Tag Archive | George IV

The Microcosm of London or London in Miniature: Carlton House

published by Rudolph Ackermann in 3 volumes, 1808–1811.

The annexed print is a view of the great hall, which is conceived with a classic elegance, that does honour to the genius of the late Mr. Holland, who was the architect of Carlton House. The size of the hall is forty-four feet in length and twenty-nine in breadth. The entrance to the hall from the vestibule is by a flight of steps, which gives it an air of uncommon grandeur; it is supported by eight fine columns of the Ionic order, with architrave, frieze, and cornice. The ceiling is coved, and ornamented with plain caissons, and lighted by a skylight of an oval form. The columns are finely executed in scaglioni, of a yellow porphyry; the capitals and bases are bronzed, as are all the ornaments in the hall. In four corresponding niches are casts from the antique, of two Muses, the Antinous and the Discobulus; on the cornice are placed busts, urns, and griffins; over the niches are basso-relievos, which are also bronzed. At each . end of the hall is a stove of a new and elegant construction; six Termini of fine workmanship support a dome or canopy: the whole is executed in cast-iron bronzed. Over each fire-place is an allegorical painting in imitation of bronze basso-relievo, and compartments over the doors in the same manner: the tout-ensemble is striking and impressive. There is in this hall a symmetry and proportion, a happy adjustment of the parts to produce a whole, that are rarely seen; it is considered as the chef d’ oeuvre of Mr. Holland, and would do honour to any architect of any age or country.

Of the print it may be proper to say, that it is drawn with great accuracy and feeling, the perspective is easy and natural, and the general effect broad and simple. The figures are few, but introduced with great taste: it must be obvious, that a greater number would have impaired the general effect of the architectural design.

The new circular dining-room, when completed, will unquestionably be one of the most splendid apartments in Europe: the walls are entirely covered with silver, on which are painted Etruscan ornaments in relief, with vine-leaves, trellis-work, &c. There are eight fine Ionic columns in scaglioni, of red granite; the capitals and bases are silver, as are also the enrichments, moulding. See. of the architrave, frieze, and cornice: the latter is surmounted by an ornament that is somewhat Turkish in its character, and which, if it does not belong to the Ionic order, nevertheless adds to the splendour of the room. There are four immense pier glasses, and under each of them a fine marble chimney-piece of exquisite workmanship. As this sumptuous apartment is not yet completed, it would be improper to attempt a perfect description of it; indeed, almost the whole of Carlton House is undergoing alterations and improvements. On the south side of this apartment a door opens into the ballroom, a most magnificent and princely apartment: the walls are painted white, but the room is nearly covered with a profusion of gilding; the pilasters, architrave, frieze, and cornice are all covered with gold; the ceiling represents a pleasing sky, in which are genii sporting on the clouds; and in the compartments between the pilasters are some Etruscan ornaments, painted with great lightness and delicacy. On the opposite side another door opens into a new room, intended for a drawing-room, and though at present in a very unfinished state, it strikes the eye with the uncommon symmetry and harmony of its proportions.

Amid the curiosity and interest raised by a view of Carlton House, nothing can exceed that which is excited by an examination of

The Armory

This valuable and unique collection is a museum, not of arms only, but of various works of art, dresses, &c.: it is arranged with great order, skill, and taste, under the immediate inspection of His Royal Highness. It occupies five rooms on the attic story; the swords, firearms, &c. are disposed in various figures upon scarlet cloth, and inclosed in glass cases: the whole is kept in a state of the most perfect brightness. Here are swords of every country, many of which are curious and valuable, from having belonged to eminent men: of these the most remarkable is a sword of the famous Chevalier Boyard, the knight sans pear et sans reproche. The noble reply of this illustrious dying soldier, made to the Constable of Bourbon, deserves to be remembered. In the war between the Emperor Charles V. and Francis I. of France, the constable had gone over to the emperor, disgusted at the persecutions he met with in France, from the rage of Louisa of Savoy, the queen mother, whose overtures of marriage he had rejected. The emperor made the constable generalissimo of his armies; and in a battle which was fought in the duchy of Milan, and in which the French were obliged to retreat, the Chevalier Boyard was mortally wounded. Charles of Bourbon seeing him in this state, told him how greatly he lamented his fate. “It is not me” said the dying chevalier, “it is not me you should lament, but yourself, who are fighting against your king and country.” A sword of the great Duke of Marlborough, one of Louis XIV. and one of Charles II.: the two last are merely dress swords. A curious silver-basket-hilted broad sword of the Pretender’s, embossed with figures and foliage. But the finest sword in this collection is one of excellent workmanship, which once belonged to the celebrated patriot Hampden; it was executed by Benvenuto Cellini, a celebrated Florentine, who was much employed by Francis I. and Pope Clement VII.

Peter Torrigiano, who executed the monument of Henry VII. in Westminster abbey, endeavoured to bring over Cellini to England, to assist him; but Cellini disliking the violence of his temper, who used to boast that he had given the divine Michael Angelo a blow in the face with his fist, the marks of which he would carry to the grave*, refused to come with him. Vasari, who was contemporary with Cellini, speaks of him in the highest terms. He was originally a goldsmith and jeweller, and executed small figures in alto and basso-relievo with a delicacy of taste and liveliness of imagination not to be excelled: various coins of high estimation were executed by him for the Duke of Florence; and in the latter part of his life, he performed several large works in bronze and in marble with equal reputation. He wrote his own memoirs, which contain much curious and interesting information relative to the contemporary history of the arts.

The ornaments on the hilt and ferrule of the scabbard of this curious sword are in basso-relievo in bronze, and are intended to illustrate the life of David: it is a most beautiful piece of work, and in the highest preservation; it is kept with the greatest care in a case lined with satin.

In the armory is a youthful portrait of Charles XII. of Sweden, and beneath it is a couteau de chasse used by that monarch, of very rude and simple workmanship. A sword of General Moreau’s, and one of Marshal Luckner’s: but it would be impossible in our limits to notice a hundredth part of what is interesting in this collection.

In another room are various specimens of plate armour, helmets, and weapons; some Indian armour of very curious workmanship, composed of steel ringlets, similar to the hauberk worn by the Knights Templars, but not so heavy, and the helmets are of a different construction. Here are also some cuirasses, as worn at present in Germany; a very curious collection of firearms, of various countries, from the match-lock to the modern improvements in the firelock; air-guns, pistols, &c. In this room are also some curious saddles, Mamaluke, Turkish, &c.; some of the Turkish saddles are richly ornamented with pure gold.

Another room contains some Asiatic chain armour, and an effigy of Tippoo Sultaun on horseback, in a dress that he wore. Here are also a model of a cannon and a mortar on new principles; some delicate and curious Chinese works of art in ivory, many rich eastern dresses, and a palanquin of very costly materials.

In another apartment are some curious old English weapons, battle-axes,maces, daggers, arrows, &c.; several specimens also, from the Sandwich and other South Sea Islands, of weapons, stone hatchets, &c.

Our young men of fashion who wish to indulge a taste for antiquarian researches, may project the revival of an old pattern for that appendage of the leg called boots, from the series of them worn in various ages, which form a singular part of this collection.

In presses are kept an immense collection of rich dresses, of all countries; and indeed so extensive and multifarious are the objects, that to be justly appreciated it must be seen. His Royal Highness bestows considerable attention on this museum, and it has in consequence arrived in a few years to a pitch of unrivalled perfection. Among the dresses are sets of uniforms, from a general to a private, of all countries who have adopted uniforms, and military dresses of those who have not. All sorts of banners, colours, horse-tails, &c.; Roman swords, daggers, stilettoes, sabres, the great two-handed swords, and amongst the rest, one with which executions are performed in Germany, on the blade of which is rudely etched, on one side a figure of Justice, and on the other the mode of the execution, which is thus: — the culprit sits upon a chair, and the executioner comes behind him, and at one blow severs the head from the body. There are also some curious portraits in these apartments; besides the one of Charles XII. there is one of Frederic the Great, and various other princes and great men renowned for their talents in the art of war.

Of the exterior of Carlton House it may be sufficient to observe, that it is situated on the north side of St. James’s Park, and that the principal front faces Pall-Mall*. The portico is a most splendid and magnificent work, of the Corinthian order, enriched with every embellishment that elegant order is capable of receiving. It has been objected, that the other parts of this front are too plain to correspond with so rich a portico: the front is rustic, and therefore does not admit of ornament; but the eye is hurt by the violence of the transition from the most luxuriant decoration to the most rigid plainness. Carlton House, with its court-yard, is separated from Pall-Mall by a dwarf screen, which is surmounted by a very beautiful colonnade. A riding-house and stables, belonging to His Royal Highness, are at the back, immediately contiguous to St. James’s Park. The garden is laid out with the utmost taste and skill of which its limits are capable.

On the 8th of February, 1790, His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had a state levee, for the first time, at his palace of Carlton House, which was the most numerous of any thing of the kind for many years; and, except the want of female nobility, was more numerous and splendid than the generality of the drawing-rooms even at St. James’s.

Carlton House was a palace belonging to the crown, and presented by His Majesty to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, on his coming of age, for his public town residence. The old building being out of repair, it was judged proper by Parliament to enable His Majesty to erect the present noble edifice in its room; and Mr. Holland had the honour of being appointed the architect. There is only one thing wanting in this palace, and which, from the present state of the arts, and still more the liberal manner in which they are at present patronized, we hope it is in His Royal Highness’s contemplation to supply. It is a collection of pictures by living artists; these, selected with His Royal Highness’s well known delicacy of taste and judgment, would complete the decorations of this truly magnificent and princely palace.

* This event happened in the palace of Cardinal di Medici: — Torrigiano being jealous of the superior honours paid to Michael Angelo, brutally struck him in the face; his nose was flattened by the blow: the aggressor fled, and entered into the army, but being soon disgusted with that life, left it and came over to England.

* Pall-Mall was formerly laid out as a walk, or place for the exercise of the mall, a game long since disused; its northern side being bounded by a row of trees, and that to the south by the old wall of St. James’s Park.

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Mary Darby Robinson: The Mistletoe—A Christmas Tale

Dec25

The Mistletoe—A Christmas Tale

By Laura Maria (Mary Darby Robinson)

A Farmer’s Wife, both young and gay,

And fresh as op’ning morn of May!

Had taken to herself a Spouse,

And taken many solemn vows,

That she, a faithful mate would prove,

In meekness, duty, and in love;

That she, despising joy and wealth,

Would be, in sickness and in health,

His only comfort, and his friend—

But mark the sequel, and attend.

This Farmer, as the story’s told,

Was somewhat cross, and somewhat old;

His was the wintry hour of life,

While Summer smil’d before his Wife;

He was both splenetic and crusty,

She, buxom, blooming, blithe, and lusty;

A contrast, rather form’d to eloy

The zest of matrimonial joy!

‘Twas Christmas time, the Peasant

Assembled gay, with dance and song,

The Farmer’s kitchin long had been

Of annual sports the busy scene;

The wood fire blaz’d, the chimney wide,

Presented seats on either side;

Long rows of wooden trenchers, clean,

Bedeck’d with belly-boughs, were seen;

The shining tankard’s foamy ale

Gave spirits to the goblin tale,

While many a rosy cheek grew pale.

It happen’d that, some sport to shew,

The ceiling held—a Mistletoe:

A magic bough, and well defign’d

To prove the coyest maiden kind:

A magic bough, which Druids old

In sacred mysteries enroll’d;

And which, or gssip Fame’s a liar,

Still warms the soul with vivid fire,

Still promises celestial bliss,—

While bigots snatch their idols kiss.

The Mistletoe was doom’d to be

The talisman of destiny!

Beneath its ample boughs, we’re told,

Full many a timid swain grew bold;

Full many a roguish eye askance,

Beheld it with impatient glance;

And many a ruddy cheek consest

The trimphs of the beating breast;

And many a rustic rover sigh’d,

Who ask’d the kiss—and was denied.

First Marg’ry smil’d, and gave her lover

A kiss—then thank’d her stars, ‘twas over!

Next Kate, with a reluctant pace,

Was led towards the mystic place/

Then Sue, a merry laughing jade,

A dimpled, yielding blush display’d;

While Joan, her chastity to shew,

Wish’d the “bold knaves would serve her so!

She’d teach the rogues such wanton play,”

And well she could, she knew the way!

The Farmer, mute with jealous care,

Sat sullen in his wicker chair;

Hating the noisy gamesome host,

Yet fearful to resign his post;

He envied all their sportive strife,

But most he watch’d his blooming wife;

And trembled, lest her steps should go,

Incautious, near the Mistletoe.

Now Hodge, a youth of rustic grace,

Of form athletic, mainly face,

On Mistress Homespun turn’d his eye,

And breath’d a soul-declaring sigh;

Old Homespun mark’d his list’ning fair,

And nestled in his wicker chair;

Hodge swore she might his heart command,

The pipe was dropp’d from Homespun’s hand!

Hodge prest her slender waist around,

The Farmer check’d his draught, and frown’d;

And now beneath the Mistletoe

‘Twas Mistress Homespun’s turn to go,

Old Surly shook his wicker chair—

And sternly utter’d,—“Let her dare!”

Hodge to the Farmer’s wife declar’d

Such husbands never should be spar’d;

Swore, they deserv’d the werst disgrace,

That lights upon the wedded race,

And vow’d, that night, he would not go,

Unblest, beneath the Mistletoe.

The merry group all recommend

A harmless life, the strife to end:

“Why not?” says Marg’ry, “who would fear

“A dang’rous moment once a year?”

Susan observ’d, that “ancient folks

“Were seldom pleas’d by youthful jokes.”

But Kate, who, till that fatal hour,

Had held o’er Hodge unrivall’d pow’r,

With curving lip, and head aside,

Look’d down, and smil’d in conscious pride,

Then, anxious to conceal her care,

She humm’d—What fools some women are!

Now Mistress Homespun, sorely vex’d,

By pride and jealous rage perplex’d;

And angry, that her peevish spouse

Should doubt her matrimonial vows;

But, most of all, resolv’d tomake,

An envious Rival’s bosom ache,

Commanded Hodge to let her go,

Nor lead her near the Mistletoe,

“Why should you ask it o’er and o’er?”

Cried she, “we’ve been there twice before!”

‘Tis thus to check a Rival’s sway,

That women oft themselves betray!

While, Vanity alone pursuing,

They rashly prove their own undoing!

About Mary Darby Robinson and this Painting

From the Wallace Collection:

Mary Robinson (1758-1800) was one of the best known actresses and writers of the 18th century. She was also one of the most painted and caricatured woman of the period. Having first appeared on stage in 1776, it was a later performance in The Winter’s Tale for which the actress became particularly famous; a part which earned her the nickname ‘Perdita’. It was in this role that Mrs Robinson first caught the attention of the Prince of Wales (later George IV), with whom she went on to have a brief but notorious affair.

This portrait was commissioned in 1781 by the Prince of Wales (later George IV). He had ended a brief affair with Mrs Robinson, who then sought financial compensation from him; after Robinson resorted to blackmail, he eventually agreed to a settlement in August of that year. Mrs Robinson is depicted holding a miniature portrait of the Prince (1735-1789), a gift from him during their liaison.

Gainsborough’s fluid brushwork and loose composition are particularly notable. The sitter appears to melt into the landscape, imparting a poetic dimension to the picture. Although it is recognised today as one of the artist’s masterpieces, he withdrew the portrait from the Royal Academy exhibition in 1782 after it was criticised for not conveying an exact physical likeness of the sitter, and was unfavourably compared to portraits of the same sitter by Reynolds and Romney.

The painting was presented to the 2nd Marquess of Hertford by the Prince Regent in 1818.

Susana’s Adventure at the Carriage Museum

Dec29

Grand Oaks Resort

Weirsdale, Florida

If you think you must travel across the pond to find great historical inspiration, you would be wrong! I’ve been living half the year in Florida for several years now, and just this month discovered the existence of this fabulous museum—only a half-hour drive away!

I travel to the UK every year and have seen some of the best museums and historical sites out there, and I have to rank this one right up with them. The London Transport Museum in Covent Garden is wonderful, but honestly, it doesn’t hold a candle to this one, at least in terms of carriages. The Carriage Museum here has more types of curricles and phaetons and landaus and broughams than I have ever seen in one place. I will definitely be returning here often.

We had a lovely drive around the 340-acre property lined with scenic pastures and oak trees in a carriage drawn by two beautiful Clydesdale horses. Afterwards, we browsed in the gift shop and had lunch in the bistro. There is a luxurious spa on site that people come from all over central Florida to enjoy.

The Grand Oaks Resort is also a major center for equestrian events for spectators and competitors, including polo and dressage. Also offered are first-class boarding and training facilities. (Heather King would love this place, especially the dressage competition in mid-January!)

The Grand Oaks Resort is only an hour drive from Orlando, so if you’re heading this way to take in the Disney and other attractions, consider setting aside a day in the countryside away from the crowds. You won’t be disappointed, and neither will your family.

1874 Omnibus

From MuseumsUSA:

The Grand Oaks Museum is home to one of the world’s largest private collections of carriages and equine artifacts. Step back in time and enjoy the elegance and pageantry of over 160 European and American Carriages, including the elaborate 1850 Armbruster Dress Chariot once owned by Emperor of Austria Franz Joseph, and his wife, Elisabeth. Our Museum uniquely offers a glimpse into the history of the relationship between man and horse and clearly defines the manner in which the horse has helped shape the history of man.

1850 Armbruster Dress Chariot once owned by Emperor of Austria Franz Joseph, and his wife, Elisabeth

Livery

Since 1995, The Grand Oaks Museum has opened its doors to the public with an extraordinary display of historical artifacts, while educating visitors with tours, seminars and special programs in a live setting. Take a journey through time into the world of man’s most vital mode of transportation of past centuries. Museum visitors have a rare opportunity to see an English Omnibus, a horse-drawn fire fighting apparatus, a World War I supply wagon, the colorful and ornate Sicilian Caretta and a Dutch Tikker. This Tikker is one of a pair; the other was displayed by Count de Hamptinne in the Hotel Particulier in Ghent, Belgium. And that’s only the beginning of what this Museum has to offer.

Website

The Brougham (1895)

1895 Brougham

Inspired, if not only designed by Lord Brougham, a statesman of the early 19^th century, this lovely vehicle seats 2 passengers facing forward. The low-slung body affords easy entry to this elegant coach luxuriously upholstered for the comfort of a noble gentleman. The interior was often fitted with ashtrays, a clock, and mirrors.

Coachman-driven, the passenger is able to communicate with the driver through a tubular whistle hanging on the interior of the carriage. A system of long and short whistles would inform the driver to turn left, right, stop, or proceed on homeward.

Many Broughams were driven to a strong single horse; but others were set up for a pair, as this one is.

The Clarence (1897)

The Clarence, 1897

Like the Brougham, the Clarence is a coachman-driven vehicle, but this larger carriage affords seating for four people, two facing forward, and two riding backward. Fitted with lamps for evening use, it would carry a gentleman and his friends to the opera or a formal dinner party.

This larger vehicle required a pair of horses, and a footman in livery would ride next to the coachman to assist when passengers entered or exited the carriage. He would also “head” the pair if a vehicle waited while the party enjoyed their evening’s activities. Blankets for the horses would be carried in the boot under the coachman’s seat.

The Four-Wheel Dog Cart (1894)

Four-wheel dog cart (1897)

This rare example of a Dog Cart seats six, rather than four, persons. Notice the bench seat between the front and back seats. It would be used for children or small adults agile enough to mount the carriage over the back wheel.

The wheel on the right side of the driver’s seat operates the friction brake on the back wheel of the carriage just below the level of the axle. This wheel design is generally seen on vehicles made in France, but is not favored on British carriages because the driver, or Whip, must shift his position on the seat in order to apply the brake.

This vehicle is set up for a pair of light horses.

George IV Phaeton (1910)

This vehicle was copied from one made for King George IV in 1824, who needed an “easy entry,” more stable vehicle than the highflyer of his youth. As more and more ladies began to take up the art of driving, the carriage design appealed, permitting them to mount the carriage easily despite their long skirts. The high curving dashboard obliterated the horses’ hindquarters from view, saving the lady any embarrassment and protecting fashionable clothing.

When driving classes for ladies were introduced at some American horse shows in the late 1890’s, Brewster and other builders quickly offered George IV Phaetons with their own unique features.

Spider Phaeton (1881)

Spider Phaeton (1881)

During the latter part of the nineteenth century, when park driving was at its peak, the Spider Phaeton became the perfect vehicle for showing a spirited single or pair of horses. The body of the vehicle resembles that of a Tilbury Gig, and the carriage almost always has a hood. The groom’s single seat, which is often on branch irons, is connected by an iron framework, giving the appearance of lightness and elegance. The fine lines of this vehicle would flatter a horse’s action, and the lighter weight would allow the animal free flowing movement.

With open futchels, this vehicle can be put to either a pair or a single horse.

Traveling Coach (1800)

Dating from the early 1800’s, this coach was used for long distance travel before the advent of the railroads. A luxurious vehicle, this one seats two persons facing forward with room for two seated backwards. The seats can be made into a bed where two occupants can stretch their legs out under the driver’s seat to offer the possibility of a night’s sleep, as accommodations at inns and post houses were generally poor. The body is moving on Cee-springs and is connected to the perch with leather straps to prevent excessive side sway.

This vehicle has a driver’s seat, but these coaches were often posted to allow more room for luggage and cargo to be carried. Teams of horses would be changed out a stage stops along the way.

The patina on this vehicle simulates the look of a traveling coach which has been on the road for some time. The interior is newly re-upholstered, but the other appointments are original to the carriage. The shutters can be used to shade the occupants from both daylight and inclement weather.

Goat Caleche

Another vehicle intended to be put to a goat which would have been led by a liveried groom, this beautiful caleche follows the same curving lines as its full-sized counterpart. The upholstery is light and rich in appearance, and the folding hood is lined in the same material.

A nanny might take her charges out for an afternoon stroll with this vehicle.

Hansom Cab (1895)

The Hansom Cab is named for its early designer, Mr. J.A. Hansom, but cabs used for public transport in the latter half of the 19^th century bear little resemblance to earlier models.

The driver sits at the rear of the box, high above for a better view of the city. An unusually strong and quiet cab horse was required to pull the vehicle, as the shaft weight was extremely heavy. At rest, the driver would release the “spoke” under the carriage and ask the horse to back a few steps. This would help to pull some of the carriage weight off the animal’s back and save him for further work.

The public Hansom was thought to be an improper vehicle for a lady to use by herself. But many privately owned, immaculately appointed Hansoms, like this beautiful example, were used instead of a Brougham or a Victoria for simple trips around town.

Char-de-côté

a Swiss invention, built for viewing scenery, especially lakes

Three Abreast Phaeton (1890)

More photos on my Pinterest board.

Beverley Oakley: The Mysterious Governess (Daughters of Sin, Book 3)

May26

The Cato Street Conspiracy and Queen Caroline’s Return to England—Two Important Events of 1820

Historical Romance Author, Beverley Oakley, recently brought one of her characters, Miss Araminta Partington, to tea. Miss Partington, who has an extremely high opinion of her attractions, and of her knowledge of most matters, elucidated on the background to the new book in which she features called The Mysterious Governess, part of the Daughters of Sin series, which touches on the events before and after the Cato Street Conspiracy of 1820.

Miss Partington: Hello Susana, and thank you so much for inviting me to take a dish of tea in your parlor. I must say, it’s very comforting to know I can sleep at night in the knowledge that those dreadful men—Arthur Thistlewood, Edward Spence and the others – who call themselves “The Society of Spencean Philanthropists”, have been either hanged or transported for life for their parts in the Cato Street Conspiracy.

Susana: A delight to have you here, too, Araminta. Yes, what a shock to the public! What do you suppose they were hoping to achieve?

Miss Partington: Why, utter madness, in my opinion! Mr. Thistlewood talked of desiring a “Government of the People of Great Britain,” which would take power out of the hands of Parliament and the landed elite and place it into the hands of the people.” In my opinion, that’s tantamount to stealing Papa’s estate and giving it to Jane, my useless maid, who only last week lost one of my silver hairpins.

Susana: Goodness, that does sound dire! I’m referring to the plot, of course. Was there violence?

Miss Partington: Fortunately, the only violence was after the Coldstream Guards and Bow Street runners ran into the loft where these miscreants were plotting that night’s intended rampage through the home of the Lord President of His Majesty’s Privy Council, Lord Harrowby. Indeed, they were intending to murder the entire King’s Cabinet before taking to the streets of London to storm the Bank of England and the Tower of London. They hoped to stir up revolution in our country, like in America and France only a few decades ago.

Susana: Good Lord! How was it possible that law enforcement was able to apprehend the plotters?

Miss Partington: Well, apparently, the Government knew what they were about and had planted spies in their organization. My Cousin, Stephen Cranbourne, works for the Foreign Office. I’m sure he’d have confided in me had I not been on rather… er… friendly terms with Lord Debenham who is rumored to be associated with the Spenceans. He’s not, of course. I made sure to burn the incriminating letter his cousin wrote before she drank poison. Aren’t the daffodils beautiful at this time of year? I’ve trimmed my bonnet with several bunches. Sir Aubrey does think them fetching. Yes, I’ve transferred my affections to Sir Aubrey as I think he’d be far easier to manage than dangerous Lord Debenham.

Susana: Yes, the daffodils are, indeed, beautiful. And I was so sorry to hear about Lord Debenham’s cousin. I believe she was Sir Aubrey’s late wife. But, back to politics, do tell me, when was the Spenceans’ plot brought to nought? My apologies for my ignorance, I’ve been in France for some time.

Miss Partington: On February 23, 1820, but of course, it’s not really news any more since the gossip sheets—and indeed, the newspapers—are having much more fun giving us all the thrilling details of George IV’s estranged wife Queen Caroline arriving from continental Europe, a few months afterwards, and attempting to take her place as Queen consort. Personally, I think someone with such atrocious dress sense doesn’t deserve to be queen, but, not everyone agrees with me—which I always find rather odd, really. Of course, the Prince Regent only agreed to marry Princess Caroline of Brunswick back at the end of the last century so his father would clear his debts. £630,000 pounds is rather a lot of money, though I imagine that if I owed such a sum, I might be induced to marry Lord Debenham above Sir Aubrey, despite his wicked reputation and the fact Lord Debenham would be so much more difficult to manage.

Susana: Yes, your half-sister, Miss Larissa Hazlett, has inferred the same.

Miss Partington: My half-sister? [Miss Partington rises.]Let me assure you, I do not have a half-sister. Any resemblance between that dreary governess and myself is entirely coincidental. Now, if you’ll excuse me… while it has been most pleasant, I must leave now for an appointment I’ve just remembered. Yes, it’s all part of a little plan I’m implementing to put that dreary governess right back in her box!

About The Mysterious Governess

Two beautiful sisters—one illegitimate, the other nobly born—compete for love amidst the scandal and intrigue of a Regency London Season.

Lissa Hazlett lives life in the shadows. The beautiful, illegitimate daughter of Viscount Partington earns her living as an overworked governess while her vain and spoiled half sister, Araminta, enjoys London’s social whirl as its most feted debutante.

When Lissa’s rare talent as a portraitist brings her unexpectedly into the bosom of society—and into the midst of a scandal involving Araminta and suspected English traitor Lord Debenham—she finds an unlikely ally: charming and besotted Ralph Tunley, Lord Debenham’s underpaid, enterprising secretary. Ralph can’t afford to leave the employ of the villainous viscount much less keep a wife but he can help Lissa cleverly navigate a perilous web of lies that will ensure everyone gets what they deserve.

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Excerpt

Although The Mysterious Governess is about Lissa, who is Araminta’s half-sister, the plot involves them equally. Lissa is hard-working and honourable, the antithesis of Araminta, as you will see below, in this short extract:

“Is everything all right, Miss? Were the fireworks grand? You’re back earlier than I’d ‘spected.” Jane, who was polishing the silver bottles on her mistress’s dressing table, looked up nervously as Araminta entered the room.

Without a word, Araminta brought one arm across the entire surface and sent powder bottles, perfume vials, hairbrushes and jewelry boxes crashing to the floor.

Then she threw herself onto her bed and burst into noisy tears.

“Oh, Miss, I take it things didn’t go to plan,” said Jane, going down on her knees to start to clean up the mess before changing her mind and putting a tentatively soothing hand upon Araminta’s back.

“No, they did not!” Araminta shrieked, beating her fists upon the counterpane.

“So, His Lordship didn’t ask you to marry him, then?”

“Yes he did!” Araminta rolled onto her back and glared at Jane. “He asked me to marry him and then said he had to go away on important business for two months! Two months! Where does that leave me? In an impossible situation, I don’t need to tell you. I might as well throw myself in the river, except the water’s far too cold and I’m hardly about to copy bacon-brained Edgar. There must be another way.”

“Poison?”

“I mean to get out of this mess, you stupid girl!” Araminta screamed. Feverishly, she began to bite her fingernails before realizing the damage she was doing to an important asset. “Oh, Jane, don’t look like you’re related to a mule. Come up with a plan, for dear Lord’s sake!”

About the Author

Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. However, drowning her heroine on the last page was not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.

In 2009, Beverley published her first novel. Since then she has written more than thirteen sizzling historical romances, filled with mystery and intrigue, mostly set in England during the Georgian, Regency and Victoria eras.

Beverley lives near Melbourne opposite a picturesque nineteenth century insane asylum with the handsome Norwegian bush pilot she met in Botswana, their two beautiful daughters and a rambunctious Rhodesian Ridgeback the size of a pony.

Beverley also writes more psychological historicals, and Colonial-Africa- set romantic adventures, as Beverley Eikli.

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Romance of London: The Championship at George IV’s Coronation

Feb29

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

John Timbs (1801-1875), who also wrote as Horace Welby, was an English author and aficionado of antiquities. Born in Clerkenwell, London, he was apprenticed at 16 to a druggist and printer, where he soon showed great literary promise. At 19, he began to write for Monthly Magazine, and a year later he was made secretary to the magazine’s proprietor and there began his career as a writer, editor, and antiquarian.

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

The Championship of England*

The chivalrous and dignified office of Champion of England at our coronations is conferred by the feudal manor of Scrivelsby, about two miles south of Horncastle, on the road towards Boston in Lincolnshire. By the holding of this manor, the ancient family of the Dymokes have derived the office of champion to the sovereigns of England…

The manor of Scrivesby, which was granted by the Conqueror to Robert de Marmion (Lord of Fontenoy, in Normandy), to be held by grand sergeantry, “to perform the office of champion at the King’s coronation.” The Marmians, it is said, where hereditary champions to the Dukes of Normandy prior to the conquest of England.

The Kings Champion in full armor in the banqueting hall at the coronation of Queen Elizabeth I

Sir John Dymoke served as Champion of England at the coronation of Richard II. Sir Robert Dymoke did so for Richard II, Henry VII, and Henry VIII. Sir Edward Dymoke was champion for Edward VI, Mary I, and Elizabeth I. John Dymoke was champion for George III, and when the time came for George IV’s coronation, the honor went to his grandson, Sir Henry Dymoke, due to the fact that his son, Rev. John Dymoke, was a cleric.

George IV’s coronation banquet was held in Westminster Hall in 1821; it was the last such banquet held.

The entry of the champion at the close of the Banquet in Westminster Hall, at the coronation of George IV., was a splendid spectacle. Haydon, the historical painter, thus describes this ancient feudal ceremony which he witnessed: “The hall-doors were opened, and the flower-girls entered, strewing flowers. The distant trumpets and shouts of the people, the slow march, and at last the appearance of the King, crowned and under a golden canopy, and the universal burst of the assembly at seeing him, affected everybody… After the banquet was over, came the most imposing scene of all, the championship. Wellington, in his coronet, walked down the hall, cheered by the officers of the Guards. He shortly returned, mounted, with Lords Anglesey [formerly the Earl of Uxbridge] and Howard. They rode gracefully to the foot of the throne, and then backed out. The hall doors opened again; and outside, in twilight, a man in dark-shadowed armor appeared against the shining sky. He then moved and passed into darkness under the arch, and suddenly Wellington, Howard, and the champion stood in full view, with doors closed behind them. This was certainly the finest sight of the day. The herald then read the challenge; the glove was thrown down. They all then proceeded to the throne.”

Coronation of George IV, Westminster Hall: the Champion’s Challenge

Sir Walter Scott, in his letter describing the coronation, says, “The Duke of Wellington, with all his laurels, moved and looked deserving the baton, which was never grasped by so worthy a hand. The marquess of Anglesey showed the most exquisite grace in managing his horse, notwithstanding the want of his limb, which he left at Waterloo. I never saw so fine a bridle-hand in my life, and I am rather a judge of horsemanship. Lord Howard’s horse was worse bitted than those of the two former noblemen, but not so much as to derange the ceremony of returning back-out of the hall. The champion was performed (as of right) by young Dymoke, a fine-looking youth, but bearing, perhaps a little too much the appearance of a maiden knight to be the challenger of the world in a King’s behalf. He threw down his gauntlet, however, with becoming manhood, and showed as much horsemanship as the crowds of knights and squires around him would permit to be exhibited. On the whole, this striking part of the exhibition somewhat disappointed me, for I would have had the champion less embarrassed by his assistants, and at liberty to put his horse on the grand pas; and yet, the young Lord of Scrivelsby looked and behaved extremely well.”

The Imperial Mantle was made for the coronation of George IV in 1821 and is designed in the style of earlier ones worn by the Tudor and Stuart monarchs, it is worn over the Supertunica and the Stole. The Imperial Mantle is made of gold cloth, lined with red silk and woven with colored threads designed with a pattern of crowns, eagles, fleur-de-lis, roses, thistles and shamrock held together at the chest with a gold clasp in the form of an eagle.

*George IV’s was the last coronation to include a championship.

Romance of London Series

Romance of London: Carlton House and the Regency

Feb22

Romance of London: Strange Stories, Scenes And Remarkable Person of the Great Town in 3 Volumes

John Timbs

This particular book is available at googlebooks for free in ebook form. Or you can pay for a print version.

The frontage of Carlton House

Carlton House and the Regency

The Prince Regent’s residence at Carlton House is another place frequently mentioned in historical fiction that is no longer in existence. I had heard that it burned down, but Timbs reports the following:

Carlton House having grown dingy in its fittings, and its history prompting many disagreeable associations, the King projected the enlargement and eventually the rebuilding of Buckingham House; Carlton House was taken down in 1826; the columns of the portico have been transferred to the National Gallery. The exact site of this palace of a century is now the opening between the York Column and the foot of Regent Street.

Plan showing the main floor and the suite of reception rooms on the lower ground floor

Origins

Carlton House, as a royal palace, existed for nearly a century, and was the scene of many important state events, as well as of much prodigality and bad taste. The house, which fronted St. Alban’s Street and St. James’s Park, was originally built by Henry Boyles, Baron Carlton, on a piece of ground leased to him by Queen Anne, in 1709, at 35l. a year; it is described as “parcel of the Royal Garden, near St. James’s Palace,” and “the wood-work and wilderness adjoining.” From Lord Carlton the house and grounds descended to his nephew, Lord Burlington, the architect: he bested it, in 1732, upon his mother, the Countess Dowager of Burlington, who, in the same year, transferred it to Frederick, Prince of Wales, father of George III. The House was a building of red brick, with wings, and was afterwards cased with stone by Sir Robert Taylor. In Lord Burlington’s time, the grounds, which ran westward as far as Marlborough House, were laid out by Kent, in imitation of Pope’s garden at Twickenham. There is a large and fine engraving of the grounds by Woollett; bowers, grottoes, and terminal busts abounding.

Under the Prince Regent (George IV)

When, in 1783, the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV, was allowed a separate establishment, Carlton House was assigned for his residence, and Holland, the architect, was called in, and added the chief features,—the Ionic screen and the Corinthian portico, fronting Pall Mall. [Horace] Walpole writes to the Countess of Ossor, in the autumn of 1785:

We went to see the Prince’s new palace in Pall Mall; and were charmed. It will be the most perfect in Europe. There is an august simplicity that astonished me. You cannot call it magnificent: it is the taste and propriety that strike. Every ornament is at a proper distance and not one too large, but all delicate and now, with more freedom and variety than Greek ornaments… As Gobert [French architect]… designed the decorations, I expected a more tawdry assemblage of fantastic vagaries than in Mrs. Cornelys’s masquerade-rooms. [Teresa Cornelys, operatic soprano, held many fashionable gatherings at Carlisle House, had many lovers, and bore a child of Casanova.]… There are three most spacious apartments, all looking on the lovely garden, a terrace, the state apartment, and an attic. The portico, vestibule, hall, and staircase will be superb, and, to my taste, full of perspectives; the jewel of all is a small music-room, that opens into a green recess and winding walk of the garden… I forgot to tell you how admirably all the carving, stucco, and ornaments are executed; but whence the money is to come I conceive not—all the tin mines of Cornwall would not pay a quarter. How sick one shall be after this chaste palace, of Mr. Adam’s [Robert Adam, popular 18^th century architect] gingerbread and sippets of embroidery!

The main staircase, from Pyne’s Royal Residences (1819)

Timbs’s later assessment was not so kind. He says that the conservatory, “imitated from Henry VII’s Chapel, was a failure,” the blue velvet draperies “heavy and dark”; and the “Gothic dining-room was poor.” He found the armory to be “the most curious collection of arms in the world, [filling] four rooms.”

Here was John Hamden’s sword, said to be the work of Cellini; and a golden throne of the King of Candy was backed with a sun of diamonds and precious stones. Here, too, were arms from all nations—caps, boots, spurs, turbans, shields, bows, dresses, models of horses, helmets, sabres, swords, daggers, canopies, palanquins, guns, coats of mail, and other costly presents from all parts of the world.

In the plate-room were some fine specimens of King Charles’s plate; other plate was disposed in the centre of the room, in columns of gold and silver plates, and dishes, and drawers filled with gold and silver knives, forks, spoons, &c.…

The palace was superbly fitted for the Prince’s marriage: 26,000l. Was voted for furnishing, 28,000l. For jewels and plate, and 27,000l for the expense of the marriage. Here was born the Princess Charlotte, January 16, 1796, and the baptism took place on February 11; here, also, the Princess was married, May 2, 1816.

The Fête of June 19, 1811

The most magnificent State event of the Regency was the event given at Carlton House on June 19, 1811, being then the only experiment ever made to give a supper to 2,000 of the nobility and gentry. Covers were laid for 400 in the palace, and for 1,600 in the pavilions and gardens. The fête was attended by Louis XVIII, and the French princes then in exile; and a vast assemblage of beauty, rank, and fashion. The saloon at the foot of the staircase represented a bower with a grotto, lined with a profusion of shrubs and flowers. The grand table extended the whole length of the conservatory, and across Carlton House to the length of 200 feet. Along the centre of the table, about six inches above the surface, a canal of pure water continued flowing from a silver fountain, beautifully constructed at the head of the table. Its banks were covered with green moss and aquatic flowers; gold and silver fish swam and sported through the bubbling current, which produced a pleasing murmur where it fell, and formed a cascade at the outlet. At the head of the table, above the fountain, sat His Royal Highness the Prince Regent on a plain mahogany chair with a feather back. The most particular friends of the Prince were arranged on each side. They were attended by sixty servitors; seven waited on the Prince, besides six of the King’s, and six of the Queen’s footmen, in their state liveries, with one man in a complete suit of ancient armour.

Fencing Match between Chevalier de Saint-Georges and ‘La chevalière D’Eon’ on April 9, 1787 in Carlton House, painting by Charles Jean Robineau

Historical tidbit

Timbs mentions that the portico of Carlton House was the site of the “first public application of the newly-invented lighting by gas.”

Author’s Reflections

I’m thinking the fête might come in hand for a scene in my next story—as an example of the decadence and excess of the Prince Regent. What do you think?

Romance of London Series

The Dover Road: Blackheath and Dartford

Sep29

The following post is the fourteenth of a series based on information obtained from a fascinating book Susana recently obtained for research purposes. Coaching Days & Coaching Ways by W. Outram Tristram, first published in 1888, is replete with commentary about travel and roads and social history told in an entertaining manner, along with a great many fabulous illustrations. A great find for anyone seriously interested in English history!

Note: Comment to enter the contest for Susana’s September Giveaway, a lovely necklace from London’s National Gallery (see photo at right).

Blackheath: Dark-Colored Heathland

The area of Blackheath is about seven miles from London Bridge. Originally the name of an open space for public meetings of the ancient hundred of Blackheath, this name was also given to the Victorian suburb that was developed later in the 19th century. While this area was certainly used for burial pits for the victims of the Black Death in the 14th century, it was only one of many used for such a purpose in London and was not the source of the name. Blackheath comes from Old English, “dark-colored heathland,” undoubtedly referring to the color of the soil.

Besides a queen devoted to junketings [Queen Caroline, who lived at Montague House], a letter-writing father, bent on directing his son to the deuce [Lord Chesterfield], and a great warrior [Major General James Wolfe, conqueror of Quebec], rebellion has in the good old days…raised its head on this celebrated spot; and it raised its head in the person of Wat Tyler, who was here in 1381 at the head of one hundred thousand other heads (which was wise of him seeing that he had previously cracked a poll-tax collector’s head at Dartford, after drinking too much ale, I suppose, at the celebrated Bull Inn). Another rebel was here, at Blackheath 1497. Lord Audley to wit, who went through the somewhat aimless exercise of bringing troops all the way from Cornwall, pitching their tents, and immediately afterwards suffering defeat at the hands of Henry the Seventh.

Montague House, residence of Queen Caroline

The Predecessor of Rotten Row?

For this celebrated spot occupied in the annals of England much the same sort of position apparently as Rotten Row occupies in the annals of contemporary fashion. It was the place where kings and ministers met casually on their way to or from London, and babbled of the weather, the price of corn, the latest hanging, the odds on the next bear-fight, the state of the unemployed, or any other kindred subject which might suggest itself to medieval brains, in an open space, where it was not too windy.

Henry the Fifth a Spoilsport?

On his return to London, “The Victor of Agincourt” was greeted here by “the mayor and five hundred citizens of London. The mayor and aldermen had prepared an elaborate reception, with wine and scarlet and gold robes and all the trappings. But Henry “nipped all the worthy mayor’s preparations in the bud,” refusing to accept the praise and thanks that should go to God.

A pious decision, but one which must have been extremely unsatisfactory to town councillors who had launched forth in the way of dress and decorations, and to the thousands of Londoners who had flocked out to Blackheath to see the show.

Henry V: not in a proper mood to be fêted

Henry the Eighth: A Guilty Conscience?

It was here on Blackheath that the already muchly married king publicly received his fourth wife, with all due decency and decorum, having already made up his royal mind to put her away privately. For Henry on this occasion did not play fair; and though he pretended to Anne of Cleves herself that it was at this meeting on Blackheath that he had first seen here—in saying so, he said that which was not; for he had already privately inspected her at the Crown Inn at Rochester. It was on this occasion it may be remembered that the bluff Tudor gave way to a regrettable license of speech at first sight of the goods the gods had provided for him, and said many things unfit for publication; which shocked the onlookers, and made Cromwell put his hands to his head to feel if it was still in his shoulders.

Alas, Cromwell, as the advocate for this marriage, paid for his folly with his head. Anne of Cleves, however,

was content to forego the dubious joys of married life for the possession of the several manors in Kent and Sussex that her grateful late lord bestowed upon her. The number of these manors exceeds belief, and at the same time gracefully gauges Henry’s conception of the magnitude of the matrimonial peril past. Indeed, it seems to me that…whenever he had nothing villainous on hand, and was disinclined for tennis, he gave Anne of Cleves a manor or two simply to while away the time.

The Manor Gatehouse is all that is left of the manor Henry VIII presented to Anne of Cleves as “one of the first manors granted to this little-married but much-dowered lady.”

Charles II’s Triumphant Procession

…it was in 1660 no doubt that the grandest of its historical pageants was to be seen: when the long reaction against Puritanism had suddenly triumphed, and all England went mad on a May morning at the Restoration of her exiled king; when through sixty-one miles as it were of conduits running wine, triumphal arches, gabled streets hung with tapestry—through battalions of citizens in various bands, some arrayed in coats of black velvet with gold chains, some in military suits of cloth of gold or silver—Charles, who had slept at Rochester the night before, rode on to Blackheath between his brothers, the Dukes of York and Gloucester.

Charles II riding into London

Sir Walter Scott, in his novel Woodstock (1826), paints a picture of Charles catching a glimpse of the characters of the novel in the crowd and making a point to dismount, prevent the aged Sir Henry Lee from rising, and ask for his blessing, after which, “his very faithful servant, having seen the desire of his eyes, was gathered to his fathers.”Quite a poignant scene, but could not have happened in real life since Sir Henry had passed away fifty years earlier. Don’t you just love historical fiction?

Charles Dickens: “veritable genius of the road”

His memory burns by the way—as all but the wicked man who has not read Pickwick and David Copperfield will remember—and indeed A Tale of Two Cities. For in the second chapter of that wonderful book the very spirit of the Dover Road in George the Third’s time is caught as if by magic.

A Tale of Two Cities: read Chapter Two here: http://www.online-literature.com/dickens/twocities/2/

Who does not remember these things? Who has not read them again and again? I declare that I think this second chapter of A Tale of Two Cities a picture of the old coaching days more perfect than any that has been painted. Every detail is there in three pages.

George IV Insulted at the Bull Inn

In 1822

…while the great Fourth George was majestically reposing in his royal post-chaise in front of the old archway he experienced an unpleasant surprise. A very ungentlemanly man named Calligan, a working currier who ought to have known better, suddenly projected his head into the carriage window, and observed in a voice of thunder, “You’re a murderer!” an historical allusion to the king’s late treatment of Queen Caroline, which made the royal widower “sit up”. Upon which a bystander named Morris knocked the personal currier down,and the window of the post-chaise was pulled up, and the post-boy told to drive on as quickly as possible.

The Royal Victoria and Bull Inn (formerly the Bull Inn)

The Royal Victoria and Bull Hotel (formerly the Bull Inn)

Index to all the posts in this series

1: The Bath Road: The (True) Legend of the Berkshire Lady

2: The Bath Road: Littlecote and Wild William Darrell

3: The Bath Road: Lacock Abbey

4: The Bath Road: The Bear Inn at Devizes and the “Pictorial Chronicler of the Regency”

5: The Exeter Road: Flying Machines, Muddy Roads and Well-Mannered Highwaymen

6: The Exeter Road: A Foolish Coachman, a Dreadful Snowstorm and a Romance

7: The Exeter Road in 1823: A Myriad of Changes in Fifty Years

8: The Exeter Road: Basingstoke, Andover and Salisbury and the Events They Witnessed

9: The Exeter Road: The Weyhill Fair, Amesbury Abbey and the Extraordinary Duchess of Queensberry

10: The Exeter Road: Stonehenge, Dorchester and the Sad Story of the Monmouth Uprising

11: The Portsmouth Road: Royal Road or Road of Assassination?

12: The Brighton Road: “The Most Nearly Perfect, and Certainly the Most Fashionable of All”

13: The Dover Road: “Rich crowds of historical figures”

14: The Dover Road: Blackheath and Dartford

15: The Dover Road: Rochester and Charles Dickens

16: The Dover Road: William Clements, Gentleman Coachman

17: The York Road: Hadley Green, Barnet

18: The York Road: Enfield Chase and the Gunpowder Treason Plot

19: The York Road: The Stamford Regent Faces the Peril of a Flood

20: The York Road: The Inns at Stilton

21: The Holyhead Road: The Gunpowder Treason Plot

22: The Holyhead Road: Three Notable Coaching Accidents

23: The Holyhead Road: Old Lal the Legless Man and His Extraordinary Flying Machine

24: The Holyhead Road: The Coachmen “More Celebrated Even Than the Most Celebrated of Their Rivals” (Part I)

25: The Holyhead Road: The Coachmen “More Celebrated Even Than the Most Celebrated of Their Rivals” (Part II)

26: Flying Machines and Waggons and What It Was Like To Travel in Them

27: “A few words on Coaching Inns” and Conclusion

Lady P and Hyde Park

Jan6

Lady P is back! She stayed a bit longer with her grandchildren than expected, but hey, who wouldn’t want to spend Christmas with the little ones? But she became weary of cold English winters and couldn’t resist the temptation of spending the winter with Susana here in central Florida. Mrs. Barlow, who came for an interview in a previous post, had already spoken enthusiastically of the palm trees and alligators and orange trees, so she arrived post-haste this morning—Twelfth Day—following a lovely Twelfth Night celebration with her family in the 19^th century.

Over a quick breakfast of coffee from Susana’s new Keurig (which fascinates her), yogurt and boiled eggs, they discussed the new story Susana is working on, which features Lady P herself and her daughter’s family. It’s a bit out of the usual thing for Susana, being a time travel with a heroine who travels back to the 19^th century to find her family, and Lady P’s advice has been invaluable. For one thing, the heroine lands in 1817 Hyde Park, and right from the beginning Susana ran into problems trying to find out what Hyde Park looked like in 1817. For example, the Marble Arch wasn’t built until 1827.

Lady P: No rose garden either. Although that does seem a nice touch. I must mention it when next I encounter His Royal Highness.

Susana [sighing]: No, I’m going to have rewrite the entire first scene! I’m thinking she’ll have to land somewhere near Hyde Park Corner and the Rotten Row.

Lady P: Be sure to keep her well out of the way of the horses and carriages, then. Tattersall’s is there too, you know.

Susana: What about Sister Ignatia? Would a religious reformer be hanging about in Hyde Park, do you think?

Lady P: Generally, you don’t see the riffraff there. Hyde Park is primarily for the upper classes. But there are exceptions…servants who accompany their masters and mistresses, and there are Tattersall’s employees, of course. I have seen a few do-gooders handing out tracts from time to time.

Susana: Is it likely an unaccompanied young lady might be attacked by ruffians there?

Lady P [frowning]: An unaccompanied young lady might be attacked by ruffians anywhere, Susana! I regret to say that even gentlemen might try to take advantage. It’s not common, but crime in Hyde Park is not completely unknown.

Susana: Ah, so I won’t have to change the scene completely, then.

Lady P [peering out the window]: Are those ostriches out there? Do let us go for a stroll, Susana. And oh, what are those funny little vehicles with the canvas roofs? Can we ride in one?

Susana: Golf carts. People use them here to get around the park. I don’t have one myself, but I’m sure the neighbors will give you a ride. Oh, and the birds are sand hill cranes. Aren’t they pretty?

Regency Rites: Hyde Park

Originally, the Manor of Hyde was part of the Roman estate of Eia, and included what is now Green’s Park and Kensington Park. About 600 acres until the establishment of Kensington Park, it was given to Geoffrey de Mandeville by William the Conqueror. De Mandeville left it to the Holy Fathers of Westminster Abbey, where it remained for five centuries until Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries.

It was a great hunting ground, rich in deer, boar, hare, otter, wildfowl, and game birds.

Under Charles II, the route was called “the Ring” or “the Tour”. A French visitor said:

“They take their rides in a coach in an open field where there is a circle, not very large, enclosed by rails. There, the coaches drive slowly round, some in one direction, others the opposite way, which, seen from a distance, produces as rather pretty effect, and proves clearly that they only come there in order to see and be seen.”

Painting by Pissarro

Samuel Pepys wrote (of Charles II):

“After dinner to Hyde Park. At the Park was the King and in another coach my lady Castlemaine , they greeting one another every turn:”

William II bought the manor at Kensington and Kensington house grew into Kensington Palace, and the western end of Hyde Park was taken for the Palace estate, which would one day become Kensington Gardens.

William III and Queen Mary used to drive along the road, and it became known as La Route du Roi, which became corrupted into Rotten Row.

“For showing off coaches and their teams, Hyde Park remained the place to be.”

In 1730, George II laid down a radius of paths and his wife Queen Caroline had the Serpentine constructed by widening the Westbourne brook and draining its pools.

Hyde Park was also a popular location for duels, military floggings, and suicides (drownings). The gallows at nearby Tyburn was used for hangings until 1783, when it was moved to Newgate.

George-Leslie-Hunter-xx-Rotten-Row-Hyde-Park-xx-Private-collection

Painting by George Leslie Hunter

There were soldiers’ camps and military parades, and in 1814, 12,000 men marched past the Prince Regent, the Duke of York, the King of Prussia, the Emperor of Russia, General Blücher, and Lords Beresford and Hill. A reenactment of the Battle of Trafalgar was performed on the Serpentine.

In 1821, Hyde Park was the scene of an elaborate celebration of George IV’s coronation. There were Chinese lanterns, clowns, conjurors, swords swallowers, fire-eaters, acrobats, swings, roundabouts, fireworks, military bands, boat races, elephants, and dancing donkeys and dwarfs.

After John Loudon McAdam improved roads with stone broken small enough to make a hard smooth surface, all sorts of carriages appeared in Hyde Park, and being a good whip became a mark of social distinction. George IV was known to be an excellent whip, as was his daughter, Princess Charlotte of Wales. The Four-in-Hand Club made its appearance, with only the very best whipsters allowed as members.

Horse & Carriage: The Pageant of Hyde Park, J.N.P. Watson, London: The Sportsman’s Press, 1990.

Painting by William Heath

Episode #14: In Which Leticia, Lady Beauchamp, Pops In For an Interview On Her Personal Acquaintance With Princess Charlotte of Wales

May30

Susana [to the Reader]: I’m afraid Lady P had to return to the 19^th century for a christening (no, not Damian and Theresa’s this time, but one of her own daughters’ offspring). She promised to return after she’s had a comfortable coze with her daughters and grandchildren, but in the meantime, she sent someone who she said was a personal friend of Princess Charlotte, the daughter of the Prince Regent.

Lady Beauchamp: I would not characterize our acquaintanceship in quite that manner, Miss Ellis.

Susana: Forgive me, Lady Beauchamp, but I am not finished speaking to the readers.

Lady Beauchamp: Well, do hurry, then. I have an important social engagement this afternoon.

Susana [taking a deep breath]: Yes, well, Lady Beauchamp is the former Leticia Snodgrass, who was presented in London about the same time as Lady P’s niece-by-marriage, Theresa Ashby. You can read more about that in the epilogue to Treasuring Theresa, which is a free read on my web site: http://www.susanaellis.com/pub.html.

Leticia, Lady Beauchamp, née Snodgrass

Lady Beauchamp: Is it really? I daresay I should like to see how I am characterized in the story.

Susana [hurriedly]: Perhaps we should get back to the subject at hand, you being a marchioness and your time being so valuable and all. Why don’t you begin by telling us about your marriage and your family?

Lady Beauchamp: Of course. I was quite sought-after in my first season—many offers were made for my hand, you know—but there were only a handful of dukes that year and they were all married, so I chose to wed Lord Beauchamp. We had a fabulous wedding at St. George’s, and the Prince kissed my hand and called me the most beautiful bride he’d ever seen.

Susana: And your husband and family? Please tell us about them.

Lady Beauchamp: Fortunately, my youngest, George Augustus, takes after his mother. [Smiling] He has the most adorable cherubic face and blue eyes so like mine. I think it quite likely that his hair will lighten before long as well.

Susana: And your older son?

Lady Beauchamp [grimacing]: It is most unfortunate that Robert William takes after his father. Sturdy, bookish, and quite dull. At least dear Robbie has not lost his hair as his father has. Lord Beauchamp is much older than I, you know. His first wife gave him only daughters, but it was I who gave him his heir and a spare. [Preening]

Susana: I…see. Well, now that my readers are informed as to your…uh…pedigree, let us move on to the topic at hand. How did you become acquainted with the Princess Charlotte, Lady Beauchamp?

Princess Charlotte of Wales, during her pregnancy

Lady Beauchamp [wrinkling her nose]: Of course. Well, we had met in passing at ton events when she was a child, although rarely with her mother, since her father wished to limit her exposure to her mother’s eccentricities. [Coughing delicately]. Blood will tell, however. Lady de Clifford, who had the charge of her at the time—only a baroness, you know—gave her far too much freedom. The girl had no sense of propriety—quite the hoyden as a child, but it was far worse when she reached adolescence.

Susana: Well, adolescence is a difficult time for everyone. I taught thirteen-year-olds for twenty-five years, you know. The best thing about it is that it eventually passes. I suppose the Princess showed the usual interest in the opposite sex?

Lady Beauchamp [shaking her head]: Oh, much worse than that, my dear Miss Ellis! If it wasn’t one of her cousins (illegitimate, you understand), it was William, Duke of Gloucester. They all took her fancy at one time or another. The rumors were rampant all over Town! Upon this proof that she took after her scandalous mother, the Prince Regent made arrangements for a marriage with William of Orange, hoping for an alliance with the Netherlands. It all came to nothing of course. Stubborn, stubborn girl! Not at all the sort of girl who ought to be a princess!

Susana: Do you know why she didn’t like the Prince of Orange?

Lady Beauchamp [curling her lip]: Indeed I do. She confided in me once—quite soon after she and Prince Leopold had settled at Claremont House—which is near Beauchamp’s estate in Surrey, you know—that he refused to promise to allow her mother to visit them after they were married because of her scandalous reputation, and after that, she steadfastly refused to have him. [Leaning closer to Susana] Of course, by then her mother had already fled to the Continent, and she never saw her again anyway.

Susana: How sad!

Lady Beauchamp [shrugging]: Was it? Many would say it was all for the best.

Princess Charlotte’s silver lace wedding gown

Susana: So you socialized with the royal pair after their marriage. What can you tell us about them?

Lady Beauchamp: Quite a boring pair, really. Prince Leopold—who was quite impoverished, you understand, before he wed the heir to the throne of England—took rather too much of an interest in agriculture for my taste. Of course, he and Beauchamp used to tramp all over looking at crops, of all things. Her Royal Highness thought it was quaint.

Susana: But they got on well together?

Lady Beauchamp [reluctantly]: I suppose they must have. I never heard talk of rows between them, and her manner of dress became more sedate after her marriage. Indeed, Prince Leopold seemed to have a calming influence on her. We shared a box at the races once, and when Her Royal Highness began to show rather more enthusiasm than was proper, her husband caught her attention and said, “Doucement, chérie,” and she immediately smiled and regained her composure.

Susana [eyes filling with tears]: How sweet! What a shame their time together was so short! Were you around her during her pregnancy?

Lady Beauchamp: Her confinement, Miss Ellis. Do try to exercise a bit of restraint in your speech, even though you are American. [Sighing heavily]. Indeed I did see her a few times, although as her condition advanced, she was kept in seclusion. Considering all of the doctors who were consulted, one would have thought at least one would have been able to assist her safely through her trial. But no, she was allowed to eat until she reached elephantine proportions, and then they tried to starve her until she turned despondent. Why, Sir Richard Croft was not even a physician! My own husband would never have allowed a mere accoucheur near me when I was brought to bed. But it’s like my mother says, everything the Prince Regent touches ends in failure. Born under an unlucky star, she believes.

Susana: I understand Prince Leopold never recovered from the death of his wife and son.

Lady Beauchamp: Nor has England either. One would think the world has come to an end. The King has no legitimate grandchildren and his youngest son is over forty. The city closed down for two weeks and within a few days there was no black cloth to be had, as all of England was in mourning. Beauchamp said there wasn’t a dry eye to be seen during the funeral, when she was laid to rest with her son at her feet in St. George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle. To be sure, I can’t imagine what will happen to the succession now. I suppose all of the royal princes will run out and marry and try to sire an heir as quickly as possible. [Pursing her lips] Well, all I can say is they’d be well advised to do it soon, because the King’s health deteriorates as we speak, and the Regent isn’t much better. [Sliding her chair closer to Susana] My dear Miss Ellis, it occurs to me that you must be in possession of—shall we say?—interesting information about what happened with the succession. Perhaps you would be kind enough to indulge my curiosity?

Susana [glancing at her watch]: Oh dear, look at the time! If you do not return immediately, Lady Beauchamp, I fear you will be late for Lady Pritchard’s Venetian Breakfast. Do accept my sincere thanks for condescending to speak with me this morning!

Lady Beauchamp [with narrowed eyes]: As it happens, you are correct, Miss Ellis. I really must take my leave of you. However, you can be sure that I shall seek out Lady Pendleton as soon as may be to discover what she knows. [She waves her arms and disappears.]

Susana [gripping the arms of her chair]: I do wonder how this time travel thing is managed. Lady P has mentioned something about an old lady who runs the apothecary shop on Dapple Street, but she has so far declined to go into detail. [Frowning] When she does return, we are going to have a long chat about a few things I discovered after she left. For one thing, my digital camera is missing…after she went on a photography binge taking pictures of everything, even the engine of the car. And then there is a little matter of charges on my credit card for $800 at Toys R Us and more than $300 at the Battery Warehouse. Did she hear nothing I told her about the Prime Directive?

Lady P will be back soon. As always, please do comment if you have any questions you’d like to ask Lady P about the late Georgian/Regency era. She does love to chat!

The Lady P Series

Episode #1: Susana’s Adventures With Lady P: The Introduction

Episode #2: Lady P Talks About… Pride and Prejudice?

Episode #3: Lady P and the Duchess Who Lost a Billion Dollars

Episode #4: Lady P and the Face On the $100 Bill

Episode #5: In Which Lady P Discovers Sparkly Fabrics and Ponders Violating the Prime Directive

Episode #6: Lady P Dishes the Dirt on the Duchess of Devonshire

Episode #7: The Political Exploits of Lady P and the Duchess of Devonshire

Episode #8: Lady P and the Prince Regent’s Illicit Marriage

Episode #9: In Which Lady P Depletes the Cooking Sherry During Her Discussion of Caroline of Brunswick

Episode #10: Lord Byron: Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know

Episode #11: In Which Lady P Talks About Hannah More and the Rights of Women

Episode #12: Lady P’s Revelations Regarding George III and His Peculiar Progeny

Episode #13: Lady P Discusses the Luddite Uprising, the Assassination of Spencer Perceval, and the General Unfairness of Life

Episode #14: In Which Leticia, Lady Beauchamp, Pops In For an Interview On Her Personal Acquaintance With Princess Charlotte of Wales

Episode #15: Lady P On Assignment in 1814 Kent

Lady P Quizzes Jane Livingston, the Hero’s Sister From “A Twelfth Night Tale”

Episode #9: In Which Lady P Depletes the Cooking Sherry During Her Discussion of Caroline of Brunswick

Mar11

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Lady Pendleton, Damian Ashby’s eccentric aunt (see the epilogue to Treasuring Theresa on Susana’s web site), is visiting Susana from the early 19th century. She’s intrigued by life in 21st century Toledo, Ohio, and, of course, Susana is thrilled to have the opportunity to pick her brain about life in Regency England. It certainly gives her a great deal to write about in Susana’s Parlour!

Susana [to the Reader]:

In our last encounter, Lady P enlightened us on the Prince of Wales’ illegal marriage to a twice-widowed Catholic lady unsuitable in every way to be Queen Consort of England. Following that, he married—for reasons of state—his first cousin, Caroline of Brunswick, daughter of his father’s sister. I’ve read of what a dreadful disaster that was, but I wanted to pick Lady P’s brain about it.

Lady P:

Really, Susana! Pick my brain, indeed! What an indelicate turn of phrase!!

Susana:

It’s just an expression, your ladyship. It means—well, I should have said only that I’m curious to learn what you have to say about the Prince’s choice of wife.

Lady P [shuddering]:

Naturally I have a great deal to say about it, but first I must shake off the image of some quack physician performing surgery on my brain. Is there anything left of the cooking sherry?

Susana:

No, you finished that one off last week after watching the finale of Downton Abbey, don’t you remember? But don’t despair—I bought a new bottle yesterday at the Kroger store.

[A slight pause while Susana leaves the room and returns with a glass of wine for Lady P.]

Lady P [after draining half the glass and dabbing at her lips with a handkerchief]:

Just the thing. I do enjoy a little wine in the evening, you know. What a pity you have no wine cellar. Why, in my day, every reputable household had a wine cellar and a stock of good wine. Even though you yourself do not indulge, Susana, you ought at least to think of your guests!

Susana [shrugging]:

My friends and I usually go out. In any case, if your ladyship is properly refreshed, I wonder if we could resume our conversation about the Princess of Wales. I have heard that she and the Prince detested each other on sight. Is that true, do you think?

Lady P:

That was indeed the on dit, and I must say, I could believe it. The Prince arrived late to his wedding, and in a most intoxicated state, too. Lady Bessborough—Georgiana’s sister Harriet, you know—told me that the night before he’d written a note declaring his everlasting love to Maria Fitzherbert—with whom he was estranged at the time—and he made out a will leaving everything he owned to her as well. Harriet was much distressed to see the state he was in.

Susana [shaking her head]:

Then why was she chosen in the first place? He was a grown man; surely he could have found a way to avoid it if he’d wished to.

Lady P:

Was he? A grown man, I mean. Much of the time his behavior resembled that of an over-indulged child. [Looking around nervously] I suppose I can say that with impunity since he’s been dead for nearly two centuries, but truly, my dear, the Prince of Wales was never the man his father was, the madness notwithstanding. [Sighing] In any case, the Prince had accumulated such debts that Mr. Pitt—the Prime Minister, you know—promised to give him a substantial increase in income if he were to make a suitable marriage.

Susana:

So…he was forced to marry Caroline of Brunswick to pay his debts? Did he have no other prospective brides to choose from?

Lady P:

Well, when you eliminate the Catholic royalty and those who were already wed, there were only two who were eligible, both of them his first cousins. Princess Louise of Mecklenberg-Strelitz was his father’s brother’s daughter, and frankly, she was the prettier of the two and seemingly possessed of the better temperament. There were rumors of Princess Caroline’s scandalous behavior even then, you see.

Susana:

Then why did he choose her? Did she have a larger dowry?

Lady P [clucking]:

The on dit was that Lady Jersey—the Prince’s mistress at the time—chose her because she seemed a less formidable rival.

Susana:

So…he allowed his mistress to choose his wife?

Lady P:

If you believed the Prince to be a man of integrity and good character, my dear Susana, then you have not been attending my words at all. The man had no intention of forming a true marriage, and even though he had broken with Maria, in some manner he still considered her his true wife and resented the necessity of making another connection for state purposes.

Susana:

So he didn’t really care who he married.

Lady P:

Whom, my dear. Not who. No, I don’t suppose he did. Consequently, when he ended up with a wife as odious as Caroline, nearly everyone secretly believed his punishment was well deserved.

Susana:

Did you agree with them, Lady P?

Lady P [sighing]:

As many faults as the Prince had, my dear, they were nothing compared to those of Caroline of Brunswick. Those who defended her when apprised of his cruel treatment—and that was nearly the whole of England, you know—could hardly have been well acquainted with her. Well, Sally Jersey was an exception, but then, Sally never did approve of the Prince, since she was forever having to live down the fact that her mother-in-law had been his mistress for a time, and had, in fact, chosen Caroline for him in the first place.

Susana:

Sally Jersey, one of the patronesses of Almack’s? Who would refuse vouchers to young ladies who did not demonstrate the utmost propriety in their conduct?

Lady P:

The same.

Susana:

What did you think of Caroline, Lady P?

Lady P [throwing up her arms]:

She was truly dreadful, Susana. She rarely bathed, ate and drank to excess, was most immoderate in her dress and speech, and it was said that she was not chaste. But you should really ask Leticia, Lady Beauchamp, since she served—most unwillingly, I must say—as one of the Princess’s ladies-in-waiting.

Susana:

Lady Beauchamp? Where have I heard that name before?

Lady P:

She was an acquaintance of Theresa’s, you know, Damian’s wife?

Susana:

Ah, yes. But they were hardly bosom friends, as I recall.

Lady P [smiling]

Oh my, not at all. But they were merely young girls at the time, and you know how catty young girls can be. But then…perhaps we should arrange to have Leticia come for a visit sometime soon. I think you would enjoy—how did you put it—performing surgery on her brain for a time.

Susana:

Picking her brain is the proper expression, Lady P.

Lady P:

It is not proper at all, Susana, and you know it quite well. I do feel the need for another glass of that cooking sherry, if you don’t mind.

Susana [to the Readers]:

That’s all for this episode. But I am intrigued by the idea of speaking with Leticia, Lady Beauchamp. Perhaps Lady P will be able to persuade her to come for a brief visit to tell me about her experiences with the infamous Princess of Wales who was never allowed to be Queen. I can’t promise anything, however. This time travel thing can be very complicated.

As always, please do comment if you have any questions you’d like to ask Lady P about the late Georgian/Regency era. She does love to chat!