just enjoy wearing female clothes would, I personally think, have been seen as against the rules of nature, something that just could not be tolerated in society at that time.

D’Éon’s sexuality caused confusion amongst his contemporaries.  The playwright, Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais who wrote “The Marriage of Figaro” was so convinced that D’Éon was a woman that he helped him in his dealings with the French government.  Mary Robinson and Mary Wollstonecraft were also certain that D’Éon was a woman.  Wollstonecraft so much so that she included D’Éon in her Rights of Woman, calling her one of the exceptional woman along with the likes of Sappho and Macaulay, “who transcend the limitations of their gender”.  Even Mrs Cole with whom D’Éon lived with for a number of years never believed anything different.  D’Éon was considered a feminine woman, always hitching up her skirts when she went up and down stairs.

Not everyone was so convinced, James Boswell stated that “she appeared to me a man in woman’s clothes” whilst Horace Walpole on meeting D’Éon commented that she was loud and noisy “her hands and arms seem not to have participated of the change of sexes but are fitter to carry a chair than a fan”

Confusion was such that men started to a pool on the stock exchange with more than £200,000 bet.  The situation became so unstable that some of the English gamblers sued the court which led to the Chief Justice Lord Mansfield passing the verdict that D’Éon was a woman.

Final Verdict

In May 1810, a body lay on the autopsy table of the surgeon Thomas Copeland.  Around the table stood a number of men, possibly six or more.  Maybe some of them were the gamblers who had risked so much on the stock exchange or simply curious bystanders.  The final mystery was to be revealed, was D’Éon a man or a woman.  Carefully Copeland removed the layers of petticoats and undergarments.  The truth was there for them all to see, Copeland wrote

“I hereby certify that I have inspected and dissected the body of the Chevalier D’Éon…and have found the male organs in every respect perfectly formed.”

The D’Éon Legacy

D’Éon has left behind an interesting legacy. The word Eonism the tendency to adopt the costumes and manners of the opposite sex was derived from his name and his surname was adopted by the Beaumont Society, an organisation which was founded to support members of the transgender community.  A number of books have been written about him and he is often included in articles on gender studies.  There has even been a Japanese manga series called “The Chevalier D’Éon” which is set in the time of Louis XV and follows the lead character’s quest to find the murderer of his sister.  The twist is that whilst he is searching the soul of his sister, Lia, enters D’Éon’s body.  I would love to see the series but haven’t been able to get hold of a copy.

Whatever the truth behind the story of D’Éon, the fact is that he was a unique and brave individual who lived his life as he wanted.  From his portrait in the National Gallery he seems to stare sadly but kindly at the viewer, maybe the greatest lesson of D’Éon is simply “be true to yourself”.

References and further reading

Charles, chevalier d’Éon de Beaumont, http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/189379/Charles-chevalier-dEon-de-Beaumont
Man AND Woman: The Truly Peculiar World of Chevalier D’Éon, http://surviving-history.blogspot.co.uk/2011/03/man-and-woman-truly-peculiar-world-of.html
Portrait mistaken for 18th-century lady is early painting of transvestite, http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2012/jun/06/portrait-18th-century-early-transvestite
The Strange Career of the Chevalier D’Éon de Beaumont: Minister Plenipotentiary from France to Great Britain in 1763, John Buchan Telfer
The Chevalier D’Éon and His Worlds: Gender, Espionage and Politics in the Eighteenth Century, Simon Burrows
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Mary Wollstonecraft

Wicked Jimmy Lowther: The Toadstool Earl

Tags

Earl of Lonsdale, eighteenth century, english aristocrats, English Ghosts, English history, history, Lowther Castle, Toadstool Earl, Wicked Jimmy

Vincent Price, from Tales of Terror (Dir.Roger Corman 1962)

When I first found out about  Wicked Jimmy, otherwise known as Sir James Lower 1st Earl of Lonsdale (1736 – 1802), my imagination ran wild with visions of Lon Chaney or Vincent Price skulking around in cobwebbed castles and dank dungeons getting up to suitably nefarious deeds.   A little digging and I came up with more equally intriguing nick-names: Jemmy Grasp-all, The Gloomy Earl and  most delicious of all The Toadstool Earl – just who was this man, and why did he end up with so many unflattering sobriquets?

Well, James Lowther was a very, very, very rich man.  He inherited not one, not two, but THREE fortunes making him one of the Georgian era’s wealthiest individuals.  One of his fortunes alone (Coal mines, harbour trade, and lots of lovely money) came to a quarter of annual British Exports at the time(1).

Sir James Lowther, by Thomas Hudson (Wordsworth Collection)

Despite being born with the proverbial silver spoon, it seems he may not have enjoyed a happy childhood.  His first fortune was inherited from his father who died when James was only 9 years old.  John Sharpe a Local Historian believes that his widowed mother pushed him into becoming ruthlessly ambitious – it would seem that Pushy Parents aren’t a new phenomena.

Sent away to boarding school he found himself the target for bullies – English Public Schools at the time could be brutal places. Nevertheless he soon graduated to the top of the pecking order and became a bully himself – a characteristic he seemed to have maintained all of his life.

How the Earl got his Ninepins

Despite his great wealth, Sir James’s lust for power set him on the path of politics.  Politics in the eighteenth century was a shady business and Sir James seems to have had a natural flare for political skullduggery.  He entered politics in 1757 in Cumberland, and soon proved adept at rigging elections and controlling boroughs.  He also seems to have been good at spotting talent because he helped William Pitt the Younger to enter politics in the 1781 as MP for Appleby.  Pitt then had a stellar political career and became Prime Minister at only 24 years of age.   The Earl received lucrative kick-backs a plenty from his grateful prodigy including the Earldom of Lonsdale.

Chairing the Member, by William Hogarth [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The Gloomy Earl ended up controlling 9 Parliamentary Boroughs in the North West of England and they became known as his ninepins.

The Toadstool Earl and the Mushroom Election

Wicked Jimmy was a name that seems to have attached to the Earl after his death, however The Earl of Toadstool was a name he picked up during his lifetime.  The Earl decided to win the Carlisle seat for one of his relatives and to do so he manipulated the electorate by creating 1400 honorary freemen to vote in the election.  The new freemen were made up of men who were subservient to the Earl – his tenants and workers – and could be relied upon to vote as directed.  The election of 1786 became infamous as the ‘Mushroom election’ because of its mushrooming electorate.

Jemmy Grasp-All

It can often be observed that rich people stay rich by not spending their money – and the Earl was noted for being a fabulously wealthy skinflint.  Unfortunately, one other way the rich stay so rich is by exploiting the masses and Sir James not only exploited his dependents in elections, but he also exploited them in the workplace.  He was a mine owner and his lack of investment in making his mines at Whitehaven safe cost the lives of both workers and pit-ponies in 1791.

He also ensured that the Poet William Wordsworth grew up in poverty.  Wordsworth’s father was agent to The Earl and he died in 1783 with the Earl owing him £5000 (a huge sum in the eighteenth century).

Madman, too influential to be confined(2)

Despite being known as the Gloomy Earl, he was also a fiery character and was not averse to riding 300 miles between Lowther and London and covering the distance in only 36 hours.  He was also a bit of a speed freak and was notorious for driving at break-neck speed – regardless of whether he was passing through a village or not.  I can’t imagine that he was popular in the locality.

Lowther Castle by Simon Ledingham, via Wikimedia Commons (click image for licence info)

The Earl was also fond of a good duel and in 1792 he and a Captain Cuthbertson seem to have had an early Road Rage incident which resulted loud words followed by pistols at dawn to satisfy honour.

Wicked Jimmy and a love that will last for ever….

Wicked Jimmy was a noted ladies man, just because he married the daughter of the Earl of Bute in 1761 didn’t mean he wouldn’t continue to keep mistresses.  Such behaviour was hardly unusual amongst eighteenth century noblemen, and plenty of aristocratic women also took lovers as well (although if they got caught in the act the consequences were far harsher than for the men).

By Józef Simmler [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

One of the more lurid stories that has attached itself to the Earl relates to the beautiful daughter of a tenant whom he seduced.  Legend has it that the girl became his mistress and he kept her in great luxury.  However the girl died young and the Earl was so distracted by grief that he refused to admit she was dead.  When the servants complained about the smell, he is said to have dressed her corpse himself and often dined with her decaying body seated next to him.  Eventually he is said to have had her placed her in a glass coffin. She was finally laid to rest 7 weeks after her death.

If this is true then one can only imagine what the girl’s family must have felt.

Ernest Jones, writing in 1931 in ‘On the Nightmare’ said that such necrophiliac behaviour was rooted in the idea that:

“The dead person who loves, will love forever and will never be weary  of giving and receiving caresses.”

If this story is true, then perhaps at least some of the Earls bluster and bullying was a front for his own lack of self-esteem (he was, after-all,  bullied as a child) or perhaps it was a consequence of the early loss of his father making him unable to cope with separation from someone he loved.  Or perhaps he just couldn’t bare the thought that one of his ‘possessions’ had eluded him by dying.

Whatever the truth behind this very Gothic story, it certainly adds a very macabre twist to the legend of Wicked Jimmy Lowther.

The Earl died on 24 May 1802, and it is said that on the anniversary of his burial, if the moon is full, his spectre can be seen driving his carriage at break-neck speed through the grounds of Lowther Castle.

Lowther Castle is open to the public:
http://www.lowther.co.uk/index.php/visiting-lowther

Notes

1. http://www.lowther.co.uk/index.php/the-lowther-family/the-lowther-family
2. Carlyle, Alexander

Sources

http://www.lowther.co.uk/index.php/the-lowther-family/the-lowther-family
Sharpe, John, 2013, http://www.cwherald.com/archive/archive/%26%238220%3Bwicked-jimmy%26%238221%3B,-1st-earl-of-lonsdale-20130306405026.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Lowther,_1st_Earl_of_Lonsdale