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The Regency Decade: 1815 Part One: Waterloo
19th Century View of Brussels
I must apologise for the delay in continuing with this series. To quote Rabbie Burns, and as today's post shows, "The best laid schemes o' mice an' men/Gang aft a-gley."
At the end of 1814, we left the exiled Napoleon on Elba. Across the Atlantic, on January 8th 1815, American forces defeated the British in the Battle of New Orleans, the last major battle of the War of 1812. On January 21st, the mortal remains of the guillotined Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were transferred in a sombre procession to the royal crypt in Saint-Denis. The restoration was complete. The map of Europe could be re-drawn again and the victorious allies agreed to meet in Vienna to discuss the new borders.
Meanwhile, thousands of Britons had decamped for the Continent. Their reasons were mixed; some simply wished to travel again while others hoped to leave their massive debts behind and live abroad on an 'economical plan'. They soon established their own enclaves in Brussels and Paris where they continued to live the same life as they had at home, mixing with the same people and founding such bulwarks of English society as clubs and libraries where they could be sure to remain among themselves.
At the beginning of March, with trade with the European continent open again, Britain's ruling classes looked to protect the interests of the landowners by introducing the Importation Bill. This was the first of the so-called Corn Laws, designed to prevent the importation of cheap foreign grain, thus keeping their incomes at the war-time levels. They readily ignored the fact that as a result the price of bread would be at an artificially high level, a fact that did not escape the poorer classes. In the ensuing riots, the windows of White's club were broken and parliament had to be surrounded by a protective cordon of soldiers.
All rioting ceased when the news reached England that Napoleon had escaped from Elba and was marching towards Paris. He had indeed returned with the violets. The Importation Bill became law without further ado and Europe awaited the next developments with bated breath.
A contemporary source summarised Napoleon's progress as follows:
A Conversation between Two Gendarmes, modelled on THE TIMES:
First Gendarme: What is the news?
Second Gendarme: Ma foi! the news is short.
The tiger has broken out of his den.
The Monster was three days at sea
The Wretch has landed at Frejus
The Brigand has arrived at Grenoble
The Invader has entered Lyons
Napoleon slept last night at Fontainbleu
The Emperor enters the Thuilleries this day.
On March 19th, Louis XVIII and his family hurried away from the Tuilleries, only some hours before the Emperor's triumphant return. The English who had flocked to Paris now as hastily left it, many heading for Brussels.
The allies, happily ensconced in Vienna, were caught wrong-footed. Armies recently dismissed were hastily recalled and on April 5th, the Duke of Wellington arrived in Brussels to take command, initially of the British forces but soon, as Commander-in-Chief, also of the army of the United Netherlands.
Enriched and enlivened by the influx of officers, the Brussels social whirl continued alongside the preparations for war. Would Napoleon sally across the French border to attack the allied forces or would he remain in France, daring them to invade?
The Duchess of Richmond appealed to Wellington himself for advice as to whether her ball, planned for June 15th, might go ahead. "Duchess, you may give your ball with the greatest safety, without fear of interruptions" was his reply.
Byron captures best what happened next:
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell;
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!
Did ye not hear it?--No; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet.
But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! arm! it is--it is--the cannon's opening roar
Napoleon had 'humbugged' him, as Wellington admitted to the Duke of Richmond, sending Ney to attack the British and Dutch-Belgian forces at Quatre Bras while he himself forced the Prussians to retreat at Ligny. But even as the wounded from these encounters were brought to Brussels, the Allied and French armies marched towards Waterloo, a small village south of Brussels on the far side from Brussels of the Forest of Soigné.
Overnight, regiments assembled on the Place Royale before marching out of Brussels, past the long procession of farm carts coming to market as usual. As one observer put it, After the army was gone, Brussels indeed seemed a perfect desert. Every countenance was marked with anxiety or melancholy—every heart was filled with anxious expectations….At about three o'clock [on the 16th], a furious cannonading was heard.
From then until the evening of the 18th, the residents of Brussels were torn between hope of victory and fear of defeat. Some fled immediately towards Antwerp while others remained but prepared for instant flight. One after the other, the dreadful reports arrived: The Prussians had retreated, the Highland regiments that had been piped out of Brussels only that morning had been slaughtered, Wellington had been defeated; the French were at the gates…Every hour only served to add to the dismay.
On the night of the 17th, a violent thunderstorm came on, followed by torrents of rain which during the night, when the army were laying unsheltered upon the field of Waterloo, never ceased a single moment. On Sunday [the 18th] the terror and confusion [in Brussels] reached its highest point.
Meanwhile, on the plain of Waterloo, Wellington and Napoleon set out their armies as calmly as a grand master might dispose of his chessmen were he allowed a free hand in their positioning. It was mid-morning before battle commenced, perhaps because the ground was too wet to allow the artillery to move its guns. But soon about two hundred thousand men were engaged in deadly combat. The battle waged all day until, near sunset, the invincible Imperial Guard was forced to retreat causing the surviving French to flee. The battle was over, the allies under Wellington had won the day, Napoleon was finally defeated, but at what cost?
The story of the battle is too well known for me to go into it in depth here. I have done this in The Murmur of Masks. For now, let us leave the last word to Byron.
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent,
Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent!
The Regency Decade: 1814 Part 2: Peace at Last
The Napoleonic wars were over. On 5 April despatches arrived in London via Antwerp announcing the fall of Paris. The news spread rapidly, carried across the country by the stage and mail coachmen. Church bells rang and the populace poured onto the streets to celebrate. Soon premises all over Britain were illuminated, their windows displaying transparencies depicting the fall of the Corsican tyrant and celebrating peace and victory.
On 9 April, the Times reported that Napoleon had abdicated. In subsequent negotiations, he was exiled to the island of Elba over which he was given sovereignty while his wife Marie Louise was made Duchess of Parma, Placentia and Guastalla. Napoleon was to receive an income of 2 million francs a year, and members of the Bonaparte family were promised pensions to be paid by the French government. He would return 'with the violets' i.e. in the Spring, he promised, and the modest flower became a symbol for the deposed Emperor. In this little engraving of a bunch of violets, the silhouettes (here outlined in blue) of Napoleon, Marie Louise and their young son were hidden.
On 20 April, the brother of the guillotined Louis XVI, fifty-nine-year-old Louis XVIII who had lived in exile since 1791, and in England since 1808, set out to reclaim his throne. He was met at the Abercorn Arms in Stanmore, some ten miles from London, by a large delegation led by the Prince Regent and escorted in state in a procession led by one hundred Gentlemen on horseback and including six royal carriages, in the second of which sat the King and the Prince Regent. Onlookers along the route cheered the royal party, displaying laurels and white ribbons as they passed. Finally the procession reached Grillon's Hotel where the king was to lodge. On 23 April, hostilities were suspended between Great Britain and France and on the 24th the King set sail for France.
The Regent's domestic troubles continued, the populace siding with his estranged wife, the Princess of Wales. On 2 June the problem of the formal come-out of his daughter and heir, eighteen-year-old Princess Charlotte, was resolved by having the Tsar's sister, the Grand Duchess of Oldenburgh, present her to the Queen. On his way to her majesty's Drawing-room the Prince was beset by 'the most dismal yells, groans and hisses' so that the horses were put to their full speed to carry him through this 'ungracious scene'.
It was hoped that the princess would make a match of it with the Hereditary Prince of Orange but she refused, to her father's wrath and the entertainment of the cartoonists of the day. Here he threatens his daughter's ladies while, on the right, the princess makes her escape to seek refuge with her mother. Advice and counsel was sought on all sides and public uproar only averted when she agreed, at five a.m. the following morning, to return to her home at Warwick House, but not before she signed a minute witnessed by the Duke of Sussex and the future Lord Brougham that she was resolved not to marry the Prince of Orange.
Some days later, the victorious Allied Sovereigns—the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia—accompanied by Major-General Blücher and other military luminaries, made a state visit to England. There followed almost three weeks of festivities. In between levées, royal visits and dinners, and nightly balls, they went to Ascot races. rode in the Park, went by water to view the dockyard and arsenal at Woolwich, had degrees conferred upon them in Oxford, saw the charity children at St. Pauls, visited Chelsea Hospital, attended a boxing exhibition by the most celebrated pugilists of the day, were escorted by one hundred Yeomen of the Guard to a banquet given by the City of London at the Guildhall, attended a Grand (Military) Review in Hyde Park and finally left for Portsmouth where there was a Naval Review in their honour. Here they were joined by the Duke of Wellington who had just arrived back in England after five years spent in pursuit of Napoleon.
The sovereigns left England on 27 June. The next day, in an unprecedented ceremony, the Duke of Wellington appeared in the House of Lords for the first time since being elevated to the peerage in August 1809, where the clerks read his patents as baron and viscount, earl, marquis, and lastly as duke. Peace had formally been proclaimed on 20 June and on 7 July the Prince Regent proceeded to St Paul's Cathedral for a thanksgiving service. He was much hissed both going and coming. Despite this, he arranged for a Grand Jubilee to be held on 1 August to mark both the peace and the centenary of the accession of King George I, founder of the Hanoverian dynasty in England. The elaborate festivities included two balloon ascents, a 'Naumachia' or mini naval combat on the Serpentine between an English and a French Fleet, and grand fireworks from a castle or fortress especially erected in Green Park for the purpose. After the fireworks there followed 'the Grand Metamorphosis of the Fortress into the Temple of Concord'.
On 9 August, the Princess of Wales who had not been invited to any of these celebrations, left England for the Continent, 'weary of the petty persecutions and slights she had to undergo'.
7 July also saw the anonymous publication of a new novel, Waverley or 'Tis Sixty Years Since. Set during the Jacobite uprising of 1745, it proved an instant success, the first edition of one thousand copies being followed in the same year by two further editions, together comprising four thousand copies. Waverley is frequently regarded as being the first historical novel in the western tradition. It was soon rumoured to be by the Scottish poet Walter Scott, but he insisted on preserving the anonymity, publishing succeeding novels as 'by the Author of Waverley". Eventually, although not a series or sequels, these became known as the Waverley novels.
Another publication later that year was The Life of Napoleon, a Hudibrastic Poem by Doctor Syntax that demonised the fallen emperor in mock celebratory verses. In this illustration, a parody of Fuseli's Nightmare, the young Napoleon dreams of future glory.
Across the Atlantic, meanwhile, the war continued with the British army reinforced by a contingent lately arrived from France. On 24 August they attacked the Americans at Bladensburg, later entering Washington, as Harry Smith recorded in his memoirs 'for the barbarous purpose of destroying the city'. He continued, 'Admiral Cockburn would have burnt the whole but [General] Ross would only consent to the burning of the public buildings. I have no objection to burn arsenals, dockyards, frigates, buildings, stores, barracks etc., but well do I remember that, fresh from the Duke's humane warfare in the South of France, we were horrified at the order to burn the elegant Houses of Parliament and the President's House.'
Harry, to his great delight, was sent home with despatches, making the crossing from the Chesapeake to Spithead in only twenty-one days. It was seven years since he had set foot in England, but uppermost in his mind was the reunion with his wife, Juana, from whom he had parted the previous May.
On 24 December the Treaty of Ghent was signed, formally ending the war between the United Kingdom and the United States. However it took some time for the news to reach the combatting armies. On 8 January 1815, the British attacked New Orleans and were defeated, but some hostilities continued until mid-February when both sides had ratified the Treaty.
To read previous posts in the Regency Decade series, either scroll down or click on The Regency Decade in the righthand margin.
The Regency Decade—1814, Part One: Frost, Fraud and the Fall of Paris
1814 was so eventful a year that one post cannot do it justice. This post takes us up to 31 March, the day Paris fell. Napoleon's days as Emperor were now numbered.
At the turn of the year, fog shrouded the British Isles. This later gave way to a bitter week-long cold spell bringing snow and ice. Supplies became scarce as roads remained closed and the price of coal soared. The Cambridge mail coach was snowed up and completely covered for almost eight hours. It took fourteen waggon-horses to drag it out. Amazingly, the passengers survived though 'almost frozen to death'. There is no mention of the fate of the coachman—it is possible he continued the journey on horseback to deliver the mails and seek assistance.
At the end of January, the Thames froze to such a depth that a Frost Fair could be held on it and all the usual entertainments of a fair—swings, book-stalls, drinking and eating booths, dancing, skittles, knock-em-downs, wheels of fortune, and gaming tables were soon to be found on the frozen river. Printers set up their presses, selling commemorative pieces printed 'on the Ice' to the thousands promenading on the central footpath or 'City Road'.
By the fifth of February it was all over. When the thaw set in, blocks of broken up ice swept light craft and barges that had been imprisoned by the frost. inexorably down river, causing considerable damage and some loss of life.
On 21st February, news reached London that the Allies had secured a great victory over Napoleon who had been slain by the Cossacks and that the Allied Sovereigns (the Tsar of Russia and the King of Prussia) were in Paris. The price of Government Omnium stock rose sharply, only to fall again when it became apparent that there had been no victory and that the whole thing was 'Fake News', a deliberate fraud by Charles Random de Berenger who, having posed as the bearer of important despatches from France, posted to London with horses decked with laurels.
Caught up in this Great Stock Exchange Fraud, as it came to be known, was Lord Cochrane, a renowned naval captain, Member of Parliament and eldest son and heir of the Earl of Dundonald, who had profited from the short surge in the price of omnium. Despite his protests that his stockbroker was acting on his standing instructions to sell Omnium if the price rose by one percent, he was convicted of complicity, fined a thousand pounds and sentenced to twelve months imprisonment in the Marshalsea. Before serving this sentence, he was to stand in the pillory for one hour. This last was afterwards remitted but a devastating social pillorying followed. His name was struck off the Navy list, he was expelled from the House of Commons, his arms were taken down from his stall as Knight of the Bath and his banner torn down and kicked ignominiously out of Henry VII's Chapel in Westminster Abbey.
Many believed Lord Cochrane innocent and in the subsequent by-election he was re-elected to his seat in Parliament which he took the day he was released from prison. He continued to fight for the restoration of his good name and in 1832 received a 'free pardon'; was restored to the Navy List, gazetted a rear-admiral and attended a levée at court. In 1847, his knighthood was restored and he was created a Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath. He died in 1860. The day before his funeral, his banner was returned to Westminster Abbey where he is buried.
In 1876 his grandson received a payment of £40,000 from the British government, based on the recommendations of a Parliamentary select committee, in compensation for Cochrane's conviction which was believed to be unjust.
Lord Cochrane 1807
On 31 March, Ekaterina Pavlovna, the widowed Duchess of Oldenburg, arrived in England. She entered London in great state, travelling in the Prince Regent's own carriage and escorted by the Duke of Clarence who had met her at Sheerness. Although her visit was said to be a private one, it was generally assumed that she had been entrusted with a political mission. As she travelled to Britain, the Allied Armies, led by her brother the Tsar and the King of Prussia were advancing on Paris. Following a two-day battle, Paris surrendered on 31 March and the same day the Allied Sovereigns triumphantly led their troups into the city.
The Russian Army enters Paris
The Regency Decade Post Four: 1813—A Year of Change
Welcome back to my year by year look at the Regency decade. We have reached 1813. It began grimly with the hanging of fourteen Luddites at York on 14 January. Could things get any worse?
The UK had now been at war wth France for ten years and with the United States for a year and a half. Food prices were rising, supplies were limited and there was a thriving trade in smuggling to and from France. The Prince Regent declared Wednesday 10 March, "A Public Day of Fasting and Humiliation………..for imploring His [Almighty God's] Blessing and assistance on His Majesty's Arms, for the restoration of peace and prosperity to His Majesty and His Dominions'. On the day appointed, the Regent, his daughter, and the Dukes of York, Cumberland and Cambridge went to the Chapel Royal, St. James; the House of Lords to Westminster Abbey and the Commons to St. Margaret's Westminister.
Presumably this covered the humiliation part of the agenda. It is not reported for how long that well known gourmand the Prince Regent fasted or with what plain dishes he chose to mortify himself.
Elizabeth and Darcy at the Collins's
Looking back, 1813 must be regarded as one of the culturally most significant years of the period. On January twenty-eight, a new novel by the author of Sense and Sensibility was published and with it the history of the novel was changed for ever. Over two hundred years later, Pride and Prejudice continues to fascinate readers everywhere. No-one who has read it is without an opinion on it—the characters are presented to us with all their failings and virtues and each will find his or her supporters in any discussion of the book. Perhaps it is this that accounts for its enduring popularity.
In the same month, the Philharmonic Society of London, now the Royal Philharmonic Society, was formed, its aim being "to promote the performance, in the most perfect manner possible of the best and most approved instrumental music". Not content with the existing repertoire, they also commissioned new works, most notably in 1817 a new symphony from Ludwig van Beethoven, and were amply rewarded with one of the greatest symphonies ever written, his Symphony No. 9, the Choral Symphony whose final movement is a monumental setting of Schiller's Ode to Joy.
Princess Charlotte of Wales
But that was for the future. Now the beau monde was concerned with other things. Princess Charlotte, the Prince Regent's only child and heir presumptive had just turned seventeen and it was time for her to 'come out' into society. It was expected she would be formally presented to her grandmother, the Queen, at the birthday drawing-room on 5 February and this led it to be "one of the most crowded drawing-rooms within recollection. The company began to arrive soon after twelve 0'clock and continued setting down until near four. The number of nobility and gentry assembled was so great that they had not all left St. James by half-past seven". But the young princess did not appear. The Prince Regent had forbidden his wife to attend his mother's court and Charlotte refused to be presented by anyone other than her mother. Stalemate!
He was determined to treat Charlotte as a child until she married, not allowing her to replace her governesses with ladies-in-waiting or otherwise set up her own household. She was however permitted to attend the birth-night ball at Carlton House where she danced with her uncle, the Duke of Clarence, thirty years her senior. We can imagine how thrilled the seventeen-year-old Charlotte must have been by this treat.
That summer, the Prince Regent also fell out with his previous favourite, the dandy and self-appointed arbiter of fashion, Beau Brummell. Stung by a deliberate cut by the Prince who ignored him at a fancy dress ball of which Brummell was co-host, the dandy responded by enquiring of Lord Alvanley, who had been recognised, "Ah, Alvanley, who is your fat friend?"
The prince not unnaturally took offence and the breach between the two men was never healed.
Meanwhile In the Peninsula Wellington's army had left their winter quarters and were on the hunt. On 21 June, at the Battle of Vitoria, they decisively defeated the French army commanded by Joseph Bonaparte who had been installed by his brother Napoleon as King of Spain
In the ensuing rout, the King's carriage and the French baggage train containing vast amounts of looted treasure were abandoned to the pursuing English army who in turn helped themselves liberally. The Marshall's baton presented by Napoleon to General Jean Baptiste Jourdan was sent by Wellington to the Prince Regent while King Joseph's silver chamber pot, another gift from the emperor, was appropriated by the 14th Light Dragoons (later 14th Hussars and now the King's Royal Hussars), who to this day drink from it on regimental mess nights. The chamber pot became known as 'the Emperor' in honour of its august donor and the 14th subsequently were nicknamed 'the Emperor's chambermaids'.
The news of the victory was met with great rejoicing in England. On 20 July there was a great public fête in Vauxhall, at which Marshal Jourdan's baton was displayed.. The gardens were illuminated on a grand scale, bands played, there were three displays of fireworks and the whole closed with dancing which went on until 2 p.m. Tickets, excluding dinner, cost between three and ten guineas.
Presenting the Trophies
On the Eastern front, Russia and Prussia had now allied with Sweden and Great Britain to combat Napoleon. The Emperor's new eastern campaign met with initial success but on 19 October the allies, now joined by Austria, trounced him at the Battle of Leipzig. With over 600,000 combatants, it was the largest battle ever fought on European soil, and would remain so until World War I.
Once again, Napoleon was forced to retreat to France. He was now hard-pressed on all sides. On 9 November, Wellington's army crossed the Pyrenees and entered France. By the end of the year, The Netherlands had been liberated and the exiled Prince of Orange proclaimed Sovereign Prince. In December, his twenty-one-year-old son, Prince William, was presented to Princess Charlotte as a potential bridegroom.
To read other posts in this series, scroll down or click on The Regency Decade in the side bar.
The Regency Decade: Post Three - 1812 - A Year of War and Violence
Welcome to post 3 of by year by year survey of the Regency Decade.
1812 was marked by warfare and violence. In England, the Luddite protests continued, with machinery broken at Nottingham, Leeds, Bristol, Sheffield and Manchester to name but some of the areas affected. Troops were sent to Cornwall to put down riots among the miners who demanded reductions in the price of food. The Frame Breaking Act of 1812 made 'machine breaking' a capital offence and in May a Special Commission was set up to try captured Luddites.
On 11 May, the UK was shocked by the assassination in the lobby of the House of Commons of the Prime Minister, Spencer Perceval who was shot at point-blank range by John Bellingham who had a long-standing grievance against the government. When news of the murder reached Nottingham however, the Riot Act had to be read and the military called out to suppress the public celebrations of shouts, huzzas, drums beating, flags flying, bells ringing, and bonfires blazing.
In Spain, the army under the command of Lord Wellington first besieged and then successfully stormed the cities of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz. Badajoz was taken on 6 April and subsequently sacked by the British army in what Sir Harry Smith in his autobiography describes as 'A scene of horror I would willingly bury in oblivion. The atrocities committed by our soldiers on the poor innocent and defenceless inhabitants of the city, no words suffice to depict.' He continues: 'Yet this scene of debauchery, however cruel to many, to me has been the solace and the whole happiness of my life for thirty-three years. A poor defenceless maiden of thirteen years was thrown upon my generous nature.'
The story of Harry Smith and Juana María de los Dolores de León is one of the great love stories not only of the Regency but also of the nineteenth century. Married within a couple of days of their meeting in 1812, she devotedly followed the drum. She learnt to ride and kept up with the regiment on the long marches through mountainous Spain and over the Pyrenees into France. She accompanied him when possible on his overseas postings and they were rarely parted until his death in 1860. The town of Ladysmith in South Africa is called after her.
If you would like to know more about them, I highly recommend Georgette Heyer's The Spanish Bride which draws heavily on the memoirs of Harry and other Riflemen to describe the first years of their marriage, up to and including the Battle of Waterloo, and for the rest, I refer you to Sir Harry himself whose autobiography written in a colloquial, anecdotal style is most entertaining. The portraits below were painted three years after their wedding in Paris in 1815, after the Battle of Waterloo.
This was the age of the Romantic Poets—among others, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley and Keats, and it is interesting to see their heightened sensibility and emotional outpourings reflected in the memoirs of military men such as Harry Smith and his fellow rifleman, Sir John Kincaid. Kincaid also describes the arrival of Juana and her elder sister into the British camp at Badajoz, and the sister's impassioned appeal for protection for the younger woman. 'Nor was it [the appeal] made in vain! Nor could it be abused, for she stood by the side of an angel! A being more transcendingly lovely I had never before seen—one more amiable I have never yet known……..to look at her was to love her; and I did love her, but I never told my love, and in the mean time another and a more impudent fellow stepped in and won her.'
In March 1812 another romantic poet, the twenty-four-year-old Lord Byron, published the first two cantos of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage and, as he described it, 'awoke to find himself famous'. His passionate verse and brooding, flawed hero appealed to feminine hearts while, as can be seen in the portrait below from 1813, he knew how to present himself in the most romantic light. He was perhaps the first popular heartthrob, idolised by innocent girls and society matrons alike. After meeting him for the first time, the married Lady Caroline Lamb described him in her diary as 'mad, bad and dangerous to know'; in other words irresistible to a woman known for her restless spirit and passionate enthusiasms, Soon the couple embarked on a very public affair that was to both scandalise and entertain the polite world of the haut ton for several years.
Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, all was not well between the UK and its former colony and, on 18 June 1812, the United States declared war on the United Kingdom.
6 days later, on 24 June, Napoleon invaded Russia. On 14 September he entered Moscow. But what might have been supposed to be one of his greatest triumphs, turned out to be his downfall. The Russians had evacuated the city, withdrawing also the civic authorities but leaving behind them a small detachment charged with firing the city. Composed mainly of wooden buildings, Moscow was burnt almost completely to the ground. Napoleon was left with no choice but to retreat along the same route he had taken to reach the city and which had been denuded of supplies, including fodder for the horses. Starving, and wearing uniforms that were no match for a Russian winter, the Grande Armée suffered devastating losses. After almost ten years, the tide of war had turned.
To read previous posts in this series, click on The Regency Decade in the list of categories on the right and scroll down.
The Regency Decade Post Two: 1811
The Regency Act was passed in January 1811 and on 6 February the Prince of Wales was appointed Prince Regent in place of his father King George III, swearing to be 'faithful and bear true allegiance' to the king, to maintain 'the safety, honour and dignity' of the king and 'the welfare of his people' and to uphold the Protestant religion. Although prior to this the Prince had supported the oppositional Whigs, to their disappointment and disgust he now insisted on 'maintaining his father's cabinet," as the Whig MP, Thomas Creevey put it. Although the King's health continued to deteriorate, to the extent that on 12 July Creevey wrote that that he was expected to die before 22 August, the day on which Parliament was supposed to resume sitting, the Regent's main efforts in the first six months of his tenure appear to have been focussed on the magnificent midsummer fête he held at his residence Carlton House on 19 June. About two thousand guests were invited to this sumptuous feast, where a real stream purled between floral banks down the length of the main table, affording those privileged to sit there with glimpses of the silver and gold fish that swam therein.
So keen was he to display this magnificence that for three days afterwards, tickets were issued permitting visitors to visit Carlton House On the final day some thirty-thousand availed themselves of this privilege.
Blue Velvet Room Carlton House 1816
Conspicuously absent from these festivities was the Regent's wife, the Princess of Wales. If ever there was a match made in hell, it was theirs. Bribed by the promise of having his personal debts of £630,000 (roughly £48 million today) repaid, in April 1795 he married his cousin Caroline, daughter of the Duke of Brunswick. The couple met for the first time on their wedding day and the Prince's reported response to the sight of his bride was "Harris, I am not well. Pray get me a glass of brandy."
They had already separated before the birth in January 1796 of their only child, Princess Charlotte. In 1811, the princess lived with her mother at Kensington. In November 1811 however, the Prince Regent is recorded as leading off the dance with his daughter at a party given by the Duchess of York at Oatlands. According to the Morning Chronicle, he 'gave his leg a twist and sprained his ankle' while dancing. This injury required him to recuperate at Oatlands for almost a month. Nobody believed in the sprain; the most popular story being that he had grossly insulted Lady Yarmouth at the ball and been soundly thrashed by her husband.
The Bed-Ridden Prince with Two Black Eyes
At the same time there was unrest among the working classes, in particular among the textile workers of Nottingham many of whom had lost their employment, partly because of a decrease in demand and partly due to the introduction of labour-saving automated looms and knitting machines. Claiming to be following orders from a 'General Ludd', called after an apprentice, Ned Ludd, who was alleged to have wrecked a machine some decades before, In November 1811 the Luddites embarked on a campaign of intimidation and machine breaking that was to last for over a year and see dozens hanged or transported to Australia.
But just as the protestors were unsuccessful in blocking the march of technology, so were the authorities unable to prevent workers from continuing to fight for better pay and working conditions. Although it would take a century, eventually Labour would replace the Whigs (by then known as the Liberals) as one of the two major parties in the UK parliament.
Willoughby and Marianne from Sense and Sensibility
One significant event in 1811 passed without fanfares of any sort. In June, Jane Austen wrote to her sister Cassandra, "No, indeed, I am never too busy to think of S&S. I can no more forget it, than a mother can her sucking child; & I am obliged to you for your enquiries. I have had two sheets to correct, but the last only brings us to W.s first appearance." It fact it was to be October before Sense and Sensibility was published, introducing to readers the author we associate most with the Regency era.
On the continent, the French and allied troops warred in Spain, here a victory and there a defeat with the year ending in stalemate. Meanwhile in Paris, Napoleon's second wife, the Empress Marie-Louise, gave birth to his long-desired son, Napoleon François Charles Joseph Bonaparte who was given the title of King of Rome.
Please scroll down to read previous posts in this Blog Series or click on The Regency Decade under Blog Categories above on the right.
The Regency Decade Post One: 1810 The Beginning
I write Regency novels. This is shorthand for saying I write historical novels set in England in the second decade of the nineteenth century, a time of unprecedented change that continues to affect our modern lives. In this series of blogs, we will look behind the scenes to discover what makes this decade tick. What makes it so fascinating to us, two hundred years later?
Let us start with a snapshot of the UK on 31 December 1810. All was not well in the island kingdom. Having lapsed in and out of insanity for over two decades, King George III, sober paterfamilias, was finally deemed incapable of undertaking any affairs of state. Preparations were set in train to appoint as Regent his eldest son and heir, the affable, extravagant and adulterous Prince of Wales.
The country had been at war with France since 1803. Across the English Channel, the French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte had consolidated his hold on the European Continent; his sphere of influence extending west across the Iberian Peninsula, north into Sweden where one of his generals, Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte, had been elected crown prince, and eastwards through modern Germany, Italy, Austria, Hungary and Poland to the borders of the Russian and Ottoman Empires. The only ray of light was provided by Lord Wellington whose Peninsular army was driving that of the French General Massena out of Portugal and into Spain.
Back at home, the bulk of wealth, power and influence lay in the hands of the aristocracy and landed gentry who also controlled the established Church of England, the universities and the military and legal professions. In a study carried out two years later, in 1812, these classes made up 7.8% of families in Great Britain and Ireland but received 40.19% of the total annual income generated therein. Unsurprisingly, they resisted any attempts to reform a system that worked well for them but not so well for the rest of the country.
Apart from formal Court dress which remained unchanged as long as the elderly Queen Charlotte was alive, the vast skirts and cumbersome hoops of the previous century had yielded to the classical styles copied from revolutionary and imperial France while gentlemen had abandoned their silks and brocades for boots, buckskin breeches and riding coats.
Did these lighter, looser clothes lead to a lighter, looser way of life? The Regency was certainly one of the great party decades. Perhaps this was due to the shift in the dates of the London Season, the months that the upper classes spent in London while Parliament was sitting. Every peer had a seat in the House of Lords and where the noble families led, others followed. During the 18th century Parliament had sat from November to May. From 1806 onwards, the opening of Parliament veered towards February and the session extended into July or even August.
This change from a winter to spring/summer Season with its warmer and brighter days provided many more opportunities for entertainment and dalliance. The Season was the great 'marriage market' when eligible young ladies of good birth and varying fortunes sought to find a suitable husband. Night was turned into day. Eight p.m. was the fashionable dinner hour, after which both sexes flocked to the theatres, balls, assemblies and routs while gentlemen also had their clubs and the dubious establishments of the demi-monde – gaming hells and brothels for the most part.The social round continued into the small hours and resumed the next day with 'morning calls' i.e. visits which were made between noon and three p.m.. A 'breakfast' at three o'clock might be followed by a ride or drive in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour and soon it was time for dinner again.
Over the coming months, we shall experience the highs and lows of the Regency year by year. I hope you will join me and look forward to your comments.
From Regency Drawing-Rooms to Star Trek—The Next Generation: Thomas Moore's Irish Melodies
The Last Rose of Summer, The Harp that once thro' Tara's Halls, Let Erin Remember the Days of old, Believe me if all those endearing young Charms, Love's young Dream, At the mid-Hour of Night, Dear Harp of my Country--the list goes on and on. Some of these songs may be familiar from sessions in an Irish pub, from film soundtracks, from school choir, early music lessons or from old recordings of parlour music but two hundred years ago Moore's Irish Melodies were heard in every Regency drawing-room and parlour.
Thomas Moore was born in Dublin in 1779, the eldest of eight children of John and Anastasia Moore. As a Roman Catholic, the professions were barred to John who in 1779 opened a Tea, Wine, Spirit and Grocery Warehouse at 12 Aungier Street. Penal Law restrictions notwithstanding, young Thomas was sent to Samuel Whyte's English Grammar School in Grafton Street where he shone as a public speaker and reciter. The Roman Catholic Relief Act (Ireland) of 1793 opened the doors of Trinity College Dublin to him and, having hastily learnt Latin, he began his studies there in January 1795. However, the decision of the College authorities to reserve fellowships and scholarships for members of the Established [Anglican] Church deprived him in 1797 of a scholarship worth £60 or £70 a year (£6000 to £7000 today).
Unrest was brewing in Ireland. Moore, who was sympathetic to the cause of the United Irishmen, was confined with Illness when rebellion broke out in 1798. Following its suppression, he left Dublin for London to study for the bar, an ambition that was soon abandoned in favour of poetry and society. In 1800, he published his translation of the Odes of Anacreon, dedicating it by permission to the Prince of Wales. It was an immediate hit and within a month the poet had been introduced to the Prince himself. From now on, he was frequently referred to as Anacreon Moore.
The publication of the first volume of Irish Melodies in 1807 set the seal on his success, giving him a position in society similar to that of today's rock stars. The poet, who already moved in the highest circles, was lionised now as an after-dinner performer in the most exclusive drawing-rooms, as contemporary reports tell us. When he commenced, every breath was almost hushed, lest a note should be lost. (Eliza Rennie). He appears to have had the knack of seeming to improvise his accompaniment, creating an extraordinary intimacy and bond with his listeners. His delivery of the words rich and delicious……..his fingers seemed accidentally to drop on the keys, producing a simple harmony just sufficient to support the voice. (William Gardiner). According to another commentator, the American N P Willis, the sentiment of the song goes through your blood, warming you to the very eyelids, and starting your tears, if you have soul or sense in you.
And this was no fly-by-night success. On 20th June, 1831,Thomas Creevey wrote to Miss Ord, Yesterday I dined in Portland Place and went in the evening to Downing Street [official home of the Prime Minister, Lord Grey], where I found Tommy Moore at the pianoforte, playing and singing his own melodies; and very much delighted I was with his performance.
The lyrics, extolling, as they did, the old Gaelic traditions of Ireland, did not meet with overall approval. In his prefatory letter to Volume III of the Melodies, Moore wrote, It has been said that the tendency of this publication is mischievous, and that I have chosen these airs but as a vehicle of dangerous politics……To those who identify nationality with treason, and who see, in every effort for Ireland, a system of hostility towards England—to those, too, who nursed in the gloom of prejudice, are alarmed by the faintest gleam of liberality that threatens to disturb their darkness…….To such men I shall not deign to apologize for the warmth of any political sentiment, which may occur in these pages.
But not even the secret, subversive allusions in Oh! Breathe not his Name to Moore's fellow-student at Trinity, Robert Emmet who was hanged (and beheaded once dead) in 1803 following his ill-fated rebellion, or to Emmet's beloved, Sarah Curran in She is far from the Land where her young Hero sleeps, could diminish Moore's popularity.
While not everyone could have the pleasure of experiencing Moore live, the Melodies, words and music, were easily if not cheaply purchased in both solo and multi-part settings. They were found to be admirably suited to amateur performers and were a welcome addition to the repertoire of the Regency's young ladies as described in my novel, A Suggestion of Scandal.
Chloe, Ann and Cynthia were gathered around the pianoforte, comparing music and trying snatches of melody. Once the gentlemen had arrived, Cynthia took her seat at the harp and they embarked on a selection of Mr Moore's Irish melodies, at times singing together, at times each one taking a solo verse. Their voices blended charmingly and, when they finished with a poignant yet defiant rendition of The Minstrel Boy there was heartfelt applause and congratulations.
There are hundreds if not thousands of versions of Moore's songs on YouTube. I have selected two which to me best convey his original intention.
If you overlook the orchestra and the uileann pipes, there is a charm and simplicity about this performance of The Last Rose of Summer by a young Charlotte Church that seems to reach back to those Regency drawing-rooms
You will find many bombastic, martial renditions of The Minstrel Boy but this a capella version, sung by 0'Brien (Colm Meaney) in the episode The Wounded of Star Trek—The Next Generation is my favourite.
If you would like to learn more about Thomas Moore, I refer you to Ronan Kelly's excellent biography Bard of Erin, Penguin Ireland, 2008.
The Melodies were published in ten volumes between 1807 and 1837. The portrait of Thomas Moore and text of Oh! Breathe not his Name are from the 1819 five volume set of his works published in Paris by Galignani in 1819 which includes the lyrics of volumes 1 to VII of the Melodies. The Melodies with their settings were published in foolscap size scores by W Power's Music Warehouse, Westmoreland Street, Dublin and J Power's Music and Instrument Warehouse, 34 Strand, London. The early volumes were luxury items, priced at 15 shillings each (around £47 today).
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Allegri's Miserere and Tenebrae in the Sistine Chapel - An Evocative Description from 1803
The Last Judgement Michelangelo, The Sistine Chapel
Yesterday was the Wednesday of Holy Week—the week leading up to Easter Sunday, one of the two days—the other is Good Friday—when Gregorio Allegri's setting of Psalm 51, beginning "Miserere mei, Deus--Have mercy on me, O God," was sung as part of the Tenebrae service in the Sistine Chapel in Rome. Composed in the 1630s for Pope Urban VIII, it soon became famous for its ethereal ornamentation but for almost a hundred and fifty years succeeding popes and papal musicians jealously guarded the score. In 1770, a fourteen-year-old Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart visited Rome and was so struck by the music that he later wrote it down from memory, a feat for which Pope Clement XIV rewarded him with the Chivalric Order of the Golden Spur.
Listening yesterday evening to a recording of the Miserere, I was reminded of Catherine Wilmot's evocative portrayal of the Tenebrae service. Miss Wilmot was a young Irish woman who accompanied Lord and Lady Mount Cashell on their tour of the Continent in 1801-1803 during the brief peace with revolutionary France. Her journal, edited by Thomas U Sadleir M.A. was published in 1920 as An Irish Peer on the Continent. Here is what she says—spelling, punctuation etc are as in the original.
This ceremony[Tenebrae] coming late in the evening, every Lady is drest in deep mourning with a black veil, and is handed into the place set apart for her, the gentlemen sitting at the opposite side. Excepting the Altar there is no light, but there is sufficient to glimmer on the figures in the "Last Judgment" done by Michael Angelo and reckon'd one of the finest paintings in the world. This glimmering effect of yellow light upon the figures seem'd to fancifully set them in motion and gave an illusion to the scene particularly to a group of Angels to the Front, who held the last Trumpet and woke from their graves those who were represented in every gradation of preternatural change…………The ceremonies began by the lamentations of Jeremiah and ended by the Miserere which was perform'd by innumerable Musicians, in so heavenly a manner, and in such heartrending strains, heaving through the sweetest chords, broken and scatter'd, from the spirit of contrition with such angelic force, that it seem'd a celestial intercourse which reach'd the skies, to absolve the sins, which humiliation acknowledged through those deeply plaintive and slow expiatory peals!
There are many recordings of the Miserere available. Here is a short extract which I have chosen because it was recorded in the Sistine Chapel and shows some of the frescos.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6t5fEnPtYzs
And here is the full version, sung by the choir of New College, Oxford
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3s45XOnYOIw
Image of the Last Judgment is from Wikipedia.
Royal Wedding Fever: The Royal Wedding of 1816 as seen through the Eyes of La Belle Assemblée
Born in 1796, Princess Charlotte of Wales was the only child and heir presumptive of the Prince Regent, later King George IV. With the direct line dependent on this single thread, and her father's brothers either unwed or childless, the royal matchmakers were out in force as soon as she approached adulthood. In 1814 an initial engagement to the Prince of Orange, heir to the throne of the Netherlands, came to nothing but in its February 1816 issue, the popular ladies' magazine, La Belle Assemblée, chose as the subject of its series Biographical Sketches of Illustrious and Distinguished Characters, a German princeling, Leopold George Christian, Prince of Saxe-Cobourg.
Unusually, the article was not accompanied by a portrait of the prince but of Princess Charlotte and the editors lost no time in coming to the point. We are to present our readers with a demi-official announcement of a proposed alliance which, it is said, will be instantly submitted for the approval of Parliament. It is confidently stated that a matrimonial arrangement has actually taken place, in behalf of the presumptive heiress of the British throne, on the one part,—and a Prince of the house of Saxe-Cobourg on the other.
The remainder of the article was devoted to the prince's antecedents— the house of Saxe Saalfeld Coburg is one of the most ancient and illustrious in Germany—, tracing his descent from Charles, Duke of Lorraine, sixth in descent from Charlemagne and concluding with a brief description of Cobourg itself, while also affirming that the protestant cause has still met with staunch supporters in that illustrious house.
Royal Wedding Fever had broken out. In the March issue, we are presented with the Saxe-Cobourg Robe for Evening Full Dress (above). The robe (the pink overdress) is worn over a white satin slip flounced with crape and finished with blond. The headdress is described as a bridal veil, fastened with a brooch of pearl and pink topazes. Also popular this month are the Cobourg hat, formed of the finest whalebone transparently white, and the Leopold turban of white satin, formed in front like the Neapolitan cap, with a large, flat feather declining backwards. None of this items had anything to do with the national dress of the Cobourg inhabitants (right) but, then as now, a royal connection could only be beneficial to a dress designer.
The April issue of the magazine opens with a biographical sketch of the bridegroom accompanied by a portrait engraved by special permission from a Drawing made purposely for this work from the very fine Bust modelled at the express desire of Government, by P Turnerelli, Esq. and which is not only considered as an exquisite production of art, but also a most excellent portrait similitude of the illustrious original. A fine work it may be, but it certainly suggests that he is much older than twenty-six!
The date of the wedding was 2 May. In its May issue, La Belle Assemblée first regales its readers with a plate of the Cobourg Walking Dress and Oatlands Hat (below)-an allusion to the happy couple's honeymoon destination of Oatlands' Palace in Surrey).
But that is not all. The editor continues: As we have been gratified with a sight of the wedding dresses of this amiable and illustrious female, a particular yet concise account of them cannot but be acceptable to our fair readers. The Royal Bride, happy in obtaining him whom her heart had selected, and whom consenting friends had approved, wore on her countenance that tranquil and chastened joy which a female so situated could not fail to experience. Her fine, fair hair, elegantly yet simply arranged, owed more to its natural, beautiful wave than to the art of the friseur. It was crowned with a most superb wreath of brilliants, forming rose-buds with their leaves.
There followed detailed descriptions not only of the bridal dress, but also of nine further dresses made on this happy occasion as well as a travelling dress of white corded silk with a white satin pelisse trimmed with ermine and an elegant white satin hat ornamented with blond [lace] and a beautiful plume of white feathers.
The Cobourgs, as they came to be called, returned to town for the Drawing-Room held by her Majesty on 16 May to receive the congratulations on the marriage of her Royal Grand-daughter with Prince Leopold. It was, La Belle Assemblée tells us, one of the most splendid assemblages of royalty, nobility, beauty, and fashion that has ever been witnessed in this kingdom. Over ten-and-a-half-pages, the magazine lists the attendees and the presentations before describing the dresses of the royal family and selected members of the nobility and gentry.
The couple married not in a church or chapel but in the crimson drawing room at Carlton House, the London Residence of the Prince Regent, shortly after nine p.m. on the evening of 2 May 1816. Rather oddly, the magazine's description of the ceremony comes last; It is included in its Monthly Miscellany, where two pages are devoted to it. The crowd was particularly great from Charing-cross to the neighbourhood of Carlton House and the Queen's Palace [Buckingham Palace] we are told, where the Princess dined and dressed. Later, the Queen and the Princesses Charlotte, Augusta, Elizabeth, Mary and Sophia of Gloucester travelled in two carriages to Carlton House, escorted by a party of life guards. The crowd in the Park exceeded all description. The great crimson room…..had been previously fitted up for the occasion with a temporary altar and other items from the Chapel Royal, St James's Palace. The whole of the foreign ambassadors and ministers were specifically invited…….to enable them to report the same to their different courts. Apart from members of the royal family and the foreign ambassadors, the Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon and the great officers of the household were present. Her Royal Highness the Princess Charlotte advanced to the altar with much steadiness and went through the ceremony with great clearness, so as to be heard distinctly by every person present. The Prince Leopold was not heard so distinctly. Following a round of congratulations, the bride and bridegroom retired arm in arm, and soon after set off for Oatlands, which they reached at ten minutes before twelve.
The June issue opens with a portrait of the bridal couple returning from the altar, paired with the wish that this charming Princess and her illustrious partner may long continue to enjoy that delightful union of sentiment, and that unchanging love which they pledged at the altar. And may the silken and flowery bands of Hymen be every succeeding hour more firmly entwined by the strong and indissoluble ties of mutual constancy and increased esteem.
However, fickle fashion has already moved on. The fashion plates are for British Walking Dress and Parisian Promenade Hats, with no mention of the Cobourgs.
Apart from the extremely purple prose, the magazine's coverage of the royal wedding was very similar to that of today. The main difference in the celebrations between then and now, I think, is the private nature of the ceremony itself. There was no walk down the aisle of a packed church to a bridegroom waiting impatiently at the altar. As with so many other traditions, this appears to have originated with Queen Victoria in 1840 who arrived in a procession of carriages from Buckingham Palace to the Chapel Royal at St James's Palace for her marriage to Prince Albert, incidentally the nephew of our Prince Leopold, by now King of the Belgians, who acted as matchmaker.
New in my Library: The Autobiography of Lieutenant-General Sir Harry Smith (1787-1860)
An April 1902 reprint of the December 1901 first edition of Harry Smith's autobiography, 'scrawled over at full gallop' between 1824 and 1846, and only published, with the addition of some supplementary chapters by G.C Moore M.A., more than forty years after his death was a very welcome Christmas present. Fans of Georgette Heyer's The Spanish Bride know and love the romantic story of Harry and his wife Juana. When I was seventeen, I thrilled to their adventures with Wellington's troops in the Peninsula, agonised with them over their separation when Harry was sent to America, was touched by their subsequent reunion in England and 'marched' with them to Waterloo. Here we hear their story in Harry's own words.
The Spanish Bride is one of the few books Heyer wrote that is fictionalised biography, rather than historical fiction. It was published in 1940, roughly forty years after the posthumous publication of the autobiography which she discovered while researching An Infamous Army and steeping herself in Wellington's letters and despatches as well as the writings of Peninsula and Waterloo veterans. I came across it in a library many years ago and was fascinated to see how she drew on these, and the autobiography in particular for her own work.
Harry was not quite twenty-eight at Waterloo. The two volumes of the autobiography continue the story of his military career in Ireland, Nova Scotia, South Africa and India. Where possible, Juana accompanied him on his new assignments (the city of Ladysmith in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, is called after her) and they remained a devoted couple until his death, and beyond. She cherished his memory until her own death twelve years later and is buried with him in his birthplace of Whittlesey.
Both volumes are illustrated with portraits and maps. The arms granted to Harry in 1846 are embossed in gold on the red cover (see image below). The circle between the two birds in the upper section is the Waterloo Medal. The two supporters are soldiers of the 52nd Regiment and the Rifle Brigade. The motto is Inter Milites Miles (A Soldier among Soldiers).
Although cheaper reprints are available, there is something special about such a splendid edition and I look forward to re-reading it. It is a wonderful addition to my library and I was delighted to find this contemporary review of it which shows how well it was received on publication.
http://archive.spectator.co.uk/article/21st-december-1901/21/sir-harry-smith-it-is-characteristic-of-sir-harry-
Regency Dance: The Waltz
The above print dating from 1810 to 1819 beautifully captures the Regency waltz, a dance that did not meet with universal approval in its day, as is evident from the accompanying verses, by Sir H.E. Bart.
What! the girl I adore by another embraced?
What! the balm of her lips shall another man taste?
What! touched in the twirl by another's man's knee?
What! panting recline on another than me?
Sir, she's yours; from the grape you have press'd the soft blue,
From the rose you have shaken the tremulous dew;
What you've touched you may take. Pretty waltzer—adieu!
Sir H. E., was soon identified as Sir Henry Englefield, a gentlemen who at the time of writing had passed his sixtieth birthday, so perhaps the pretty waltzers were not overly put out by this rejection. An anonymous author however soon sprang to their defence.
Sir H.E. thinks each Waltzing Miss
From every partner takes a kiss.
Then O! how natural the whim
That makes them loath to dance with him.
Lady Caroline Lamb reported morning dancing parties to practise waltzes and quadrilles in Melbourne House in 1812. It was at this time that she met Byron and they plunged into a passionate affair. Unable to dance himself due to his club foot, he forbade her to waltz and early in 1813, published anonymously a two hundred line satire called The Waltz. It takes a swipe at many of the political issues of the day, but does not fail to emphasise the unseemly nature of the dance.
Waltz—Waltz alone—both legs and arms demands,
Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands;
Hands which may freely range in public sight
Where ne'er before—but—pray "put out the light."
Methinks the glare of yonder chandelier
Shines much too far—or I am much too near;
And true, though strange—Waltz whispers this remark,
"My slippery steps are safest in the dark!"
Above, dancing at Vauxhall Gardens.
Byron provided a covering letter to his verse, purporting to be from the author, Horace Hornem, who describes his surprise on arriving at a ball,
to see poor dear Mrs. Hornem with her arms half round the loins of a hugh hussar-looking gentleman I never set eyes on before; and his, to say truth, rather more than half round her waist, turning round and round to a d____d see-saw up-and-down sort of tune, that reminded me of the "Black Joke," only more "affettuoso," till it made me quite giddy with wondering they were not so. By-and-by they stopped a bit, and I thought they would sit or fall down;—but no; with Mrs. H's hand on his shoulder, "quam familiariter," (as Terence said, when I was at school,) they walked about a minute, and then at it again, like two cock-chafers spitted on the same bodkin. I asked what all this meant, when, with a loud laugh, a child no older than our Wilhelmina said, "Lord! Mr. Hornem, can't you see they're valtzing?" or waltzing (I forget which); and then up she got, and her mother and sister, and away they went, and round-abouted it till supper-time.
But the advance of the waltz was not to be halted. In 1814, it stormed Almack's sacred precincts and by 1816, Thomas Wilson attempted to tame it in his Description of the Correct Method of Waltzing. Here he sets out detailed instructions for a series of 'attitudes' or figures, as they would be called today. Couples should form a circle and follow the same sequence of attitudes, he suggests, thus turning the waltz into a communal dance and robbing it of the dangerous individuality and opportunity for illicit intimacy otherwise afforded to each couple. The waltz is now generally considered chaste in comparison with Country DANCING, Cotillions, or any other species of DANCING, he concluded triumphantly.
Wilson's various positions (above) are depicted very sedately, unlike the sensuous movement of the other prints.
On 16 July 1816, the Times reported: We remarked with pain that the indecent foreign dance called the Waltz was introduced (we believe for the first time) at the English court on Friday last … it is quite sufficient to cast one's eyes on the voluptuous intertwining of the limbs and close compressor on the bodies in their dance, to see that it is indeed far removed from the modest reserve which has hitherto been considered distinctive of English females. So long as this obscene display was confined to prostitutes and adulteresses, we did not think it deserving of notice; but now that it is attempted to be forced on the respectable classes of society by the civil examples of their superiors, we feel it a duty to warn every parent against exposing his daughter to so fatal a contagion
Cruikshank's Cyprian's Ball at the Argyle Rooms, below, suggests the real waltz. While the women belonged to the demi-monde, many of their male partners would also have moved in court circles.
In my novel Perception & Illusion, set in 1813/14, I use the waltz as a barometer of the fluctuating relationship between Hugo and Lallie. Here is its first appearance:
Where the devil had Lallie learnt to waltz? One shoulder propped against the wall of his sister's ballroom, Hugo watched with a disenchanted eye as his wife twirled gracefully around the floor with Luke Fitzmaurice, bending and turning, their arms raised to permit now one, now the other to pass under. He knew the waltz was all the rage but, damn it, could she not have told him she was taking lessons? They could have learnt together if it came to that. As the dance progressed he became more irate, especially when the couple danced side to side, both facing away but with flirtatious backwards glances. Now Fitzmaurice turned her so that they both stepped forward, her back to his torso. Hugo clenched his teeth at the sight.
As the century wore on, the waltz became both faster and simpler. Gone were Wilson's nine attitudes that were to be danced almost balletically. In came the closed position and revolving steps that continue to distinguish it today.
Angelica Kauffman R.A. An Inspiration for Regency Fashion?
Above: Ceres Engraving F Bartolozzi after Angelica Kauffman
'The whole world in Angelicamad' wrote the Danish Ambassador in London in 1781. He was speaking not of the latest actress or the newest society beauty but of a 'paintress' who was a founding member of the London Royal Academy of Arts and the portraitist of celebrities of Court, society and stage.
Maria Anna Angelika Kauffmann or Angelica Kauffman, her later signature of choice, was born in Chur, Switzerland in 1741. She was the only child of the Austrian painter and muralist Joseph Johann Kauffmann whose assistant she became at an early age, travelling with him to Switzerland, Austria and Italy, where she became a member of the Academies of Bologna, Florence, Rome and Venice. A gifted linguist and musician, both beautiful and charming, she was soon in demand among British visitors to Rome. In 1765 she moved to England and soon established herself both in artistic and society circles.
 In 1769, at the age of twenty-eight, she was one of only two women among the founding members of the Royal Academy. When Zoffany later came to paint his portrait of The Academicians of the Royal Academy, he grouped his subjects in a studio, including in the composition two male models, one nude and the other almost nude. To avoid any hint of impropriety, Angelica and her sister-member Mary Moser were shown not standing among their male peers but as portraits high on the wall of the studio. (It would take 168 years for another woman to be admitted to the Academy with the election of Dame Laura Knight in 1936.)
Although a skilled painter of portraits, Angelica regarded herself chiefly as a history painter, i.e. a painter of scenes drawn from history, literature, mythology and scripture. To succeed, the artist had to be well read in all these areas, and able to portray the human body in classical poses and dress (or lack of it), the latter requirement generally preventing women from attempting to succeed in this genre. Angelica's earlier studies especially in Florence where she was given a separate studio in the Medici collection, enabled her to cross this divide.
Paris and Oenone Engraving Franc. Bartolozzi after Angelica Kauffman
Her paintings of graceful women in flowing, classical draperies became enormously popular and were reproduced as affordable stipple engravings not only in London but also in Berlin, Dresden, Rome, Florence, Turin, Paris, Vienna and Zurich. In 1781, the Danish Ambassador Count Schönborn, wrote to the author Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock: An engraver here who engraves practically nothing but her paintings, said to me once, 'the whole world is angelicamad'.
I cannot but wonder whether her paintings were the inspiration for the neo-classical fashions of the early nineteenth century. Certainly, this fashion plate echoes their style.
Evening Full Dress 1811 La Belle Assemblée Miss Blacklin invenit
Angelica's first foray into matrimony was unfortunate. In 1767 she secretly married a Count Frederick de Horn who turned out to be a con-man and fortune-hunter and the marriage was declared invalid the following year. Once bitten, twice shy—before marrying the Venetian painter Antonio Zucchi in 1781, she had a marriage contract drawn up that gave her control of her finances. She and Zucchi left London in 1782, later settling in Rome where she continued to enjoy great success. She completed her last large-scale commission in 1805 and died in Rome in 1807. Childless and widowed, in her will she arranged to continue her charitable work as well as leaving legacies to her Kauffmann relatives.
The Roman Accademia di San Luca arranged a magnificent funeral where some of her major works were carried in procession behind the coffin and a letter describing it was read into the minutes of the Royal Academy.
I am indebted to the splendid website http://www.angelica-kauffman.com/en/akrp-home/arkp/ which provides a wealth of information about this talented and fascinating eighteenth-century artist who, despite the disadvantages attached to her gender, lived life largely on her own terms.
All images are from my private collection.
The Matrimonial Ladder; a Proto-Graphic Novel from 1825 Episode 4
Henry and Maria have let the sun go down on their anger. Dawn does not bring any improvement. If you have just stumbled upon Henry's and Maria's story, I suggest you click on The Matrimonial Ladder in the sidebar and scroll down to Part One.
Breakfast renews the quarrels of my fable,
She spoils the tea, and he upsets the table.
All patience lost, no power can peace impart,
Only in one thing they are agreed_to part.
Detestation
Loud she proclaims the thousands which she brought him,
He cool retorts "twas only that which caught him",
"The world shall know your conduct brute," she cries,
"Sooner the better sweet," the youth replies.
Seperation
Equipped for parting see these quondam turtles,
Dead are love's roses, withered all his myrtles,
Such are the ups and downs of love's short story,
"For better or for worse," tis death or glory.
Unfortunately we are not shown what happens next, but it looks as if their parents got together.
Now for a Kiss!—long as our absence,
Sweet as—our return
Our author does not leave us without an epilogue.
O happy they, the happiest of their kind
Whom gentler stars unite, & in one fate,
Their hearts, their fortunes & their beings blend.
Rarely's a Rose without a Thorn,
To all our shares some stinging Nettles fall,
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
But I am not sure that the author is convinced of his motto, for he finishes with the images from the title pages, as if to remind us that this is a cautionary tale.
Nought but Love can answer Love
And render Bliss secure.
Moral!
Always look before you leap
For as you sow, you're like to reap.
MATRIMONIAL LADDER
Such Things are
"So they ripe and ripe!
And rot, and rot!!
And hereby hangs a tale!!
" 'Tis true, tis pity
And pity 'tis,—'tis true—!!!"
And so we come to the end of our story. It casts an interesting light on the Regency view of romantic love. Is Henry a civilian Wickham (Pride and Prejudice) do you think, or just immature? Will Henry and Maria be able to develop a reasonable relationship or are they condemned to live beside rather than with each other for the rest of their marriage?
I think this tale was written for girls, warning them not to fall victim to a smooth-talking suitor. What do you think?
Welcome to Episode 3 of The Matrimonial Ladder, a rare Regency proto-graphic novel first published in 1825. If you have not yet read Parts 1 & 2, I suggest you click on The Matrimonial Ladder in the sidebar and scroll down to read from the beginning.
Last week, we left Henry and Maria on their honeymoon. The gilt was already beginning to wear off the gingerbread. Now they have set up house together, but they don't look very happy.
An Evening tête a tête you next shall see,
No friendly chat succeeds departed Tea,
Blue burn the Candles and the Nymph looks blue,
And rumination serves them but to rue
No more a social walk the morn employs
A greasy novel constitutes her joys
Alteration
While he poor soul condemned alone to saunter
Dines with some friend & empties his decanter.
This cannot end well.
Returned at eve, unnumbered queries wait him,
And she who loved so late appears to hate him;
From trifles light as air, the quarrel swells,
The husband bullies and the wife rebels.
Disputation
Fierce and more fierce, the wordy contest grows,
Taunts, gibes and sneers, and every thing but blows;
Each to a separate couch in rage retires,
Whence sleep is banished by vexatious fire.
Is there any hope for them? Tune in next week for our final episode. To be sure not to miss it, please subscribe to my newsletter or like my Facebook author page fb.me/catherinekullmannauthor to be kept informed.
Welcome to Episode 2 of The Matrimonial Ladder, a rare Regency proto-graphic novel first published in 1825. If you have not yet read Part 1, I suggest you click on The Matrimonial Ladder in the sidebar and scroll down to it first.
Last week, we left Henry declaring his interest to Maria. But she hesitates.
Hesitation
Her sweet joy with soft confusion veils,
Miss gently checks her swain's romantic tales.
She's sure mama will think these raptures wild
She knows not how to act, she's quite a child
Henry is not daunted He persists and his suit is finally successful.
With sighs and vows persists the wounded swain,
Begs she'll recall those words, and think again,
Fearful of frowns or veto from mamma,
The softening nymph refers him to papa.
Joy in his lips and rapture on his tongue,
On neat red tape his various parchments strung,
See Henry bears the mystic circlet high,
Which bids hope's tide flow strong, his terrors fly.
And so to church. But the author sounds an ominous note.
At church arrived on some unlucky day,
Poor Maria faulters out the word obey.
Thus of Loves Ladder gained the topmost place,
Her downward course the sorrowing muse must trace
And indeed it does not bode well for poor Maria.
Her Honeymoon and raptures fled together,
Behold a rural walk in dirty weather,
The stile is slippery but in vain the dame
Sues for that aid which once unasked for came.
And how will it be once they have returned home?
If you want to be sure you do not miss an episode of this entertaining story, please subscribe to my newsletter or 'like' my Facebook author page fb.me/catherinekullmannauthor to be kept informed.
In transcribing the text, I have kept to the original with its varied spellings etc.
The Matrimonial Ladder Part 1
To mark the anniversary of the publication of my debut novel The Murmur of Masks last July, I am sharing with you a real regency rarity from my library. The Matrimonial Ladder, a humorous if sardonic, glance at love and marriage was published in 1825. Text and illustrations were etched on metal plates, then each page was printed and hand-coloured individually. I hope you enjoy following the story of Henry and Maria which I shall publish in instalments over the next weeks.
Title Page: The ladder in question is a double one. The steps on the left are garlanded with roses, a heart is suspended from the apex and the right-hand, downward steps are bare. A cupid lies on the ground beneath, with the caption Love Lies Sprawling.
A GIFT FOR ALL SEASONS
Love Lies Sprawling
Drawn by M. E. Esq.
PRESENT OF FRIENDSHIP
While grateful Maria leads the gay Quadrille,
What new sensations Henry's bosom fill.
An introduction gained, the youth advances
And hopes she's disengaged the two next dances.
The suit obtained, they tread the mazy round,
At length fatigued, a seat's convenient found.
Henry assiduous plies the glittering fan,
And proves himself a very nice young man.
With favouring smile the fair one hears his prattle,
Sips lemonade and vows he's quite a rattle,
Then as new raptures rise in every glace,
Exclaims, "I think we'd better join the dance".
Next morn he calls—the custom's very old,
To hope the lady has not taken cold.
Thinks she looks charmingly in dishabille,
And tells what pangs his stricken bosom fill.
My goodness! Things are moving very fast, aren't they? Check in again next week to see how Henry and Maria are getting on. If you want to be sure you do not miss an episode of this entertaining story, you might like to subscribe to my newsletter or like my Facebook author page fb.me/catherinekullmannauthor to be kept informed.
The Regency Fore-Runners of Comics and Graphic Novels
The history of book illustration stretches far back into antiquity. From the earliest illustrated scrolls via the splendid illuminated manuscripts of the middle ages to today's sumptuous photo books, ornamentation and images have added an extra dimension to the pleasure of reading for over two millennia. With the rise of the English novel in the eighteenth century, publishers began to include engravings, frequently just a frontispiece, in their volumes. Soon they started to issue special, illustrated limited editions of successful novels such as Richardson's Pamela (left).
By the end of the century, mechanical improvements made the printing of engravings much cheaper and a huge market had developed for all sorts of prints, including caricatures, especially hand-coloured ones. In 1815, David Robarts, a former officer who had served in the Peninsular War, published a satirical poem The Military Adventures of Johnny Newcome. It was embellished with fifteen coloured sketches by T Rowlandson, a leading artist and caricaturist of the day. Where previous illustrations had been straightforward, black and white depictions of pivotal scenes, Rowlandson matched his drawings to Robarts' satire. Here we see our hero present the trophies from the Peninsula to the Prince Regent.
Johnny Newcome was hugely successful and immediately imitated. The Adventures of a Post-Captain, of 1817 had twenty-five characteristic engravings by Mr Williams. The illustrations are highly dramatic and instead of a caption the relevant quotation is printed beneath each picture. In some cases this is dialogue and we begin to see the marriage of text and image. Below, the gallant captain restores Fair Ellen, who was abducted by the Moors, to her aged father. The text reads:
Then sudden starting from his stare/ He cry'd "where is my daughter-where?"
Here!" Ellen cry'd-"banish all fear!/ "Your happy, long-lost girl is here!
It was not long until the Johnny Newcome spin-offs had exhausted the military and naval possibilities. In 1820, Pierce Egan published Life in London, or the Day and Night Scenes of Jerry Hawthorne, Esq., and his Elegant Friend, Corinthian Tom, accompanied by Bob Logic, the Oxonian in their Rambles and Sprees Through the Metropolis. The entertaining adventures of Tom and Jerry were embellished with thirty-six scenes from real life, designed and etched by I R and G Cruikshank with a graphic style that reminds us of later comics. At the top, you see Tom, watched by Jerry, Getting the best of a Charley or upsetting the box of a night-watchman.
Life in London was another best-seller and, as with Johnny Newcome, it was quickly succeeded by a series of books looking to capitalize on Egan's success. Foremost among these was Real Life in London, described as by An Amateur but later ascribed to Egan. Below: Ascot Races - Tom and Bob winning the long odds from a knowing one.
However, although the proportion of illustrations to text increases constantly, we do not yet have the union of text and picture that marks the true comic or graphic story. But we are getting there. In 1825, Thos. McLean of London published The Matrimonial Ladder, with a subtitle of Love Lies Sprawling. Drawn by M. E. Esq, in eighteen full-page illustrations, each with an accompanying verse, it casts a sardonic eye on the romance of Henry and Maria. A couple of years ago I was lucky enough to find a copy at an antique book fair. Here is a detail from the title page.
To mark the first anniversary of the publication of my debut novel The Murmur of Masks, I have decided to share this post-Regency gem with fans of the era and will post the plates and text on my blog over the coming weeks.
I shall post a link to each blog on my Facebook page fb.me/catherinekullmannauthor. To be kept informed of new posts, you can 'like' the page or alternatively subscribe to my newsletter on the home page of this website.
Presentation at the English Court in the Nineteenth Century
Above:Presenting the Trophies (1815, Rowlandson)
To be hoffähig, that is to have the right to be presented at court, defined your place in society in nineteenth century England. During the long eighteenth century, access to court seems to have been more or less self-regulated. Provided you were well-bred, of good repute and possessed of sufficient fortune to array yourself in court dress, an introduction could be yours. You could only be presented by somebody who had previously been presented and this, together with the instinct of all elites to safeguard their privileges, appears to have been sufficient to see off any encroaching mushrooms.
Belinda, heroine of Maria Edgeworth's eponymous novel of 1801, has come to stay with the fashionable Lady Delacour for the Season. Her aunt is desirous that she should go to court, and make a splendid figure there and her ladyship informs her, You must go to the drawing-room with me next week, and be presented—as it is the first time, you must be elegantly dressed, and you must not wear the same dress on the birthnight.
By the 'birthnight' she means the birthnight court ball held to mark royal birthdays, a glittering if highly regimented occasion where the minuet was danced by one couple at a time, in strict order of precedence. When the minuets were over, two or three country dances were danced but not by the whole company. It is likely that Belinda would not have danced at all, but would have been among the spectators.
As George III's health declined and his Queen grew older, the custom of holding regular drawing-rooms and balls faded until there was a period of almost two years between June 1810 and April 1812 when no drawing-room was held at all. The fashionable world did not grind to a halt but, as recorded in the Annual Register for the year: 30 April. The Queen held a drawing room at St. James's Palace. It being the first which her Majesty has held since the King's birth day in 1810, and there having been no Court for the ladies during a lapse of nearly two years, great preparations were made by the higher ranks for their appearance on this occasion."
Going to court required court dress. Belinda's aunt sends her a draught on her banker for two hundred guineas. 'You will, I trust, repay me when you are established in the world; as I hope and believe, from what I hear from Lady Delacour of the power of your charms, you will soon be, to the entire satisfaction of all your friends. This was a huge sum, the equivalent of almost sixteen thousand pounds today, but, as the novel shows, it was enough to pay only for the ball-gown. Belinda must 'let her ladyship bespeak for her, fifty guineas' worth of elegance and fashion' for the drawing-room itself. And all this for gowns that Belinda would probably never wear again because court dress was very different to fashionable dress.
Above, left court gown 1795 and right ball dress and walking dress 1808
Although by the turn of the nineteenth century, the fashion was for light gowns reminiscent of ancient Greece and Rome, the Queen clung to the old elaborate confections of richly trimmed silks and satins supported by the obsolete hoop, described by The Morning Chronicle in January 1795 and deplored by the Persian Ambassador, Abul Hassan in 1810 who recorded the Queen's ladies as standing from waist to toe in full-blown tents while from waist to shoulders the dresses were closely fitted. As can be seen from Rowlandson's picture at the top of this post, an unfortunate attempt was also made to marry the regency fashion for high-waisted, low-cut gowns with the court requirement for hoops.
It was only in 1820, after the death of Queen Charlotte, that the Prince Regent changed the regulations for court dress, doing away with hoops but retaining the requirement for a lady to wear a train, lace lappets and feathers. Below, Court Dress, July 1824.
In 1810, Abul Hassan noted in his journal that No member of a family touched by scandal is received at court. By the reign of Queen Victoria, the rules regarding eligiblity had ben formalised, perhaps due to the rise of the middle classes.
The etiquette manual The Habits of Good Society (1859) sets out who can be presented at Court. Apart from the wives and daughters of the nobility and gentry, wives and daughters of the clergy, of military and naval officers, of physicians and barristers can be presented. These are the aristocratic professions, but the wives and daughters of general practitioners and of solicitors are not entitled to a presentation. The wives and daughters of merchants, or of men in business (excepting bankers), are not entitled to presentation. Nevertheless, though many ladies of this class were refused presentation early in this reign, it is certain that many have since been presented. No divorcee, nor lady married, after having lived with her husband or with any one else before her marriage, can be received.
The notices of drawing-rooms also became more elaborate. What had once been a simple announcement in The Gazette, such as this one from 21 December 1816: Notice is hereby given, that Her Majesty's birth-day which falls on the 18th of January, will be celebrated by a Drawing-Room at The Queen's Palace, on the 6th of February and that the birth-day-of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent will also be celebrated by a Drawing-Room at Her Majesty's Palace, on St George's Day, the 23d of April, by 1864 had become much more dictatorial.
As the century progressed, the regulations became stiffer and stiffer. According to Etiquette for Ladies (undated) A spinster must appear with two, and a married lady with three, feathers so disposed on her head that they are visible from the front, and with two long lappets of tulle or lace (two yards in length) flowing from the back of the hair. She must wear a low bodice and short sleeves, and a train coming either from the waist or the shoulders, not less than three yards in length. The gloves must be white and never tinted with a colour except in cases of mourning, when black or lavender are allowed. Her train spread out behind her by two lords-in-waiting, she must approach the throne, curtsey as low as possible so as almost to kneel. The Queen kisses her on the forehead if is she is a peeress or peer's daughter or extends her hand to be kissed if the lady is a commoner.
In the above picture of a presentation to Queen Victoria in 1849, both queen and debutante have removed the glove from their right hand for this ceremony. This contact of skin to skin appears to have been an essential part of a presentation and was, perhaps, a hearkening back to feudal oaths of allegiance. In a letter to his step-daughter Miss Orde of October 1837, the great recorder of the age, Thomas Creevey, wrote: ….the Queen was told that I had not been presented, upon which a scene took place that to me was truly distressing, The poor little thing could not get her glove off…….she blushed and laughed and pulled, till the thing was done, and I kissed her hand.
Etiquette for Ladies continued the description of a presentation as follows: The lady then rises, curtsies to the Prince of Wales and any other members of the Royal family who are present and passes on, keeping her face towards the Queen, and leaving the room in a succession of curtsies.
We must hope she is successful. Manners for Women (1897) records, among other cautionary tales, the dreadful fate of the lady, the heel of whose shoe caught in her skirts and who as a result could not get up after her curtsey. She had to be carried from the Presence Chamber after the manner of the old game of "Honey Pots, causing Queen Victoria to smile broadly. Her Majesty, it appears, could on occasion be amused.
The Magazine Fort in the Phoenix Park, Dublin
The Phoenix Park—Phoenix is a corruption of the Gaelic 'Fionn Uisce' or 'Clear Water'—was established in 1662 as a royal deer park, originally straddling the River Liffey about a mile and a half upstream from Dublin Castle. In the 1670s, Charles II tried to give the land to his mistress the 1st Duchess of Cleveland, perhaps better known as Barbara Palmer or Lady Castlemaine, but the viceroy, the Earl of Essex, combined with the Duke of Ormonde to prevent this. The Park was reduced to its present size of 707 hectares (1752 acres) north of the Liffey in 1680 when the Royal Hospital in Kilmainham was built on the south bank side. First opened to the public in 1745, it is one of the largest, enclosed, urban, recreational spaces in Europe, almost three times the size of Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens together.
The overall impression of the visitor to the Park is one of wide open spaces with gleaming lawns and magnificent trees but it shelters Áras an Uachtaráin (the residence of the President of Ireland, Farmleigh House (the official guest house of the Irish Government), Garda (police) headquarters, the residence of the US Ambassador to Ireland, Ashtown Castle and Demesne, nine acres of Victorian flower gardens, Dublin Zoo, a herd of four hundred or so fallow deer, polo and cricket grounds, a variety of football and hurling pitches, and an abandoned magazine fort.
Square in plan, with three demi-bastions and a later, triangular extension, the fort was constructed in 1734 to store the explosive 'black powder'. Previously, this had been stored in the powder magazine at Dublin Castle, a less than ideal situation, as became apparent in 1684 when Lord Arran, Deputy and son of the Viceroy, the Duke of Ormond, was obliged to give orders to blow up the long gallery communicating with the north-east tower in order to prevent a fire that started in his dining-room from reaching the powder magazine. The powder was initially removed to the new Royal Hospital Kilmainham, but this was not a permanent solution.
The magazine fort in the Phoenix Park was built with an eye to minimising the risk of and potential damage by accidental explosions. A blast wall (above in the foreground on the right) was built at right angles to the three magazines. This wall was not a solid construction but built around a rubble core that would collapse in on itself in the event of an explosion. The arches on the walls of the long side of the magazine buildings (below) were were designed to break up the shock wave of an explosion. All fittings were made as far as possible to avoid accidental sparks through friction. The raised oak floors (the original floors remain and one can be seen in the top photo) were fastened with timber dowels rather than nails and locks were made of brass instead of steel. The three horses assigned to the first troops stationed there were not stabled on site but further down the hill, presumably to avoid sparks generated by horseshoes striking the cobblestones.
The fort was occupied until 1980 by the Irish army, although no munition was stored there after 1939. Today the grey stone buildings rise derelict from the eighteenth century cobblestones and the modern steel ramps, steps and platforms installed by the Office of Public Works to facilitate tours for visitors lend an industrial air to the scene. The once-proud entrance arch was demolished to permit the entrance of modern lorries. Weeds grow everywhere while wooden doors gape ajar, half-rotten. Despite this gloomy appearance, enough remains of the original structures to make the fort worth a visit, even if it is only to enjoy the views over the park and surrounding countryside. An archaeological survey is being carried out at present and it is hope to restore the complex for use for exhibitions etc.
Lord and Lady Caher and their Swiss Cottage Orné
Returning from Kerry to Dublin last week, we detoured to visit the Swiss Cottage in Cahir, Co. Tipperary. I had always known of this Regency cottage orné or ornamental cottage, but only then did I hear the fascinating story of the builders of the cottage, Richard, 10th Lord Caher and his wife Emily.
On 10 June 1788, Pierce Butler, 8th Baron Caher of the second creation, died in Paris without male issue. He had succeeded his brother only two years previously and next in line to inherit was their second cousin James. The impoverished James died a month later in the East Indies, most likely unaware that he had come into a peerage and a sizeable estate while his wife, daughter and twelve-year old son lived in abject poverty in Ireland. Other family members got wind of Pierce's death and, as graphically recounted by Dorothea Herbert in her Retrospections, these Expectants ………..had them [the children] kidnapt and Secretly convey'd to France where they were reared in miserable poverty, presumably in the hope that in the absence of the rightful heir, these others would be able to draw on the estate's funds. Enter a Dea ex Machina in the person of one Mrs Jefferies who heard the story at an inn in Cahir. She appealed to her brother, the Lord Chancellor for Ireland, on behalf on the distraught mother. His lordship procured Warrants for bringing the children over and Mrs Jefferies went herself to France, where her daughter was in a convent. She managed to track down the missing children and assumed their guardianship. In an obituary in 1815, The Gentleman's Magazine describes her as a lady of strong natural endowments, of an enterprising and indefatigable spirit. This was manifested in the zeal with which she travelled through France in search of the present Lord Cahir, whom she restored to his titles and estates on the death of Pearce, the late Lord in the year 1788.
The obituary continues: His Lordship was then in his thirteenth year; and in five years afterwards Mrs Jeffries [sic] had the pleasure of uniting him to her youngest daughter Miss Emily Jeffries, the present Lady Cahir. According to Dorothea Herbert, The Chancellor… threatened to imprison his Sister and Niece for inveigling the young Heir but apparently Mr Jefferies was able to save his wife and daughter from this fate.
The young couple returned to Ireland where they played a prominent part in the social life of the day. Dorothea describes a most flaming Fête Champêtre at Caher at which she danced with his Lordship and Lady Caher danced an Irish jig in her Stockings to the Musick of an old, blind piper.
Not content with the ancestral home of Cahir Castle, an imposing medieval structure on a rocky island in the River Suir in the middle of Cahir town and the more modern Cahir House, built in the 1770s some one hundred and sixty metres away from the castle, Lord and Lady Caher decided they needed somewhere they could spend time in rustic simplicity. They chose a site about two kilometres from the Castle, above the River Suir and surrounded by wooded slopes. In order to ensure the necessary solitude, they first had the land cleared of existing buildings, including an old Quaker residence. Now, beside a yew (seen on the right of the above pictures) that was at least eight hundred years old, they had the perfect spot for their ornamental cottage.
Such picturesque rural retreats were highly popular in Ireland and England at the turn of the nineteenth century. Drawing both on the French ferme-ornée and the new taste for the picturesque and wild in nature for inspiration, they offered a retreat from civilisation and an opportunity to savour the joys of nature. The Cahers's cottage, now known as the Swiss Cottage, the nickname given to it by the locals, is one of the best surviving examples of a cottage orné. Traditionally, the design is ascribed to John Nash, of Royal Pavilion in Brighton fame but, although he was working in Ireland at the time when it was built, there is nothing to confirm his involvement with the project.
Deliberately asymmetrical and artfully unpolished, the cottage seems to have 'growed' like Topsy over decades if not centuries, becoming one with the landscape. It has two stories, each with two rooms, linked by a central hall with a wooden spiral staircase. On the ground floor, French doors open onto the verandah that runs all around the house while upstairs, the two bedrooms open onto balconies. All the rooms are light and airy. The thatched roof is a fascinating mixture of steep slopes and swooping, rounded eaves. Balcony and verandah supports are made from natural tree-trunks and wreathed by climbing plants.
By the 1980s, the cottage was completely dilapidated. It was taken over by the Office of Public Works, and with the very generous support of the Port Royal foundation, a complete restoration was undertaken between 1985 and 1989. Very little remained of the original decoration and furnishings. Among the survivors were enough of two Dufour wallpapers, Monuments de Paris and Rives du Bosphore or Banks of the Bosporus, a charming panorama of Turkish men and women set against a backdrop of minarets, onion domes and pointed arches that it was possible to have them restored and the missing sections copied. (Below you will see a panel from the collection of the Houston Museum of Fine Arts.) Unfortunately, photography is not permitted inside the cottage, and so I cannot show you the delightful, Arcadian interiors that invite the visitor to linger and enjoy the beauties of nature, perhaps while taking tea or listening to music.
According to our guide, the Cahers never stayed overnight, but used the cottage as a daytime retreat, returning to Caher House to sleep. The idealised peasant existence required invisible helping hands. Visitors today approach the cottage via a flight of stone steps that leads to a door set under a rough stone arch that is crowned by a sculpture of a strange two-tailed animal. The door opens on to a tunnel that ends in the basement of the building at what is now the reception for visitors. This was the servants' entrance and here were the kitchen and other offices, out-of-sight but linked by the back stairs to the ground floor where a jib door leads into the hall proper.
The Lovely and Accomplished Miss O'Neill and William Wrixon Becher Esq. M.P— A True Regency Romance
The daughter of an Irish actor manager, Eliza O'Neill first appeared on the stage at the age of eleven. Having achieved great success in Dublin, she took London by storm on her debut as Juliet in October 1814. In a three page encomium in its January 1816 issue, La Belle Assemblée wrote: London audiences had for some time been accustomed to see Juliet performed without that engaging softness which forms a most prominent part of the character; it is not surprizing therefore that their feelings were awakened to find this young and lovely actress performing with a softness of look and manner most inimitable, avoiding not only the excess of emotion, but also the vehemence of declamation, too often substituted for virgin fears and all the delicacy of the chastest affection. But it is needless for us to expatiate on her powers of expression in her indignation at the reproaches cast on Romeo, in her despair at his banishment, in her calm contempt of the treachery of the nurse, or in the fortitude of mind displayed whilst preparing to encounter temporary death with all its attendant horrors.
Her debut was so successful that by popular demand the performance was repeated the following night instead of the programmed Merry Wives of Windsor, The European Magazine and London Review writing: "This second performance was still more brilliant than the former. The anxieties of a first appearance had disappeared and Miss O'Neill's talents blazed in unclouded lustre. The applause kept pace with her merits, to which even the Prince Regent came to pay his tribute of admiration.
At the close of the London Season of 1814/15, Miss O'Neill embarked on a summer tour which took in the north of England and Plymouth before ending in Brighton, a country excursion which, according to La Belle Assemblée netted her near eight thousand pounds.
Jane Austen saw her in that first season, writing to Anna Lefroy; We were all at the Play last night to see Miss O'neal in Isabella. I do not think she was quite equal to my expectation. I fancy I want something more than can be. Acting seldom satisfies me. I took two Pocket handkerchiefs but had very little occasion for either. She is an elegant creature however and hugs Mr Younge delightfully.
Miss O'Neill reigned supreme for almost five years. Shelley was among her many admirers and considered her the ideal choice to portray Beatrice in his play The Cenci. However, by the time it was published, Miss O'Neill had retired from the stage to marry William Wrixon Becher Esq. M.P. The report of their marriage in The Gentleman's Magazine, Volume 89, Part 2; Volume 126 is most unusual.
18. (Dec.) Wm Wrixon Becher Esq. M.P., a gentleman of very considerable property and M.P. for Mallow (Co. Cork) to the lovely and accomplished Miss O'Neill. The ceremony was performed by the Hon. and Rev. the Dean of Ossory. Mr B. settles 1000£ a year on the lady; and refuses to take a shilling of her fortune which she has settled on her family as follows: On her father and mother 500£ a year, her brother Robert 300£ a year, her second brother in the 44th regiment 200£ a year and the sum of 5000£ on her sister.
Assuming a return of 5% per annum, a capital sum of £20,000 would be required to provide for the incomes of the bride's parents and brothers, which together with the amount settled on her sister, presumably as a dowry, suggests that Miss O'Neill's fortune was at least £25,000 or around two million pounds in today's terms. According to the laws of the time, on their marriage this would automatically have become her husband's property had he not waived his right to it in the settlements.
Who was the chivalrous bridegroom who captured such a paragon and could afford to forego the riches she brought with her?
William Wrixon was born on 31 July 1780. He was the eldest son of William Wrixon and Mary, daughter of John Townsend Becher. Through his mother, William was the heir of his uncle Henry who was killed on the day he came of age [21 December 1780] by the bursting of a gun (Burke's Genealogy, 1836). Henry evidently lived long enough to make a will in favour of his infant nephew and Wrixon subsequently added the name Becher to his own. Although his father predeceased him by only three years, thanks to this inheritance he was independently wealthy all his adult life.
As a young man, William appears to have been a typical member of the Irish Ascendancy. In 1804, aged twenty-five, he was appointed High Sheriff of the County of Cork, the Sovereign's judicial representative in that county, a position his father had held almost thirty years previously. Wrixon senior kept a pack of foxhounds and father and son were founding members and, successively, Masters of the Duhallow Hunt Club. In the general election of 1818 William stood for Parliament on the independent Catholic interest and was returned unopposed for Mallow, ousting his anti-Catholic cousin James Lawrence Cotter. Arrived in London, he joined Brooks's, sponsored by Lord George Cavendish and Lord Duncannon and presumably moved in the best circles.
We don't know when and where he and Eliza O'Neill met for the first time. According to Our Actresses: Or, Glances at Stage Favourites, Past and Present (1844), he had known her from her girlhood upwards, —had admired the little budding rose— and then worshipped the full flower.
Sir William and Lady Wrixon Becher had three sons and two daughters. We know no more of their married life together which lasted for thirty years until his death in 1850. She lived for another twenty-two years, dying at the age of eighty-one.
Images: At the Top: Miss O'Neill as Juliet By George Dawe - Folger Shakespeare Library Digital Image Collection http://luna.folger.edu/luna/servlet/s/993opk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=40924016
Below: Miss O'Neill as Belvidera in Otway's Venice Preserved. La Belle Assemblée, January 1816.
Late Georgian and Regency Hairstyles
As skirts narrowed at the end of the eighteenth century, so did hair-styles. Gone were the piled-up and puffed-out creations that forced their wearers to sleep upright so as not to damage them and in came classical styles based on those of ancient Greece and Rome, to match the new light gowns.But this simplicity did not last very long. As the new century progressed, styles again became more elaborate and within thirty years hair fashions had become as tortured as they even had been.
Below I have selected some images which show this progression. but even the simpler styles seem to have have been difficult to achieve without the assistance of a maid or hairdresser. In 1805, Jane Austen wrote to Cassandra, "Mr Hall…..charged Elizabeth (their sister-in-law at Godmersham Park) 5s for every time of dressing her hair and 5s for every lesson to Sace, allowing nothing for the pleasures of his visit here, for meat, drink & Lodging, the benefit of Country air, & the charms of Mrs Salkeld's & Mrs Sace's society.—Towards me he was as considerate, as I had hoped for, from my relationship to you, charging me only 2s.6d for cutting my hair, tho' it was as thoroughly dress'd after being cut for Eastwell, as it had been for the Ashford Assembly. He certainly respects either our Youth or our poverty."
1 Evening Dress 1794 2 Grecian Style 1803
One way of avoiding this trouble and expense was to wear a cap, although this was more the sign of a married woman or older spinster. In 1798, then aged twenty-three, Jane Austen had written, "I have made myself two or three caps to wear of evenings since I came home and they have saved me a world of torment as to hair-dressing, which at present gives me not trouble beyond washing and brushing, for my long hair is always plaited up out of sight, and my short hair curls well enough to want no papering."
3 Evening Dress 1808, with and without cap
A lady never left the house bare-headed and for evening parties, many opted for a turban or other head covering, perhaps also to cover thinning or greying hair. Curls could be purchased and fixed at the temples or forehead as required.
4 Ball dress with lace and flower-trimmed cap, and 5 walking dress 1808
6 Here is an interesting French plate from 1810 which shows two different styles. I particularly like the elaborately woven chignon of no. 2 but an not too impressed by the little curls at the forehead.
By 1816, styles were more ornate.
7 February 1816 8 May 1816
And once we are past 1820................
9 Ball dress 1823 10 Evening Dress 1824
11 My final example is an undated book illustration which shows front and back of the head. Going by the dress, I would put it at about 1830, the year of King George IV's death. The caption of the illusration is "I hope he'll be there". I wonder what he would make of her horns! This image is also interesting because it shows the big pads that were worn to puff out the sleeves.
Winsome Women and Sentimental Verse from the Notebook of Lieutenant Charles Haultain R. N.
In my last blog I described how I discovered the personal notebook of Lieutenant (later Commander) Charles Haultain R.N. and discussed the sheet of additional naval numerical signals I found tucked in the back. Today I want to share with you some of the personal entries that make up the bulk of the contents of the notebook. In modern terms, I suppose it was the equivalent of an iPad, containing both information that was important professionally to the owner and material designed to entertain and amuse him during the long weeks and months at sea. So what did a twenty-four year old man who had seen action in Egypt, the Mediterranean, the Irish Station and the Adriatic over a twelve-year period, select to while away the dull and dismal hours?
On the inside covers and on the fly-leaf, he stuck some very early examples of moveable pictures, the forerunners of today's pop-up books pictures. The German inscription on the picture of a piece of furniture on the right above translates as follows:
Even if the bookcase appears so small,
If you, I beg, make the effort,
To draw the curtains right and left,
I hope the contents will please you.
And this is what is revealed:
A selection of press cuttings have been glued in. The topics are varied and include an extract from a London Gazette Extraordinary reports on the Capture of Alexandria in 1801, an Ode of Congratulation to His Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence on his being appointed Admiral of the Fleet (December 1811), and various amusing anecdotes such as the duel fought over the waltz and the patient who fled in panic on encountering a skeleton in his doctor's rooms. Other snippets of information from the wars are more amusing than military in nature e.g.
We find also a detailed account of a masquerade, listing the costumes worn by some of the guests; reports of an inquest, a bull-baiting and the supposed discovery in Malta of the burial-place of Hannibal. There is a considerable amount of verse, both as press-clippings and carefully copied out. The verse is a peculiar mixture of the sentimental, the tragic and the comic, interspersed with some lines that have stood the test of time such as Ben Jonson's 'The Sweet Neglect,' and Robert Southey's ballad Inchcape Rock and sonnet O God! have mercy, in this dreadful hour
The first handwritten entry is called The Sailor's Adieu, verses that appeared in The Sporting Magazine in 1811 but may have been known earlier. In every version I have found, the sailor bids farewell to Eliza, but Haultain changed the name of the beloved to Mary. Further on in the book however, we discover lines addressed to Mary in which he laments 'But I now mourn that e'er I knew/A girl so fair and so deceiving. We do not know if these were addressed to a particular lady called Mary but in August 1814 he married a lady called Eliza Saward.
A series of bathetic verses written in three-line stanzas, each addressed to a different family member e.g. My Mother, My Father, My Daughter, My Woman comes next. Here is a brief sample:
Who in my helpless Infancy
Assisted oft to wait on me
To ease my Mother's arm and knee?
My Father.
"When harm or sickness made me cry
Who was it watched my heavy Eye
And wept for fear that I should die?
How was my aching bosom torn
With doubts and fears upon that morn
When thou first pledge of love wert born?
My Daughter.
This must have been a popular style at the time as it was later parodied by Thomas Hood in his verses A Lay of Real Life in which he lists all his relations, starting with his grandfather and concludes that he can only rely upon himself. Indeed, I remember my own father reciting over a hundred and fifty years later:
"Who took me from my nice warm cot
And put me on a cold, cold pot,
Whether I wanted to or not?
Charles Haultain also collected jokes, epigrams and riddles that were stuck or written in to the notebook wherever space permitted. Unfortunately he frequently only jotted down the riddle questions so I cannot enlighten you as to Why a Spectator is like a Beehive or why Two Laughing Girls are like the Wings of a Chicken. On the back inside cover, he stuck another German movable picture of a man raising a stein to his mouth. The inscription translates as 'to your health'.
Charles Haultain was born in December 1787. He came from a service family: his father was a Lieutenant-Colonel of the 66th Regiment of Foot and Charles was the eldest of four brothers, all of whom saw service—Francis in the Royal Artillery, Arthur with the East India Company and Frederick in the navy. Charles appears to have entered the royal navy within a month of his twelfth birthday in Jan. 1800. He joined as an Able Seaman but within two years attained the rating of Midshipman and on 26 April 1806 was promoted to a lieutenancy. He cannot have had much formal education but would have received additional instruction on board ship. His handwriting is clear and fluent, with very few erasures or corrections. It is difficult to date the entries in his notebook exactly, but it seems as if he may have started it in 1811 when he was twenty-four. Some of the press-cuttings are dated earlier and he may have transferred these from a previous book.
He was promoted to Commander in June 1814 but, despite his best efforts, saw no further naval employment but presumably remained on half-pay. He was made a Knight of the Royal Hanoverian Guelphic Order in the New Year's honours of 1833. Although this order was instituted by the Prince Regent in 1815, it was always regarded as a foreign order in the United Kingdom and while members could use the appropriate initials - in Haultain's case, KH - after their names, they were not entitled to the style of 'Sir'.
Commander Charles Haultain K. H. was later the originator and compiler of the New Navy List. He died in 1845 and is buried in the graveyard of St. Mary's Church, Fairford, Co. Gloucester.
A Naval Attack on the Strong- Forts of the Elbe and Weser 1813
Some time ago, I found a small, rather battered red notebook at an antique book fair. It was secured with a stiff metal clasp but I managed to open it and found a collection of press-cuttings and manuscript entries, mostly verse. The press-cuttings were generally undated but enough dates were given to enable me to date the book to the period 1806 to 1815. The press-cuttings related mainly to naval news and actions but there was also a collection of family notices. An unusual name–Haultain—featured in almost every one.
The end of the book was used in a much more business-like fashion, however. On blank pages ruled into lines and columns were written out in a careful hand, sorted by number and then alphabetically, the signal flags of the royal navy and the almost three thousand letters and words assigned to them. I imagine that one of the first tasks of an aspiring officer was to acquaint himself with these flags. The most famous order conveyed by them is Admiral Lord Nelson's England Expects That Every Man Will Do His Duty, flown before the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805.
Tucked into the back of the book was a piece of paper that appears to have been torn from a ledger that was ruled on one side in red in columns of unequal width. This paper was folded in half to create four pages and was headed 'Additional Nums. & Signals' and lists 16 additional signals. It is signed by A Farquhar, Captain and marked No. 11 G. B.
I now had two names. As a result, I was able to identify the owner of the notebook as Lieutenant (later Commander) Charles Haultain R.N. K. H. (1787-1845). Commander Haultain compiled the first New Navy List in 1839. In the issue of February 1843, under War Service of the Commanders, he lists his own service as: Midshipman of Agincourt, exp. to Egypt; in the Cerberus in the attack on Granville in 1803; and in the Glory in Sir Robert Calder's action in 1805; when Lieutenant of the Active in the Adriatic, commanded her launch at the capture of a large convoy at Grao in 1810; commanded, as senior Lieutenant a flotilla of 12 gun-vessels, under the orders of Sir A Farquhar in the Elbe and assisted at the reduction of the strong forts of Blexan [Blexum] and Bremer-ehe [Bremerlehe] in the Weser, and of Cuxhaven in the Elbe; served as a volunteer at the head-quarters of the Crown Prince of Sweden, and subsequently at the siege and capture of Glückstadt, for which he was promoted [advanced to the rank of Commander 15 June, 1814], and honoured with the Swedish Gold Medal.
We may therefore assume that Captain Farquhar's additional signals were to be used by the above flotilla of gun-vessels attacking the French fortresses on the Elbe and Weser. In the 1665 map shown below, Bremerlehe, then known as Carelstat, is on the right bank of the Weser, with Blexum more or less opposite it on the left.
With the assistance of Admiral W. H. Smyth's Sailor's Word Book, first published in 1867, I have done my best to transcribe the signals. Although not a sailor, I found their immediacy thrilling. I set them out below, and should be most grateful for any comments or corrections. I have not changed spelling or usage e.g 'larboard' where the modern usage is 'port'.
324 Withdraw from the present Situation in the best manner you can without waiting for the Command of officer.
325 Act on the present occasion as your judgment may think best
326 Take a Situation best calculated to communicate safely and expediciously by boats with the Senior Officer on Ship denoted
327 Ships denoted to Cannonade and be ready to Storm if required, the Batteries of the Enemy while the rest of the Squadron attack the Ships
328 There is much risk in attempting this service
329 Stay by and protect transports or vessels pointing out
330 Ships having Supernumeraries on board are to send them to Ships or Vessels whose pendants will be shown
331 Complete your Division of Gun Boats or those pointed out by Signal with Men agreeable to furnished orders(?)
Pages 2 and 3
NB. Vessels ordered to perform the undermentioned duty must hoist a pendant, or vane, of any colour at the Masthead, and another at the Gaff and, when Shoaling their water to 5 fathoms here and to hawl down the pendant at a the Masthead, and if they shoal to 4 fathoms, they must hawl down both pendants and if they fall into 31/2 fathoms, they are to fire a gun or, if near enough, a volley of Musquettry and act as may be most proper for their own safety by anchoring, heaving about or otherwise.
*332 Sound ahead of this Ship or that pointed out for guiding her in the channel she is passing
*333 Do— Do— Starb. Bow
*334 Do— Do— Larb. Bow
335 Continue in your present station whether at anchor or under weigh until further notice
336 Get your sweeps out and pull to come up with the Chase, weather a point of Land or other purpose indicated
337 Desist from pulling but keep under weigh if you can keep your station
NB A Bale (?) denotes the negative from the Gun Vessels, the Answering Pendant the affirmative.
A Farquhar Captain
Nr 11 G. B
Page 1 is below, pages 2 and 3 at the top of the post.
Page 4 (in another hand and ink, similar to that of Lieutenant Haultain)
No. 22 The Gunboat whose pendant or number is shown is to take the guard for the ensuing 24 hours and is to have the whale boat for that purpose and to return the Guard every morning at eight o'clock on board the senior Officer and the whale boat to the Gunboat taking the Guard.
No. 29 The Officer of the Guard is required on board.
Categories
An Off Stage War
An Off-Stage War
Between Hoops And Crinolines
Matrimonial Map
Regency Personalities
The Matrimonial Ladder
The Regency Decade
The Way They Lived Then