Georgian London

The Noble Savage, also known as Wilson

I like the special diversity of the 18thC image: men, women, dwarfs, giants, the poor, the disabled, the sexual, the oh, you get it.  Instead of generic ‘desirables’ of types, the eighteenth century sees the emergence of the individual in art as never before.  Certain subjects, such as Hogarth’s Shrimp Girl fascinate me, as does the male model in the picture from St Martin’s Lane Academy life drawing class.  Sadly, the details of the models’ identities are almost always lost in the bustle of London’s streets, but not Wilson.

Born in Boston, Wilson arrived in London in the summer of 1810.  Arriving in the city, he sustained an injury and visited a doctor, Anthony Carlisle, who also happened to be the professor of anatomy at the Royal Academy.  Carlisle immediately saw his patient’s potential, and hauled him into life classes.  Thomas Lawrence was particularly impressed, and declared Wilson ‘the finest figure He has ever seen, combining the character & perfection of many of the Antique statues’.  This is no mean praise: 18thC artists, particularly those of the early Royal Academy, studied the figures from antiquity in a mathematical fashion, rather like computer programmers now study the symmetry of models’ faces.  Lawrence would go on to compare Wilson to Antinous and Hercules.  Soon, Wilson was earning 2 guineas a week, making him very well off, considering his previous occupation as a sailor. 

Benjamin Robert Haydon, Wilson’s greatest artistic patron, soon took him on for extended periods of time to further study his body and to make the extensive sketches which would inform an entire career.  There can be no doubt Haydon’s admiration bordered on the fervent, but his intensive study of Wilson’s form is also a delightful commentary on the beauty of the Black physique.  His notes include such gems as ‘a perfect model of beauty and activity’, a flexibility of the loins ‘like whalebone’ the fact that he could put his ‘foot over his neck’ and perhaps the most apposite: ‘everything was packed in’.  Years later, Haydon would wistfully remember how, ‘pushed to enthusiasm by the beauty of this man’s form, I cast him, drew him and painted him till I had mastered every part.’  He did cast poor Wilson, who, up to his neck in seven bushels of plaster began to suffocate and had to be broken out, but not before Haydon had obtained a perfect cast of his subject’s bottom. 

Sadly, Haydon was not so keen on his model’s face, who apparently did not meet the standards of antiquity about the lower jaw and there is no record of his face, either by Haydon, or by anyone else, including George Dawe, who painted the image illustrating this post displaying Wilson in his glory.  After 1811, and the ‘buffalo’ painting, little more is heard of Wilson but his astonishing physique would have continued to bring in work were he minded to pose.Wilson’s fleeting cameo in Georgian London is too short, and much of what it reveals does not reflect favourably upon the attitudes of artists or critics; he was at once beautiful, yet parts of his face and body corresponded to ‘the animal’.  Their admiration is often charming in its candour, then tripped up by its pettiness.  In every modern sense, Wilson was an American man who came to London and made a small fortune in a short time: for him, her streets really were paved with gold.  The image his body created, that of the noble savage, would endure to become an icon for abolitionists.  Until the Nubians of the late 19thC harem pictures, his body-type dominated the image of the Black male in British and American art.  The details of Wilson’s life may be scant, but we are left with the image of an ‘extraordinary fine figure’.

Museum of London - The Galleries of Modern London

The Museum of London has always had the best collection of London ‘stuff’ to be found anywhere, as is right and proper.  From Roman objects to 1960s textiles, the breadth of their holdings is astonishing.  Occupying the centre of the roundabout at Aldersgate and London Wall, it appears from the outside to be rather like a bunker.  Before the current refurbishment, this darkness was apparent inside: exhibits were housed in downlit cases full of amazing things with somewhat dry little explanations attached. 

Well no longer.  In a £20 million pound project, the in-house design team deserves not only a solid gold star, but to be recognized as having produced one of the most enjoyable London experiences to be had.  Curator Alex Werner very kindly took the time to show me around the new galleries, and was forced to tolerate far too many ‘brilliant’s and ‘awesome’s from me (sorry Alex!).  The Expanding London gallery pertains to my period of interest, from the Great Fire to the Great Exhibition and opens with with a Common Press (actually a very rare type of printing press) from which are flying all types of constantly changing 18thC and 19thC news-sheets.  This is all done by projection but the effect is stunning.  From there, things only become more splendid and fantastic.  Interactive displays that will please adults as well as children require you to answer questions against the clock on subjects such as becoming an apprentice - and no, I didn’t get them all right - are combined with pockets of the finest of the museum’s holdings: objects, pictures, furniture, even a cell from Newgate prison have all come together to produce a ‘real’ experience. 

The ‘pleasure-garden’ section is an interesting combination of the 18thC and the modern, where instead of trying to produce an ‘instructive’ exhibition, they have created a darkened garden populated by figures in stunning period costume with Philip Treacy head-wear inspired by the Georgian period.  Mirrors, videos, music and garden furniture combine to emulate the experience of being in Vauxhall Gardens at night: fun, louche and very faintly sinister.  In the centre of what is a hugely informative exhibition, this small room is a deft touch, creating a genuine feel for the period and I think it will be one of the stand-out memories many adult visitors will take away.Slightly out of period for me, but of great interest and brilliantly designed is the room dedicated to Booth’s Poverty Map.  The interactive program brings this massive work to life in a very engaging manner.  The cholera-spewing water pump nearby evokes shades of the Golden Square outbreak and is great fun for children, but fails slightly to bring home the importance of Bazalgette’s reform of London’s waterworks to an older visitor.  The exhibition moves right up to the present day, and asks serious questions of the visitors about how London is to move forward - of course, my favourite part of this was the flowing Thames light-show on the floor that blips and ripples when you stand in it.

Entry to the galleries is through an impressive hall where there are work-stations for searching the museum collections and a cafe (lovely sandwiches and very good tea - thank you).  Through the wonders of technology, above your head anything pertaining to London is streaming in a vast circle, from Bloomberg to weathers to Twitter.  In pride of place just off this hall stands the Lord Mayor’s coach, built in 1757 and still a working animal.  It sits alone and serene, looking through vast windows onto the road outside.  For all its lack of technology, this display of the coach somehow represents the whole refurbishment: the Museum of London is no longer gazing inward but looking out at London, and quite rightly showing off.

www.museumoflondon.org.ukIf you have an iPhone, the Museum have created a free app called Street Museum.  I like it very much.

‘He frightened me’: Peter the Wild Boy of Hanover

Attitudes to the strange or ‘other’ is a fascinating subject, particularly as it pertains to the English nation and our island identity.  Perhaps that is also what makes the diaries of tourists to England and especially London so fascinating; they record many of the things Londoners took for granted.

César de Saussure is one of the better known visitors to London during the 1725-30 period, when he visited the city and recorded his observations.  His letters are fascinating as he recorded the minutiae of London life, but one of the more unusual details is the tale of Peter the Wild Boy.  According to César, Peter was found by George Ist’s huntsmen near Hamelin (the Pied Piper’s sinister little town) in 1725.  He was estimated to be between fifteen and sixteen, and could ‘not articulate a single word’.  His appearance was completely wild, with long, broken fingernails and he was apparently very hairy, which seems to be a theme with ‘feral’ children. 

George I ordered ‘Peter’ as he was named, returned to England as some sort of pet, with ideas of transforming him into the perfect human.  It was in London, in St James’s Park, where César (who would watch thirteen men hanged without flinching) saw him soon afterwards and was moved to write about the boy, ‘whose clothes seemed to hinder his movements’, and who would not keep his hat upon his head, but continually threw it upon the ground. 

Carnivalesque 62

Be pleased to receive your invitation to attend the sixty-second edition of Carnivalesque this weekend here at Georgian London, where early modern blogging will be served up for your enjoyment.

Øystein Horgmo is a Norwegian medical photographer who blogs at Sterile Eye.  This month he gives us a tour of the Medical Museion in Copenhagen, combining his eye for the austere, and a great review.  I want to go.

Roy Booth at the venerable Early Modern Whale blogs on This Trutination of Sinnes - the story of Catholic fanatic Edmund Campion and his house, Stonor, proving that little changes over time and there’s no crackpot like a religious one.    Lee Durbin at Marginalia blogs on Michael Drayton’s poetry and in particular Brutus’s founding of Britain.  Works like this struck fear into my heart as an undergraduate, but this is an excellent look at a neglected type of English poetry.

Everyone’s favourite historical-paint-expert Patrick Baty blogs at Colourman on 18th century paint colours.  Go and tell him he should blog more on this, instead of clambering over Britain’s buildings and bridges, and being on the tellybox. Honestly. *tuts*  Executed Today features an exceptionally grim tale (on a blog that sets the bar high) with the story of John Dickson’s execution for patricide in 1591. 

Early modern darling Dainty Ballerina features a fan-makers’ petition over on Fragments, which should get you all of a flutter.  Well, if you love artisan London as much as I do.  *ahem* Nick Poyntz of the ever-fabulous Mercurius Politicus blogs on woodcuts and Restoration character Praisegod Barebones, the 17th century equivalent of the chap on Oxford Street with the ‘End is Nigh’ signboard.  Proper crackers.

The Gentleman Administrator takes on the Restoration’s love of tiny canines with typical flare, and no doubt a crime-fighting cape and toy light-saber.Phil Gyford’s astonishing commitment to blogging Samuel Pepys diaries has now extended to Twitter.  There’s no particular post, the whole thing is just amazing.

Mary Tudor is not the most appealing of English queens, but the Mary Tudor: Renaissance Queen blog makes her case very well.  Her phantom pregnancy is well known but this post looks at it from all the angles and demonstrates her fragile state of mind under the pressure to produce an heir.Gareth Russell attempts to pin down the facts of Anne Boleyn’s life on his blog Confessions of a Ci-Devant.  An interesting read and a new blog to me, so I’ll be spending more time here. 

And finally, from our own eminent Quack Doctor, I give you Cameron, the Piss-Prophet.  Many a true word said in jest and all that.  But let’s hope not eh?

Book Review: ‘The Book of Human Skin’ by Michelle Lovric

I am a big fan of Michelle Lovric’s work for both adults and children (her Undrowned Child was my book of 2009 by a country mile), so when the lovely Katie from Bloomsbury sent me a review copy of The Book of Human Skin, I was really looking forward to getting stuck into another densely woven, evocative story.

So, Lovric starts her tale with ‘This is going to be a little uncomfortable’, and she isn’t kidding.  From sadism and violence, to insanity, to body dysmorphia and worse, Lovric takes the reader from 18thC Venice (she is devoted to the city and there is no one who writes about Venice with a darker or more delicate touch) to a Peruvian convent.  The story is told by a bizarre cast of characters, creating a chattering cacophany of distinct voices clamouring to be heard.  Whilst this does not make for the most easily accessible of narratives, this is definitely one to stick with and the pages soon turn themselves. 

The story is fascinating, and Lovric’s knowledge of Venice’s trading empire shines through: the Fasan family, where her story centres, are traders in Peruvian silver and also Peruvian drugs.  When only son Minguillo’s inheritance is compromised by his sadism, which borders on insanity, his little sister Marcella is set to benefit.  Minguillo begins a campaign not only to weaken his sister’s mind, but destroy her personality.  It is not enough that he drives her to incontinence through terror, he cripples her and later compromises her sanity.  The things Minguillo does to Marcella are brutal and bear the special character of sibling torture and yet it is the little things Lovric throws in regarding his treatment of animals or distant, irrelevant figures that deepen the reader’s knowledge of the chasm of awfulness that is Minguillo Fasan.Add to this story a terrifying, passive-aggressive Holy anorexic (one of the most unpleasant characters I have encountered between the pages of a book), a doctor obsessed with human skin, a loyal servant, a Scottish merchant and a cigar-smoking nun and you have an especially Lovric sort of read.  The book is ambitious, and the story not without snags, but her knowledge of setting, period and the essential weakness and isolation of human nature makes it a triumph.  Michelle Lovric is a pitiless writer, who revels in creating a cast of lovable rabbits, then setting a mink loose amongst them and watching it go about its feral business.  Remember, it’s going to be a little uncomfortable….  

The Book of Human Skin is out now, cover price £12.99, and can be bought from all goode bookshoppes and all that, and also in Mr Amazon’s Emporium.  This is Michelle Lovric’s website; it is well worth a look and if you have never read her work before, I recommend it. 

The Cries of London: Street-Traders of the 18thC

The Kissing Girls of Spitalfields: Being a Lesbian in Georgian London

Lesbian history is a tough subject.  No really: the sources are scarce, much of the historiography skewed and there’s little solid fact to go on.  To approach 18thC sexuality with modern criteria is to place it into categories that were unlikely to have existed then.  Lesbianism, whilst being a recognized part of the sexual spectrum, was not illegal in the same way as male homosexuality (this post doesn’t deal with cross-dressing or transgender individuals - they get their own).  Therefore, individual incidences where women were discovered engaging in sexual congress may have lit the gossip-lamps for the neighbourhood but no one was going to prison or pillory, so the equivalent paper evidence from the courts isn’t there (with its engaging love of ‘then he put his privies here, and I-‘).  Extant sources rely almost exclusively upon female pair-bonding: women choosing to live openly in a sexual relationship and the results of said.  These women were usually living outside the confines of ordinary society, such as Annie Bonny the pirate and so cannot be used to indicate the lot of the ordinary homosexual woman in Georgian London.

The serious study of any minority groups tends towards creating a subculture for them to exist within: I know my how artisans formed groups based on friendship, family, marriage, location, origin and religion.  Those studying the history of homosexuality struggle to find a lesbian subculture for the 18thC, simply because women naturally formed closely bonded, small groups with common interests, like mathematics, painting or gardening or literature.  The fact that they were sexually attracted to women may, or may not have formed part of those interests.  There were sexual fetish clubs that catered solely to women, but they included other interests such as sado-masochism, so aren’t applicable here.  My own belief is that homosexuality was just as common in the 18thC as it is now, but people made heterosexual marriages far more often as that was their way to stay within conventional society.  That does not mean they did not pursue their sexual interests outside of these marital relationships.  The frequency of strong, documented friendships between homosexual men and women of note may mean they simply married their gay male friends to get the job over and done with, as Aphra Behn (pictured) probably did (she was certainly a champion of the sexually emancipated woman, whatever her true orientation).

There are the likely and famous lesbians, such as Queen Anne and the Duchess of Marlborough (they were both probably bisexual though, it wasn’t as if either of them didn’t have relationships with men either) and later on, Anne formed a very close relationship with her maid Abigail Masham, with their long and ‘exclusive’ friendship.  Amongst the upper and upper-middle classes, many of the blue-stocking literary salons were lampooned by satirists for being ‘covens’ of Sapphists.  Clever, rich, sexually-self-sufficient women - how appalling!  The problem with much of the 18thC literature on lesbianism is that it is written by heterosexual men, for the majority of whom the idea of lesbians is jolly marvellous, like twins and harems.  The idea, and of course, the reality that these women might not want them (or that they might not be up to the job) causes them to rush for the first sneer.  Bless them.  Dislike of men was often confused with lesbianism, even by women themselves.  Some assumed they enjoyed ‘kissing’ each other because the natural ‘softness’ of women was so much ‘nicer’ than that of men.  Many men thought this too, and the few texts on the subject do not feature a distaste for female sexual relationships so much as the dangerous exclusion of men.Lesbianism was assumed by many, like all bad things, to be a foreign import and lots of salacious pamphlets went about regarding what the naughty girls in France/Portugal/Spain and Turkey got up to if left to their own devices, but these are little more than titillation.  In the late 1750s, the story of poor Catherine Vizzani, a women who lived in Rome, ‘in the habit of a man’ and was anatomized after her death to see if the cause of her lesbianism could be found.  It couldn’t obviously, but the translation sold well in London, translated by John Cleland, of Fanny Hill fame.  This translation also introduced ‘lesbian’ into the English language as the accepted term for a women who preferred to have sex with other women.

So, how did lesbians go about their lives in Georgian London?  Those with means did not have to marry, but it was likely they would have done; perhaps they wanted children, or to preserve a veneer of convention.  From the few diaries available, it appears homosexual women of the period identified themselves as such with little internal angst, and that like-minded company was available to them, should they choose to seek it out.  Horace Walpole, himself probably asexual, assembled a large number of female friends around him at Strawberry Hill who were widely assumed throughout London to be lesbians.  To call someone a member of the ‘Twickenham set’ was to call them a lesbian.For women who earned their own living, finding lovers and conducting relationships seems to have been relatively straightforward.  There were various taverns and drinking houses throughout the Strand and Soho whose female proprietors, regardless of their orientation, were known to encourage a homosexual clientele (lone, middle-class women wouldn’t have frequented alehouses, but servants would, or may have used them as meeting places from which to go on).  Female household servants shared beds if they were unmarried, and if two such women were in a relationship recognised but undiscussed in a household, providing the relationship continued there was probably no need to disturb a very useful status quo. 

With few extant sources to use, much of our knowledge of 18thC lesbianism must be based on careful speculation, without recourse to modern ‘typing’.  An excellent read for anyone wishing to know more is Emma Donoghue’s Passions Between Women: British Lesbian Culture 1688-1801. 

Notes on the Restoration of King Charles and the Flashing Whores of St James’s Fair

It is easy to look at history as a set of dates with events chalked up next to them, but in a city as vibrant and organic as London, nothing happens out of the blue, as a commonplace book of the 1660s recently revealed, giving a tiny snapshot of the streets of Restoration London. 

Charles’s return to England would come in late May, 1660, when he was sure of his welcome, but the signs were on the streets much earlier.  In March, an odd event occurred on the Royal Exchange, when a ‘kind of painter’ appeared in broad daylight with a ladder, which he erected next to the statue of Charles Ist.  The writing on the statue was thus: Exit Tyrannus, Regnum Ultimus Anno Libertatis Anglicae Anno Domini 1648, Jan 30.  With a pot and brush, the painter ‘washed the writing quit out, threw down his pot and brush, and said he should never do him any more service in regard it had the honour to put out rebell’s hand wrightinge out of the wall’.  The painter then came down, took down his ladder and went away, ‘not a word said to him’.  Imagine everyone stopping to stare on the busy Royal Exchange, with someone defacing a public monument: quite a thing.  Later that month, the Thames watermen were seen wearing their large arm badges bearing the coat of arms of Charles Ist, a united act of defiance.  From the 13th of April, members of the aristocracy who had been living abroad were seen on the streets in London.  I love the fact that they were recognized, and also knew they would be recognized.  On the 8th of May, with Charles not not even in the country, he was ‘proclaimed in Westminster’, and ‘Bow Bells could not be heard for the noise of the people’.

Charles returned to England on the 29th of May, on what became known as Oak Apple Day.  The following night, one John Adler puts on such a display of fireworks over London that he is knighted.  Aubrey recorded maypoles being erected all over London as a mark of celebration.  The largest was in the Strand, near St Mary-in-le-Strand church, where is remained for over a decade as a reminder, before being felled by the high winds of 1672.  The theatres re-opened and by November, playwrights could not keep up with demand for new material.By the following year, London was back into the heady swing of things, and Charles’s fun-loving reign was underway.  St James’s Fair, which had suffered during the Interregnum, was returned to its appointed place in the summer calendar and ran for the full fortnight.  The London fairs were boisterous places, with everyone across the classes clustered together, but this particular fair went down in the book as one to remember, with arrests for lewdness and infamy.  My absolute favourite are the whores Charles ordered the Lord Chamberlain, who in turn ordered a Robert Nelson Esq., to detain: Tory Rory, Mrs Winter, Jane Chapman, Rebecca Baker, Anne Browne, Elizabeth Wilkinson, Rachel Brinley, Mrs Munday, Alice Wiggins, Nell Yates and Betty Marshall were arrested for ‘impudence’ and ‘discovering their nakedness’ to the crowd, including the King and his party when drunk, ‘which they often were’.  There is no record of the subsequent fate of these ladies, but knowing Charles they were probably let off with a stiff warning, after he’d stopped laughing.