Born: Letizia Bonaparte (n�e Ramolini), mother of
Napoleon, 1750, Ajaccio, Corsica; William
Wilberforce, philanthropist and religious writer, 1759, Hull.
Died: Cneius
Julius Agricola, Roman general, 93, Rome; Alphonso V, of Portugal,
1481, Cintra; Admiral
Gaspard de Coligni, murdered at Paris, 1572; Colonel Thomas
Blood, noted for his attempt to steal the regalia from the
Tower, 1680; John, Duke of Lauderdale, minister of Charles II, 1682;
Dr. John Owen, eminent divine, 1683, Ealing; Theodore Hook, novelist, 1841.
Feast Day: St. Bartholomew, apostle. The Martyrs of
Utica, or The White Mass, 258. St. Ouen or Audoen, archbishop of Rouen,
confessor, 683. St.
Irchard or Erthad, bishop and confessor in Scotland, 10th century.
ST. BARTHOLOMEW
One of the twelve apostles, is believed to have travelled on
a mission into Armenia, and to have there suffered martyrdom by being flayed
alive. A knife,
consequently, became the emblem of St. Bartholomew, as may be seen on many of
the old clog
almanacks,
described in a former part of this work. At the abbey of Croyland, there used to
be a distribution of knives each St. Bartholomew's Day, in honour of the saint.
The insetting of chilly evenings is noted at this season of
the year, and has been expressed in a popular distich:
St Bartholomew
Brings the cold dew.
THEODORE HOOK
If fine personal qualities, as a handsome figure and
agreeable countenance, quick intelligence and brilliant wit, with an unfailing
flow of animal spirits,
were alone able to secure happiness, Theodore Hook ought to have been amongst
the happiest and most fortunate of mankind, for he possessed them all. We know,
however, that
something more is needed�above all, conscientiousness, sense of duty, or at
least common prudence�to make life a true success. No man could more thoroughly
illustrate the vanity of
all gifts where this is wanting, than Theodore Hook.
His early days were spent in an atmosphere which naturally
tended to foster and develop his peculiar genius. His father was a favourite
musical composer,
whose house was the resort of all the popular characters of the day�musical,
theatrical, and otherwise. Theodore was found to have an exquisite ear for
music, and soon became noted
among his father's coteries as a first-rate singer and player on the pianoforte.
One night he astonished the old gentleman by singing and accompanying on the
instrument two songs,
one serious and the other comic, which the latter had never heard before. On
inquiry, they turned out to be original compositions, both as regarded words and
music. Here an
assistant was unexpectedly discovered, by the elder Hook, to aid him in his
labours, as hitherto he had always been obliged to employ the services of some
poetaster to furnish the
libretto of his musical pieces. Thus encouraged, Theodore set to work, and
produced The Soldier's Return; or, What can Beauty do? a comic
opera, in two acts, first
represented at Drury Lane in 1805. Its success was such as to stimulate him to
further efforts, and at the age of sixteen he became a successful dramatist and
songwriter, the pet
of the coulisscs and green-room, to which he had a free entr�e; and the
recipient of a handsome income, rarely procurable by a man's personal exertions
at so early an age. The
pieces written by him at this period comprise�Catch Him, Who Can; The
Invisible Girl; Tekeli, or the Siege of Mongratz; Killing
no Murder, and
others; but few, if any, of these now keep possession of the stage.
As may have been expected, the more solid branches of
education seem to have been little attended to in the case of Hook. The first
school to which he was
sent, was a 'seminary for young gentlemen' in Soho Square, where, by his own
account, he used regularly to play the truant, amusing himself by wandering
about the streets, and
devising all sorts of excuses to account to his teacher for his absence. On one
occasion, unfortunately for him, he had remained at home, asserting to his
parents that a general
holiday had been granted to the scholars. His brother on the same day, which
happened to be the rejoicing for the peace of Amiens, was passing Theodore's
school, and seeing it
open, was induced to go in and make inquiries, from which he learned that the
young vagabond had not shown face there for the last three weeks. The result was
his being locked up
for the remainder of the day in the garret, and debarred from seeing the
illuminations and fire-works in the evening. From this academy he was sent to a
school in Cambridgeshire,
and afterwards to Harrow, where he had Lord Byron and Sir Robert Peel
for his companions, but made little progress in classic
learning, study and application being to him a most irksome drudgery. On the
death of his stepmother in 1802, he was pre-maturely withdrawn from school, and
from this period
remained at home, in the enjoyment of the congenial atmosphere of his father's
house, and the reputation and more solid advantages which the brilliancy of his
talents enabled him
to secure.
Hook's turn for quizzing and practical jokes was very early
displayed; and innumerable anecdotes are recorded of this propensity. They are
connected chiefly
with the theatre, to which his occupations constantly led him, and where he was
the soul and mirth-inspirer of the motley community behind the scenes. On one
occasion he nearly
frightened Dowton, the comedian, out of his wits, by walking up to him instead
of the proper personator of the part, and delivering a letter. On another, when
Sheridan was
contesting the seat for Westminster, the cry of 'Sheridan for ever!' was heard
by the astonished audience proceeding apparently from the evil spirit in the
'Wood-Demon,' and
producing one of those incongruous effects which are so much relied on for
raising a laugh in pantomime or burlesque. A mischievous trick of another kind,
in which he was aided by
Liston, may also be mentioned. A young gentleman of Hook's acquaintance had a
great desire to witness a play, and also escort a fair cousin thither, but was
terrified lest his
going to a theatre should come to the knowledge of his father, a rigid
Presbyterian, who held such places in abhorrence.
He communicated his difficulties to his gay friend. 'Never
mind the governor, my dear fellow,' was the reply; 'trust to me; I'll arrange
everything �get you
a couple of orders, secure places�front row; and nobody need know anything about
it.' The tickets were procured, and received with great thankfulness by Mr. B�,
who started with
his relative for the playhouse, and the pair soon found themselves absorbed in
an ecstasy of delight in witnessing the drolleries of Liston. But what was their
confusion when the
comedian, advancing to the foot-lights during a burst of laughter at one of his
performances, looked round the dress-circle with a mock-offended air, and
exclaimed: 'I don't
understand this conduct, ladies and gentlemen! I am not accustomed to be laughed
at; I can't imagine what you can see ridiculous in me; why, I declare' (pointing
at the centre box
with his finger), 'there's Harry B�, too, and his cousin Martha J�; what
business have they to come here and laugh at me, I should like to know? I'll go
and tell his father, and
hear what he thinks of it!
The consternation caused to the truant couple by this
unexpected address, and the eyes of the whole audience being turned on them, may
be more readily
imagined than described, and they fled from the house in dismay.
In the days of which we write, the abstraction of
pump-handles and street-knockers was a favourite amusement of the young blades
about town, some of whom
prided themselves not a little in forming a museum of these trophies. Hook was
behind no one in such freaks. One of them was the carrying off the figure of a
Highlander, as large
as life, from the door of a tobacconist, wrap-ping it up in a cloak, and
tumbling it into a hackney-coach as ' a friend, a very respectable man, but a
little tipsy,' with a request
to the coachman to drive on. The following anecdote is related in the
Ingoldsby Legends, but will well bear repetition. On the occasion of the
trial of Lord Melville, Hook
had gone with a friend to Westminster Hall to witness the proceedings. As the
peers began to enter, a simple-looking lady from the country touched his arm,
and said:
'I beg your pardon, sir, but pray who are those gentlemen
in red now coming in?'
'Those, ma'am,' he replied, 'are the barons of England; in
these cases, the junior peers always come first.'
'Thank you, sir, much obliged to you. Louisa, my dear
(turning to her daughter, who accompanied her), tell Jane these are the barons
of England; and the
juniors (that's the youngest, you know) always goes first. Tell her to be sure
and remember that when we get home.'
'Dear me, ma,' said Louisa, 'can that gentleman be one of
the youngest? I am sure he looks very old.'
This naivete held out an irresistible temptation to Theodore,
who, on the old lady pointing to the bishops, who came next in order, with
scarlet and lawn
sleeves over their doctors' robes, and asking, 'What gentlemen are those?'
replied: 'Gentlemen, ma'am! these are not gentlemen; these are ladies, elderly
ladies�the
dowager-peeresses in their own right.'
His interrogator looked at him rather suspiciously, as if to
find out whether or not he was quizzing her; but reassured by the imperturbable
air of gravity
with which her glance was met, turned round again to her daughter, and
whispered:
'Louisa, dear, the gentleman says that these are elderly
ladies and dowager-peeresses in their own right; tell Jane not to forget
that.'
Shortly afterwards, her attention was drawn to the speaker of
the House of Commons, with his richly-embroidered robes. 'Pray, sir,' she
exclaimed, 'who is
that fine-looking person opposite?'
"That, ma'am, is Cardinal Wolsey.'
'No, sir!' was the angry rejoinder, 'we knows a good deal
better than that; Cardinal Wolsey has been dead and buried these many years.'
'No such thing, my dear madam,' replied Hook, with the most
extraordinary sang froid; 'it has indeed been so reported in the country, but
with-out the
least foundation in truth; in fact, these rascally newspapers will say
anything!'
The good lady looked thunderstruck, opened her eyes and mouth
to their widest compass, and then, unable to say another word, or remain longer
on the spot,
hurried off with a daughter in each hand, leaving the mischievous wag and his
friend to enjoy the joke.
A well-known story is told of Hook and Terry the actor making
their way into a gentleman's house with whom they had no acquaintance what-ever,
but the
appetising steams issuing from whose area gave indications of a glorious feast
being in the course of preparation. The anecdote is perfectly true, though the
real scene of the
adventure was not, as commonly represented, a suburban villa on the banks of the
Thames, but a town-mansion some-where in the neighbourhood of Soho Square. Hook
caught at the idea
suggested by Terry, that he should like to make one of so jovial a party; and
arranging with his friend that he should call for him there that evening at ten
o'clock, hurried up
the steps, gave a brisk rap with the knocker, and was at once admitted to the
drawing-room. The room being full, no notice was taken of him at first, and
before the host discovered
him, he had already made his way to the hearts of a knot of guests by his
sallies of drollery.
The master of the house at last perceiving a stranger, went
up, and politely begged his name, as he felt rather at a loss. Hook replied with
a perfect
torrent of volubility, but expressed in the suavest and mostfascinating terms,
and effectually preventing any interruption to his discourse. An explanation at
last came out, that
he had mistaken both the house and the hour at which he ought to have dined with
a friend. The old gentleman's civility then could not allow him to depart, as
his friend's
dinner-hour must now be long past, and a guest with such a flow of spirits must
prove a most agreeable acquisition to his own table. Hook professed great
reluctance to trespass
thus on the hospitality of a perfect stranger, but was induced, seemingly with
much difficulty, to remain, and partake of dinner. So delightful a companion and
so droll a fellow
had never been met before, and so much mirth and jollity had never till now
enlivened the mansion. At ten o'clock, Mr. Terry was announced, and Hook, who
had seated himself at the
pianoforte, in the performance of one of his famous extemporaneous effusions,
brought his song to a close as follows:
I am very much pleased with your fare;
Your cellar's as prime as your cook;
My friend's Mr. Terry the player,
And I'm Mr. Theodore Hook!'
Nor was this by any means the only entertainment of the kind
which his assurance and farcical powers enabled him to obtain. Passing one day
in a gig with a
friend by the villa of a retired chronometer-maker, he suddenly reined up,
re-marked to his friend what a comfortable little box that was, and that they
might do worse than dine
there. He then alighted, rang the bell, and on being admitted to the presence of
the worthy old citizen, said that he had often heard his name, which was
celebrated throughout the
civilised world, and that being in the neighbourhood, he could not resist the
temptation of calling and making the acquaintance of so distinguished a public
character. The good man
was quite tickled with the compliment; pressed his admirer and friend to stay
dinner, which was just ready; and a most jovial afternoon was spent, though on
the way home the gig
containing Hook and his companion was smashed to pieces by the refractory horse,
and the two occupants had a narrow escape of their lives.
Another of his adventures, in which he seems to have taken
his cue from Tony Lumpkin, was driving up to an old gentleman's house, ordering
the servant who
appeared to take his mare to the stable and rub her down well, and then
proceeding to the parlour, stretched himself at full-length on the sofa, and
called for a glass of brandy
and water. On the master of the house making his appearance and inquiring the
business of his visitor, Hook became more vociferous than ever, declared that he
had never before met
with such treatment in any inn, or from any landlord, and ended by saying that
his host must be drunk, and he should certainly feel it his duty to report the
circumstance to the
bench. The old gentleman was confounded, but in a short time Hook pretended to
discover his blunder of having taken the house for an inn, and made ten thousand
apologies, adding
that he had been induced to commit the mistake by seeing over the entrance-gate
a large vase of flowers, which, he imagined, indicated the sign of the
Flower-pot. This said vase
happened to be cherished by its owner with special complacency as a most unique
and chaste ornament, and here was it degraded to the level of a pot-house sign!
Another story is told of Hook, in which. he improved on a
well-known device related of Sheridan. Getting into a hackney-coach one day, and
being unable to
pay the fare, he bethought himself of the plan adopted by the celebrated wit
just mentioned on a similar occasion, and hailed a friend whom he observed
passing along the street. He
made him get into the carriage beside him, but on comparing notes he found his
companion equally devoid of cash as himself, and it was necessary to think of
some other expedient.
Presently they approached the house of a celebrated surgeon. Hook alighted,
rushed to the door, and exclaimed hurriedly to the servant who opened it:
'Is Mr. -- at home? I must see him immediately. For God's
sake do not lose an instant.' Ushered into the consulting-room, he exclaimed
wildly to the
surgeon: ' Thank heaven! Pardon my incoherence, sir; make allowance for the
feelings of a husband, perhaps a father�your attendance, sir, is instantly
required�instantly�by Mrs.
�. For mercy's sake, sir, be off." "I'll be on my way immediately,'
replied the medical man. ' I have only to get my instruments, and step into my
carriage.' 'Don't wait for your
carriage,' cried the pseudo-distressed parent; 'get into mine, which is
waiting at the door.' Esculapius readily complied, was hurried into the coach,
and conveyed in a trice to
the residence of an aged spinster, whose indignation and horror at the purport
of his visit was beyond all bounds. The poor man was glad to beat a speedy
retreat, but the fury of
the old maiden-lady was not all he was destined to undergo, as the
hackney-coachman kept hold of him, and mulcted him in the full amount of the
fare which Hook ought to have
paid.
All these and similar escapades, however, were fairly
eclipsed by the famous Berners-street hoax, which created such a sensation in
London in 1809. By
despatching several thousands of letters to innumerable quarters, he completely
blocked up the entrances to the street, by an assemblage of the most
heterogeneous kind. The parties
written to had been requested to call on a certain day at the house of a lady,
residing at No. 54 Berners Street, against whom Hook and one or two of his
friends had conceived a
grudge. So successful was the trick, that nearly all obeyed the summons.
Coal-wagons, heavily laden, carts of upholstery, vans with pianos and other
articles, wedding and funeral
coaches, all rumbled through, and filled up the adjoining streets and lanes;
sweeps assembled with the implements of their trade; tailors with clothes that
had been ordered;
pastry-cooks with wedding cakes; undertakers with coffins; fishmongers with
cod-fishes, and butchers with legs of mutton. There were surgeons with their
instruments; lawyers with
their papers and parchments; and clergymen with their books of devotion. Such a
babel was never heard before in London, and to complete the business, who should
drive up but the
lord mayor in his state-carriage; the governor of the Bank of England; the
chair-man of the East India Company; and even a scion of royalty itself, in the
person of the Duke of
Gloucester. Hook and his confederates were meantime enjoying the fun from a
window in the neighbourhood, but the consternation occasioned to the poor lady
who had been made the
victim of the jest, was nearly becoming too serious a matter. He never avowed
himself as the originator of this trick, though there is no doubt of his being
the prime actor in it.
It was made the subject of a solemn investigation by many of the parties who had
been duped, but so carefully had the precautions been taken to avoid detection,
that the inquiry
proved entirely fruitless.
In 1813, Hook received the appointment, with a salary of
�2000 a year, of accountant-general and treasurer of the Mauritius, an office
which one would have
supposed to be the very antipodes to all his capacities and predilections. How
it came to be conferred on him, does not clearly appear; but it exhibits a
memorable instance, among
others, of the reckless selection, too often displayed in those days, in the
choice of public officials. What might have been 'expected followed. The
treasurer was about as fitted
by nature for discharging the duties of such an office as a clown in a
pantomime, and the five years spent by him in the island were little more than a
round of merriment and
festivities. An investigation of his accounts at last took place, and a large
deficit, ultimately fixed at about �12,000, was discovered. There seems no
reason for believing that
Hook had been guilty of the least embezzlement or mat-appropriation of the
government funds; but there can be no doubt that his negligence in regard to his
duties was most
reprehensible, trusting their performance entirely to a deputy, who committed
suicide about the time of the inquiry being instituted. A criminal charge was
made out against the
unfortunate accountant-general, and in 1818, he was sent home under arrest. His
buoyancy of spirits, however, never failed him, and meeting at St. Helena one of
his old friends,
who asked him if he was going home for his health, he replied: 'Yes, I believe
there's something wrong with the chest!'
On landing in England, it was found that there was no ground
for a criminal action against him, but that as responsible for the acts of his
deputy, his
person and estate were amenable to civil proceedings. The whole of his property
in the Mauritius and elsewhere was accordingly confiscated, and he underwent a
long confinement,
first in a sponging-house in Shire-Lane, and afterwards in the King's Bench
Prison. Thrown again on his own resources, he produced several dramatic pieces,
which achieved a
respectable amount of success. The great event, however, at this period of his
life, was his becoming editor of the John Bull news-paper, which, under his
management, made itself
conspicuous by its stinging and too often scurrilous attacks on the Whig party.
An inexhaustible fund of metrical lampoon and satire was ever at the command of
its conductor, and
he certainly dealt out his sarcasm with no sparing hand. Some of the most famous
of his effusions were directed against Queen Caroline and her party at the time
of the celebrated
trial. Whyttington and his Catte, the Hunting of the Hare, and
Mrs. Muggins's Visit to the Queen, were reckoned in their day by the
Tories as uncommonly smart
things.
Have you been to Brandenburgh? heigh! ma'am, ho! ma'am;
Have you been to Brandenburgh! ho!
0 yes! I have been, ma'am, to visit the queen, ma'am, With
the rest of the gallantee show.
What did you see, ma'am? heigh! ma'am, ho! ma'am,
What did you see, ma'am? ho!
We saw a great dame, with a face as red as flame, And a
character spotless as snow.
Mrs. Muggins's Visit was a satire on Queen Caroline's
drawing-room, at Brandenburgh House, and is said to be a very good specimen of
Hook's style in
improvisation, an art which he possessed in a wonderful degree.
Some years before Hook's obtaining his disastrous appointment
at the Mauritius, he had published, under an assumed name, a novel entitled The
Man of Sorrow,
but its success was very doubtful. It was not till after he had passed through
the furnace of adversity, and undergone the pains of incarceration, that he gave
to the world that
series of works of fiction which, prior to the days of Dickens and Thackeray,
had so unbounded a popularity as the exponents of middle-class life. With great
smartness and
liveliness of description, they partake eminently of the character of the author
whose gifts were much more brilliant than solid. Deficient in the latter
element, and possessing,
in a great measure, an ephemeral interest, it becomes, therefore, doubtful
whether they will be much heard of in a succeeding generation.
The bons mots recorded of Theodore Hook are
multifarious, but they have all more or less a dash of the flippancy and
impudence by which, especially
in early life, he was characterised. Walking along the Strand one day, he
accosted, with much gravity, a very pompous-looking gentleman. 'I beg your
pardon, sir, but may I ask, are
you anybody particular?' and passed on before the astonished individual could
collect himself sufficiently to reply. In the midst of his London career of
gaiety, when a stripling,
he was induced by his brother James, who was seventeen years his senior, to
enter him-self at St. Mary's Hall, Oxford, where his sojourn, however, was but
brief. On being presented
for matriculation to the vice-chancellor, that dignitary inquired if he was
prepared to sign the Thirty-nine Articles.
'0 yes,' replied Theodore, 'forty, if you like!' It
required all his brother's interest with Dr. Parsons to induce him to pardon
this petulant sally. The
first evening, it is said, of his arrival at Oxford, he had joined a party of
old schoolfellows at a tavern, and the fun had become fast and furious. Just
then the proctor, that
terror of university evil-doers, made his appearance, and advancing to the
table where Hook was sitting, addressed him with the customary question:
'Pray, sir, are you a member
of this university?' 'No, sir,' was the reply (rising and bowing
respectfully); 'pray, sir, are you?'
Somewhat discomposed by this unexpected query, the proctor
held out his sleeve, 'You see this, sir?'
'Ah,' replied the young freshman, after examining with much
apparent interest for a few moments the quality of the stuff. 'Yes, I
perceive, Manchester
velvet; and may I take the liberty, sir, of inquiring how much you may have
paid per yard for the article?' Discomfited by so much imperturbable coolness,
the academical
dignitary was forced to retire amid a storm of laughter.
The Mauritius affair proved a calamity, from the effects of
which Hook never recovered. With a crushing debt constantly suspended in
terrorem over him, and
an enfeebled frame, the result of his confinement in prison, and partly also of
the unwholesome style of living, as regards food, in which he had indulged when
abroad, his last
years were sadly embittered by ill health, mental depression, and pecuniary
embarrassment. Outwardly, he seemed still to enjoy the same flow of spirits; but
a worm was gnawing at
the heart, and his diary at this period discloses a degree of mental anguish and
anxiety which few of those about him suspected. He died at Fulham, on
24th August 1841,
in his fifty-third year.
THE ST. BARTHOLOMEW
MASSACRE
The prodigious event bearing this well-known name, was mainly
an expression of the feelings with which Protestantism was regarded in France in
the first age
after the Reformation; but the private views of the queen-mother, the atrocious
Catherine de Medici, were also largely concerned. After the death of her
husband, Henry II, she had
an incessant struggle, during the reigns of the boy-kings, her sons, who
succeeded, for the supreme power. It seemed within her grasp, but for the
influence which the Protestant
leader, the Admiral Coligni, had acquired over the mind of Charles IX. This
young monarch was a semi-maniac. He was never happy but when taking the most
violent exercise, riding
for twelve or fourteen hours consecutively, hunting the same stag for two or
three days, only stopping to eat, and reposing but a few hours in the night. He
had, during the absence
of Catherine, listened to Coligni, and agreed to an expedition against the
Spaniards in alliance with the Prince of Orange. When the proud mother returned,
she found herself
supplanted by the chief of the Huguenot party, whose triumph in her eyes would
be absolute ruin to her family. The king had accepted the idea of war with
delight; he demanded the
constant presence of the admiral, and kept him half the night in his bedroom,
calculating the number of his armies, and laying down plans for marching. From
this moment the death
of the Protestant leader was determined on.
The opportunity of the marriage between Henry of Navarre and
the Princess Margaret, which took place on the 18th of August 1572,
was seized upon;
the Huguenots of rank had followed their leader to Paris; a gallery was erected
for them outside Notre Dame, that their prejudices might not be wounded, and
nothing was seen but
festivity and concord between the disagreeing parties. But on the
22nd, Coligni was shot at from a window by a follower of the Duke de
Guise, and wounded in two places;
his party were highly indignant at the outrage, crowded round the house, and
threats of vengeance were heard; these were used by the king's relatives to
convince him that he and
all about him were in danger of immediate destruction, if he did not permit a
general massacre. The Dukes de Guise, Anjou, Aumale, and others agreed to carry
out the dreadful
decree; the bell of St. Germain de l'Auxerrois was to toll out the signal in the
dead of the night. From a balcony in the Louvre, which opened out of the
ball-room, and looked into
the Seine, the guilty mother and trembling son watched the proceedings.
The house where Coligni lay wounded was first attacked; he
met his fate with the heroism of a Christian hero; his body was thrown from the
window, and his
followers shared the same fate. All the streets in Paris rang with the dreadful
cry: 'Death to the Huguenot! kill every man! kill! kill!' Neither men, women,
nor children were
spared; some asleep, some kneeling in supplication to their savage assailants;
about thirty thousand innocent persons were thus butchered by a furious mob,
allowed to give vent to
their fanatical passion. All that day it continued; towards evening the king
sent out his trumpeter to command a cessation; but the people were not so easily
controlled, and
murders were committed during the two following days. Five hundred men of rank,
with many ladies of equally high birth, and ministers of religion, were among
the victims; every
man, indeed, might kill his personal enemy without inquiry being made as to his
religion, and Catholics suffered as well as Huguenots. The large cities of the
provinces, Rouen,
Lyon, &c., caught the infection, which the queen-mother took no steps to
prevent, and France was steeped in blood and mourning.
The king at first laid the blame on the Houses of Guise and
Coligni, but he afterwards went to the parliament, and acknowledged himself as
the author,
claiming the merit of having given peace to France by the destruction of the
Protestants. But his life was ever after one of bitter remorse and horror. Not
many days after, he said
to his surgeon: 'I feel like one in a fever, my body and mind are both
disturbed; every moment, whether asleep or awake, visions of murdered corpses,
covered with blood, and
hideous to the sight, haunt me. Oh, I wish they had spared the innocent and
imbecile!' In less than two years, the unfortunate young king had joined his
victims; a prey to every
mental and physical suffering that could be imagined.
The black turpitude and wickedness of the Bartholomew
Massacre is very obvious; but it is not less true that it was a great blunder.
The facts were heard of
all over Europe with a shudder of horror. They have been a theme of reproach
against Catholics ever since. It may be considered as a serious misfortune for
any code of opinions
whatever to have such a terrible affair associated with it.
THE BARTHOLOMEW ACT,
1662
When High Church had the upper hand in the reign of Charles
I, it did not scruple to pillory the
Puritans, excise their
ears, and banish them. When the Puritans got the ascendancy afterwards, they
treated high-churchmen with an equally conscientious severity.
At the Restoration,
all the reforming plans of the last twenty years were found utterly worn out of
public favour, and
the public submitted very quietly to a reconstitution of the church under what
was called the Act of Uniformity, which made things very unpleasant once
more for the
Puritans. By its provisions, every clergyman was to be expelled from his charge
on the 24th of August 1662, if, by that time, he did not declare his
assent to everything
contained in the revised Book of Common Prayer; every clergy-man who, during the
period of the Commonwealth, had been unable to obtain episcopal ordination, was
commanded now to
obtain that kind of sanction; all were to take an oath of canonical obedience;
all were to give up the theory on which the old 'Solemn League and Covenant' had
been based; and all
were to accept the doctrine of the king's supremacy over the church. The result
was, that two thousand of the clergy signalised this Bartholomew Day by coming
out of the church.
Baxter, Alleyne, Calamy, Owen, and Bates, were among them; while Milton, Banyan,
and Andrew Marvell, were among
the laymen who
adhered to their cause.
The act became the more harsh from its coming into operation
just before one whole year's tithes were due. Two thousand families, hitherto
dependent on
stipends for support, were driven hither and thither in the search for a
livelihood; and this was rendered more and more difficult by a number of
subordinate statutes passed in
rapid succession. The ejected ministers were not allowed to exercise, even in
private houses, the religious functions to which they had been accustomed. Their
books could not be
published without episcopal sanction, previously applied for and obtained. A
statute, called the 'Conventicle Act,' punished with fine, imprisonment, or
transportation, every one
present in any private house where religious worship was carried on�if the total
number exceeded by more than five the regular members of the household. Another,
called the 'Oxford
Act,' imposed on these unfortunate ministers an oath of passive obedience and
non-resistance; and if they refused to take it, they were prohibited from living
within five miles of
any place where they had ever resided, or of any corporate town, and from eking
out their scanty incomes by keeping schools, or taking in boarders. A second and
stricter version of
the Conventicle Act deprived the ministers of the right of trial by jury, and
empowered any justice of the peace to convict them on the oath of a single
informer, who was to be
rewarded with one-third of the fines levied; no flaw in the legal document,
called the mittimus, was allowed to vitiate it; and the 'benefit of the doubt,'
in any uncertain cases,
was to be given to the accusers, not to the accused.
Writers who take opposite sides on this subject naturally
differ as to the causes and justification to be assigned for the ejection; but
there is very
little difference of opinion as to the misery suffered during the years
intervening between 1662 and 1688. Those who, in one way or other, suffered
homelessness, hunger, and penury
on account of the Act of Uniformity and the ejection that followed it, have been
estimated at 60,000 persons, and the amount of pecuniary loss at twelve or
fourteen millions
sterling. Defoe, Penn, and other contemporary writers, set down up-wards of 5000
Nonconformists as the number who perished within the walls of prisons; and many,
like Baxter, were
hunted from house to house, from chapel to chapel, by informers, whose only
motive was to obtain a portion of the fines levied for infringement of numerous
statutes.
Considered as a historical fact, dissent may be said to have
begun in England on this 24th August 1662, when the Puritans, who had
before formed
a body within the church, now ranged themselves as a dissenting or Nonconformist
sect outside it.
BARTHOLOMEW FAIR
The great London Saturnalia�the Smithfield fair on the
anniversary of St. Bartholomew's Day �died a lingering death in 1855, after
flourishing for seven
centuries and a half. Originally established for useful trading purposes, it had
long survived its claim to tolerance, and as London increased, had become a
great public nuisance,
with its scenes of riot and obstruction in the very heart of the city.
When Rahere, minstrel and jester to Henry I, left the
gaieties of the court for the proprieties of the cloister, he exhibited much
worldly prudence in
arranging his future career. He affirmed that he had seen Bartholomew the
apostle in a vision, and that he had directed him to found a church and hospital
in his honour in the
suburbs of London, at Smithfield. The land was the more readily granted by the
king, Henry II; for it was waste and marshy, and would be improved by the
proposed foundation. Osier
Lane (now spelled in Cockney form with an H) marks the site of a small brook,
lined with osiers, which emptied itself in the Fleet River. The marsh was
drained, and the monastery
founded on its site in 1123; Rahere was made prior, and great success attended
the shrine of St. Bartholomew, where many miracles were affirmed to have been
effected in aid of the
afflicted.
But the new prior, having been an active man of the world,
looked to temporal as well as spiritual aid; he therefore included the right to
hold a great fair
on the festival of his patron saint, and this brought traders from all parts to
Smithfield, for they had the royal safeguard�' firm peace to all persons coming
to and returning
from the fair'�during the three days it was held. Cattle and merchandise were
the staple of such fairs. The safe-guard given to traders in days when
travelling was difficult and
dangerous, and the ease with which men might combine to go in companies to them,
made them generally useful; hence shopkeepers laid in their stock from them, and
housekeepers
furnished their homes with articles not readily obtained elsewhere. The pious
might join in a great church-festival, the pleasure-seekers find amusement in
the wandering minstrels
and jesters who were drawn to the busy scene, or stare with wonder at some
performing monkey or other 'outlandish beast,' who were sure to find favour with
the sight-loving
Londoners.
|
Cloth-Fair
|
Several centuries elapsed, and the whole character of English
life altered, before the trading fair became exclusively a pleasure-fair. It was
not until the
cessation of our civil wars, and the quiet establishment of the House of Tudor
upon the throne, that trade assumed its important position, and commercial
enterprise elevated and
enlarged its boundaries. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, Bartholomew Fair
ceased to be a cloth-fair of any importance; but its name and fame is still
preserved in the lane running
parallel to Bartholomew Close, termed 'Cloth-fair,' which was generally
inhabited by drapers and mercers' in the days of Strype, and which still
preserves many antique
features, and includes, in a somewhat modernised form, some of the old houses
founded by Lord Rich and his successors, who obtained the grant f the hospital
property in the reign
of Henry VIII. The fair was always proclaimed bythe lord mayor, beneath the arch
shown in our cut, to the very end of its existence; and its original connection
with the cloth
trade was also shown in a burlesque proclamation the evening before by a company
of drapers and tailors, who met at 'the Hand and Shears,' a house-of-call for
their fraternity in
Cloth-fair, from whence they marched, shears in hand, to this archway, and
announced the opening of the fair, concluding the ceremony by a general shout
and 'snapping of shears.'
Keutzner, the German traveller, who visited England in 1598,
tells us, 'that every year, upon St. Bartholomew's Day, when the fair is held,
it is usual for
the mayor, attended by the twelve principal aldermen, to walk in a neighbouring
field, dressed in his scarlet gown, and about his neck a golden chain.' A tent
was pitched for their
accommodation, and wrestling provided for their amusement. 'After this is over,
a parcel of live rabbits are turned loose among the crowd, which are pursued by
a number of boys,
who endeavoured to catch them with all the noise they can make.' The next vivid
picture of the fair we obtain from an eye-witness, shows how great the change in
its character
during the progress of the reign of Elizabeth. This photograph of the fair in
1614, we obtain in Ben Jonson's comedy, which takes its title from, and is
supposed to be chiefly
enacted in, the precincts of the fair. There was hardly a trace now left of its
old business character�it was all eating, drinking, and amusement. It had become
an established
custom to eat roast-pig here; shows were established for the exhibition of
'motions' or puppet-plays, sometimes constructed on religious history, such as
'the Fall of Nineveh,'
'the History of the Chaste Susanna,' &c.; others were constructed in classic
story, as the Siege of Troy,' or 'the Loves of Hero and Leander;' which is
enacted in the last act of
Ben Jonson's play, and bears striking
resemblances to the burlesques so constantly played in our modern theatres.
Shows of other kinds
abounded, and zoology was always in high favour. One of Ben's characters says:
'I have been at the Eagle and the Black Wolf, and the Bull with the five legs,
and the Dogs that
dance the Morrice, and the Hare with the Tabor.' Some of these performances are.
still popular 'sights:' the hare heating the tabor amused our Anglo-Saxon
forefathers, as it may
amuse generations yet unborn. Over-dressed dolls ('Bartholomew-Fair babies'),
and `gilt gingerbread,' with drums, trumpets, and other toys were abundantly
provided for children's'
'fairings.
In 1641, the fair had increased greatly, and become solely
devoted to pleasure �such as it was. In a descriptive tract of that date, we are
told it was 'of
so vast an extent that it is contained in no less than four several
parishes�namely, Christ-church, Great and Little St. Bartholomew's, and St.
Sepulehre's. Hither resort people of
all sorts and conditions.
Christ church cloisters are now hung full of pictures. It is
remarkable, and worth your observation to behold, and hear the strange sights,
and confused
noise in the fair. here, a knave, in a fool's coat, with a trumpet sounding, or
on it drum heating, invites you to see his puppets; there, a rogue like a wild
woodman, or in an
antic shape like an incubus, desires your company to view his motion; on the
other side, Hocuspocus, with three yards of tape or ribbon in his hand, thews
his art of legerdemain to
the admiration and astonishment of a company of cockloaches. Amongst these, you
shall. see a gray goose-cap (as wise as the rest), with a "what do ye
lacks.) "in his month, stand
in his booth, slinking it rattle or scraping a fiddle, with which children are
so taken, that they presently cry out for these fopperies; and all these
together make such a
distracted noise, that you would think Babel not comparable to it.'
In the reign of Charles II, the fair became a London carnival
of the grossest kind. The licence was extended front three to fourteen days, the
theatres were
closed dining this time, and the actors brought to Smithfield. All classes, high
and low, visited the place. Evelyn records his visit there, so does John Locke,
and garrulous Pepys
went often. On August 28, 1667, he notes that he 'went twice round Bartholomew
Fair, which I was glad to see again: Two days afterwards, he writes: 'I went to
Bartholomew Fair, to
walk up and down; and there, among other things, find my Lady Castlemaine at a
puppet-play (Patient Chisel), and a street full of people expecting her coming
out.' This infamous
woman divided her affections between the king, Charles II, and Jacob Hall, the
rope-dancer, who was a great favourite at the fair, and salaried by her
ladyship. In 1668, Pepys
again notes two visits he paid to the fair, in company with Lord Brouncker and
others, to see 'The mare that tells money, and many things to admiration�and
then the dancing of the
ropes, and also the little stage-play, which is very ridiculous.'
In 1699, Ned Ward notes in his
Laudon Spy, a visit he paid to the fair, viewing it from a public-house
near the Hospital Gate,
under the influence of a pipe. 'The first objects, when we were seated at the
window, that lay within our observation, were the quality of the fair, strutting
round their balconies
in their tinsel robes, and golden leather buskins, expressing such pride in
their buffoonery stateliness, that I could but reasonably believe they were as
much elevated with the
thought of their fortnight's pageantry, as ever Alexander was with the thought
of a new conquest; looking with great contempt on their split deal-thrones upon
the admiring mobility
gazing in the dirt at our ostentatious heroes, and their most supercilious
doxies, who looked as awkward and ungainly in their gorgeous accoutrements, as
an alderman's lady in her
stiff-bodied gown upon a lord-mayor's festival.'
One of the most famous of these great theartrical booths was
that owned by Lee and Harper, tell represented in the above engraving, copied.
from a carious
general view of the fair, designed to form a fan-mount, and probably published
about 1728.
Here one of the old favourite sacred dramas is being
performed on the history of Judith and Holophernes, and both these characters
parade the stage in
front; the hero in the stage-dress of a Roman general; the heroine in that of a
Versailles court-masque, with a feathered head-dress, a laced stomacher, and a
hooped petticoat of
crimson silk, with white rosettes in large triangles over its ample surface. A
few of these Bartholomew-fair dramas found their way into print, the most
remarkable of the series
being the Siege of Troy, by Elkanah Settle, once the favourite court-poet of
Charles II, and the rival of Dryden; ultimately a poor writer for Mrs. Mynn's
booth, compelled in old
age to roar in a dragon of his own invention, in a play founded on the tale of
St. George.
These dramas are curously indicative of popular tastes,
filled with bombast interspersed with buffoonery, and gorgeous in dress and
decoration. There is an
anecdote on re-cord of the proprietress of this show refusing to pay 0ram, the
scene-painter, for a splendid set of scenes he was en-gaged to paint, becasue he
had used Dutch metal
instead of leaf gold in their decoration. Settle's Siege of Troy is a good
specimen of these productions, and we are told in the preface, is no ways
inferior to any one opera yet
seen in either of the royal theatres.' One of the gorgeous displays offered to
the sightseers is thus described: The scene opens and discovers Paris and Helen,
fronting the
audience, riding in a triumphant chariot, drawn by two white elephants, mounted
by two pages in embroidered livery. The side-wings are ten elephants more,
bearing on their backs
open castles, umbrayed with canopies of gold; the ten castles filled with ten
persons risibly drest, the retinue of Paris; and on the elephants' necks ride
ten Inure pages in the
like rich dress. Beyond and over the chariot is seen a Vistoeik of the city of
Troy, in the walls of which stand several trumpeters, seen behind and over the
head of Paris, who
sound at the opening of the scene.' Of course such magnificent people talk
'brave words,' like Ancient Pistol. Paris declares:
'Now when the tired world's long discords cease, We'll time
our Trumps of War to Songs of Peace. Where Hector dragg'd in blood, I'll drive
around The
walls of Troy; with love and laurels crown'd.'
All this magniloquence is relieved by comic scenes between a
cobbler (with the appropriate name of Bristles) and his wife, one 'Captain Tom,'
and ' a
numerous train of Trojan mob.'
The regular actors, as we have before observed, were
transplanted to the fair during its continuance, and some of them were protent
proprietors and managers
of the great theatrical booths. Penkethman, Mills, Booth, and Doggett were of
the number. The great novelist, Henry Fielding, commenced career as
part-proprietor of one of these
booths, continuing for nine years in company with Hippisley, the favourite
comedian, and others. It was at his booth, in 1733, that the famous actress,
Mrs. Pritchard, made her
great success, in an adaptation by Fielding, of Moliere's Cheats of Scapin.
The fan-mount, already described, furnishes us with another
representation of a booth in the fair; and it will be perceived that they were
solid erections
of timber, walled and roofed with planks, and perfectly weather-proof. In this
booth 'Faux's dexterity of hand' is displayed, as well as a famous
posture-master,' whose evolutions
are exhibited iii a picture outside the show. Faux was the Robert Hondin of his
day, and is recorded to have died worth �10,000, which he had accumulated during
his career. The
Gentleman's Magazine for February 1731, tells us that the Algerine ambassadors
visited him, and at their request he skewed them a view of Algiers, ' and raised
up all apple-tree
which bore ripe apples in less than a minute's time, which several of the
company tasted of.'
There was abundance of other shows to gratify the great
British public; wild beasts, monsters, learned pigs, dwarfs, giants, et hoc
genius Quite abounded.
'A prodigious monster' is advertised, 'with one head and two distinct bodies;'
and 'An admirable work of nature, a woman having three breasts.' Then there was
to be seen, 'A child
alive, about a year and a half old, that has three legs.' It appears that
nobility and even royalty patronised these sights, thus ' The tall Essex woman,'
in the reign of George I,
'had the honour to show herself before their Royal Highnesses the Prince and
Princess of Wales, and the rest of the royal family, last Bartholomew Fair.' A
distinguished visitor is
seen in our last engraving decorated with the ribbon and star of the Garter. The
figure is by some supposed to represent the premier, Sir Robert Walpole, who was
a frequent visitor
to the fair; his attention is directed to Faux's booth by an attendant; but
these figures may be intended to depict the Prince of Wales, who visited the
fair in company with Rich,
the manager and actor, who did duty as cicerone on the occasion.
The licence and riot which characterised the proceedings in
Smithfield, at last aroused the civic authorities, and after much rioting and
many ineffectual
attempts, the fair was again limited to three days' duration, by a resolution of
the court of common council in 1708. The theatrical booths were still important
features in the
fair, and in 1715, we hear of ' one great playhouse erected for the king's
players�the booth is the largest that ever was built.' During the run of the
Beggar's Opera, it was
reproduced by Rayner and Pullen's company at the fair. In 1728, Lee and Harper
produced a ballad-opera on the adventures of Jack Sheppard, and in 1730, another
devoted to the
popular hero�Robin Hood. Dramatic entertainments ultimately declined, but
monstrosities never failed, and gratified the Londoners to the last day of the
existence of the fair. Pig
faced ladies were advertised, if not seen; but learned pigs were never wanting,
who could do sums in arithmetic, tell fortunes by cards, &c. Wild-beast
shows ended in being the
principal attraction, though they were the most expensive exhibitions in the
fair; a shilling being charged for admission.
The mayor endeavoured to stem the irregularities of the fair
in 1769, by appointing seventy-two officers to keep the peace and prevent
gambling, as well as
to hinder the performance of plays and puppet-shows. In 1776, the mayor refused
per-mission to erect booths at all, which occasioned great rioting. Some years
before this, the
deputy-marshal lost his life in endeavouring to enforce order in the fair. The
most dangerous rioters were a body of blackguards, who termed themselves ' Lady
Holland's Mob,' and
assembled to proclaim the fair after their own fashion, the night before the
mayor did so. Hone says, 'the year 1822 was the last year wherein they appeared
in any alarming force,
and then the inmates of the houses they assailed, or before which they paraded,
were aroused and kept in terror by their violence. In Skinner Street especially,
they rioted
undisturbed until between three and four in the morning: at one period that
morning, their number was not less than five thousand, but it varied as parties
went off or came in to
and from the assault of other places. Their force was so overwhelming, that the
patrol and watchmen feared to interfere, and the riot continued till they had
exhausted their fury.'
The last royal visit to the fair took place in 1778, when the
Duke and Duchess of Gloucester rode through it. Flockton's puppets were at this
time a great
attraction. Mr. Lane, 'his majesty's conjuror,' and Mr. Robinson, 'conjuror to
the queen,' divided the attention of amateurs of their art. Mite's 'Grand
collection of wild beasts'
were brought from Exeter Change; 'The famous ram with six legs," The
unicorn ram,' 'The performing serpents,' and other wonders in natural history,
also invited visitors; as well
as ' A surprising large fish,' affirmed to have 'had in her belly, when found,
one thousand seven hundred mackerel.'
When Hone visited the fair in 1825, he saw, in a penny-show,
the mermaid which had been exhibited about a year before in Piccadilly, at the
charge of
half-a-crown each person. This imposture was a hideous combination of a dried
monkey's head and body, and the tail of a fish, believed to have been
manufactured on the coast of
China, and exhibited as the product of the seas there. George Cruikshank has
preserved its features, and we are tempted to reproduce his spirited etching.
'A mare with seven feet' was a lusus naturae also then
exhibited, giants and dwarfs of course abounded, as they ever do at fairs!
Atkin's and Wombwell's menageries were the
great shows of the fair in its expiring glory. They still
charged the high price of one shilling admission. Richardson's theatre was the
only successful rival in price and popularity�here was a charge of boxes 2s.,
pit ls., gallery 6d.;
but the deluded exclusives who paid for box or pit seats, found on entering only
a steep row of planks elevated above each other in front of the stage, without
any distinction of
parties, or anything to prevent those on the top row from falling between the
supports to the bottom!
|
The Spotted Boy
|
Here, in the course of a quarter of an hour, a melodrama,
with a ghost and several murders�a comic song by way of interlude, and a
pantomime�were all got
through to admiring and crowded audiences; by which the manager died rich.
Richardson was also proprietor of another 'show' in the fair; this was 'The
beautiful spotted negro boy,'
a child whose skin was naturally mottled with black, and whose form has been
carefully delineated in a good engraving, here copied.
He was a child of amiable manners, much attached to
Richardson, who behaved with great kindness toward him; consequently both of
them were in high favour
with the public. He was the last of the great natural curiosities exhibited
there, for the fair gradually dwindled to death, opposed by the civic
authorities and all decent people.
It was at one time resolved to refuse all permission to remove stones from
pavement or roadway, for the erection of booths; but the showmen evaded the
restriction by sticking their
poles in large and heavy tubs of earth. Then high ground-rents were fixed, which
proved more effectual; and in 1850, when the mayor went as usual to
Clothfair-gate to proclaim the
opening of the fair, he found nothing awaiting to make it worth that trouble. No
mayor went after, and until 1855, the year of its suppression, the proclamation
was read by a
deputy.
