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Archive for the ‘Regency Life’ Category

In Chapter 54 of Emma, Mr. Knightley explains how Robert Martin became engaged to Harriet Smith. In his talk with Emma, Mr. Knightley mentions Astley’s, the wildly successful amphitheatre in London:  “It is a very simple story. [Robert Martin] went to town on business three days ago, and I got him to take charge of some papers which I was wanting to send to John.—He delivered these papers to John, at his chambers, and was asked by him to join their party the same evening to Astley’s. They were going to take the two eldest boys to Astley’s. The party was to be our brother and sister, Henry, John—and Miss Smith. My friend Robert could not resist.”

Philip Astley ( 1742 – 1814) is regarded as the father of the modern circus. At the age of 9,  young Philip became apprenticed to his father, a cabinet maker. But the young boy had another, more compelling love: horses. At seventeen young Philip joined Colonel Eliott’s Fifteenth Light Dragoon Regiment, where he rose up in the ranks to become a Sergeant- Major.  He served in the French and Indian War and became a brilliant rider in the process.

Astley's Silhouette

While in the army, Astley came  into contact with professional trainers and horse riders and served as a horse breaker for his regiment.  After his discharge from the army in 1768, he and his wife began to exhibit their riding skills on a white steed in a field just outside of London, just south of the Thames near Westminster Bridge Road. A born showman, Astley’s bareback trick riding skills included picking up handkerchiefs from the ground while cantering, doing headstands on his saddle, and riding astride two horses while playing a pipe.  (Tracy Chevalier)

Trick rider

Astley learned that centrifugal force allowed him to maintain his balance while standing on the horse. The circular path around which his horse ran became the precursor of the foundation of the circus ring.*
astley's amphitheatre exterior view 1777 william caponA born showman, Astley combined his horsemanship on the “Little Military Learned Horse” with other entertainments. He scheduled clowns, ropewalkers and gymnasts in his mixed theatre, and soon added other acts, including a pig that could do sums, a strong man called Hercules, and even a horse that could perform card tricks and make a cup of tea (Tracy Chevalier). Between 1768 and 1773 Asley’s equestrian and theatical performances were wildly popular. Horace Walpole wrote in 1773:

London at this time of year [September] is as nauseous a drug as any in an apothecary’s shop. I could find nothing at all to do, and so went to Astley’s, which indeed was much beyond my expectation. I do not wonder any longer that Darius was chosen king by the instuction he gave to his horse; not that Caligula made his Consul. Astley can make his dance minuets and hornpipes. But I shall not have even Astley now; Her Majesty the Queen of France, who has as much taste as Caligula, has sent for the whole of the dramatics personae to Paris.

By 1774 Philip had turned his open air riding school into a permanent structure.  He was flouting the law, for he had no license. But he had taught the Lord Chancellor’s daughters to ride and was therefore allowed to continue.** The structure burned in a fire that year and reopened in 1795 as the Royal Grove. Another fire 1803  in prompted Astley to rebuild again. Now known as the Royal Amphitheatre, the great ring inside the building featured dramatics like the Blood-Red Knight, Fatal Bridge 1810; Battle of Waterloo 1824,  Buonaparte’s Invasion of Russia, and the Conflagration of Moscow 1825. Astley also took his popular circus to France. He would not open a new Amphitheatre there until after the Revolution, but when he was able to he  entered into an agreement with Antonio Franconi, the “business brains” behind the team.

astley's amphitheatre 1777

After the fire in 1803, Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre was rebuilt in the style of rival Charles Hughes’s Royal Circus. Astley’s new theatre was lavishly decorated by Scottish scene painter John Henderson Grieve and its stage was said to be the largest in London.
Battle of the Alma
Spectacular dramas were arranged by Andrew Ducrow, the new manager and one of Astley’s former riders. When this theatre burned down in June 1841, Ducrow was said to have died mad, grieving from the losses he sustained in the fire, including his old faithful servant who lost his life in the conflagration.

astleys
The interiors of Astley’s amphitheatres were designedwith a proscenium stage, a pit, and boxes and galleries for spectators. The pit was reserved for the rides, and soon became a standardized 43 feet in diameter, its circular enclosure surrounded by a painted four foot barrier. In Jane Austen’s day, the stage had become large enough to accommodate the spectacles of reenacted battles and galloping horses.  These dramatics were hugely popular with the crowd, who represented all walks of life.

astley's amphitheatre balconey audience

…with shame we confess, that we are far more delighted and amused with the audience, than with the pageantry we once so highly appreciated. We like to watch a regular Astley’s party in the Easter or Midsummer holidays – pa and ma, and nine or ten children, varying from five foot six to two foot eleven: from fourteen years of age to four. We had just taken our seat in one of the boxes, in the centre of the house, the other night, when the next was occupied by just such a party as we should have attempted to describe, had we depicted our BEAU IDEAL of a group of Astley’s visitors ……  The play began, and the interest of the little boys knew no bounds. Pa was clearly interested too, although he very unsuccessfully endeavoured to look as if he wasn’t. –Victorian London Entertainment and Recreation

By 1818, four years after Astley’s death, the adjustable proscenium could be increased from forty to sixty feet. The enormous stage accommodated galloping horses as well as carriages, and could be raised or lowered mechanically. Such a huge stage space was able to hold military extravaganzas that featured hundreds of soldiers and horses, and cannons as well.

Copper engraving of the theater with facade, published by Robert Wilkinson, London, 1815. Engraved by W. Wise after Geo. Jones.

Astley lived to the ripe age of 72. He died in Paris, Oct. 20th, 1814 and was buried at the Père Lachaise cemetery. Sadly, his grave is no longer visible and neither is his famous Amphitheatre, which finally closed in 1893 under different management and was demolished in 1895. During his lifetime, Astley is said to have built nineteen different theatres.

Philip Astley, c. 1800

More on the topic

* Philip Astley: Founder of the Modern-Day Circus by Timothy Sexton
**London and Its People: A Social History from Medieval Times to the Present Day, John Richardson ISBN-13: 978-0091808013
Astleys amphitheatre 1872 advert

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I await each January with joy, knowing that PBS Masterpiece Classic will return. Two years ago PBS concentrated on Jane Austen; last year, two Jane Austen film adaptations were featured; and this year we get to see not only the new adaptation of Emma, but reruns of Persuasion and Northanger Abbey as well. Viewers are also treated to Return to Cranford, the sequel to Cranford, last year’s runaway BBC and PBS hit. Reprising their recurring roles are the stellar actors who represent Cranford’s spinsters and widows and other denizens of this quaint Victorian town. And then we are treated to new characters, each with stories of their own.

Even as I reveled in watching the first new installment of this sequel, I found some of the new stories a tad too familiar and I could not help but shake off a vague sense of disappointment. This feeling was similar to having visited a new vacation spot for the first time. You and your family love the experience so much, you eagerly plan a return. But during the second trip , you feel a slight let down. The wonder and discovery are gone, replaced with  a sense of déjà vu and sameness. You find yourself going over old ground and repeating excursions that somehow don’t seem quite as satisfying as last time.

And so it is with Return of Cranford. All the elements of the original Cranford are still there – the Victorian town ruled by the rigid principles that are followed by a group of widows and spinsters who are set in their old-fashioned ways. The railroad still threatens the town’s placid existence, and the only person barring the line’s completion is Lady Ludlow, whose stubborn resistance is misplaced.

Francesca Annis, pale, gray and achingly beautiful, makes a short but memorable entrance and exit, as does handsome Greg Wise as Sir Charles Maulver, and Claudie Blakley as Martha, Miss Matty’s maid of all work.

New characters replace the old ones who have (sadly) moved on. The viewer is still treated to a story about star-crossed lovers (Tom Hiddleston as William Buxton and Jody Whittaker as Peggy Bell),  and an implacable father (Jonathan Pryce as Mr. Buxton) who stands in the way of their happiness. They must somehow overcome all obstacles to remain together. Part of the mystery of Return to Cranford is how they will achieve this.

Return to Cranford relies heavily on Judi Dench’s Miss Matty to keep the story threads together. While she was a pivotal character in Cranford, it was her sister Miss Deborah Jenkyns (Eileen Atkins), who was the backbone of Cranford’s widow and spinster society. Miss Deborah inspired steadfast loyalty to her unwavering convictions; Miss Matty, on the other hand, is much softer in character and a person that others want to protect. She has had to grow a strong backbone after her sister’s death, but she is still too easy a touch and has difficulty holding the small band of ‘The Amazons’ together. When hoity toity Mrs. Jamieson’s (Barbara Flynn’s) sister-in-law Lady Glenmire (Celia Imrie) comes to visit, Miss Matty and her cohort are given the sort of social snubbing that Miss Deborah would not have brooked for an instant.

Don’t get me wrong. I am still mad about Miss Matty, who is portrayed by the incomparable Judi Dench. And though her character is too weak to rule the town with the iron fist that her sister Deborah used, she’s become the town’s morally upright compass.

One of the main problems I found with episode one of Return to Cranford is the lack of real tension in the plot. This might be due to the fact that this adaptation was written largely by Heidi Thomas, not by master story teller Elizabeth Gaskell.  A dastardly character is introduced by way of Lady Ludlow’s wastrel son, Septimus (Rory Kinnear), but he is merely an unfeeling cad and shows up only long enough in the film to prove to us that Lady Ludlow had wasted her motherly affection (and money) on an unworthy son. His actions do not produce the tight-as-a-drum-tension that compels a viewer to keep watching a show or a reader to keep turning the pages. The train trip, in which Miss Matty convinces her friends to give the railroad a chance, does not provide much tension either, and the central love story between Peggy Bell and William Buxton seems like something that we have seen before.

Much of the quirky humor I delighted in with the first film is gone, although it was fun to see the ladies get tipsy as they warmed towards Lady Glenmire, and to see Miss Pole get her comeuppance as she makes a bird cage out of a French petticoat hoop frame for her parrot.

Episode Two gets much better. There’s real tension between Mr. Buxton and his son after William declares his love for Peggy Bell. Rather than honor his father’s wishes to find a more suitable wife, William decides to remain true to Peggy, make his own way in the world and work for the railroad until he has enough money to marry her.  The ladies of Cranford provide a funny backdrop to Lady Glenmire’s romance with Captain Brown. And we follow the fortunes of young Harry, who is torn between two worlds. He does not belong at boarding school and has good reasons for running away. A train accident, which kills poor Mrs Forrester’s cow and puts Harry’s life in danger, provides some true heart-wrenching moments. But all’s well that ends well. Miss Matty finds a satisfying way to unify the town, and the magic act of Senor Brunoni (Tim Curry in a funny role) was a fine (and wonderful) way to end the show and tie up loose story ends.

A friend who watched the show with me (and who did not see Cranford last year), found Return to Cranford delightful. So, I shall attribute my churlishness to a jaded palate and concede that Return is a delightful show, one worthy of viewing and certainly better than anything the competition on commercial television and cable tv have to offer. While my ranking of Cranford was five out of five stars, I rate this sequel a tad lower: four out of five stars.

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Ever wanted to listen to the music Jane Austen liked? Listen to a 30-minute podcast at this link. There are only four days left to listen Michelle Kerns from the Book Examiner writes:

BBC Radio 4, bless their souls, have put the recordings together with a spirited little commentary by David Owen Norris pondering on the music and Ms. Austen’s history along with Deirdre Le Fay (of Jane Austen Cookbook and multiple Austen biography fame; she reminds me irresistibly of Julia Child), pianist Samantha Curasca, and the lucky Austen inheritor himself, Richard Jenkins.

There are seven compositions featured in the broadcast, ranging from a suggestive little ditty about a maiden who sings all day and night to keep her lover playing his pipe (snort) to the toe-tapping “Bluebells of Scotland.” One song, written by Robbie Burns, Jane rewrote at the very end to make herself the song’s heroine: the original words, “the chains of his Jean” she changed to “the charms of his Jane.” Atta girl.

One charming piano piece, “Allegretto andantino,” is thought to be an original composition written by Ms. Austen herself. Others highlight Jane’s interest in show tunes and songs about the French Revolution, while still others — pages of nursery rhymes — demonstrate her devotion to her legion of young nieces and nephews.

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Inquiring reader: Recently I  had the pleasure of viewing Jane Austen’s letters in A Woman’s Wit: Jane Austen’s Life and Legacy, an exhibit showing at the Morgan Libraryin New York City until March 14th. My observations are those of a layman and amateur. Nevertheless, I thought I would share my impressions. As Janeites know, several years before Cassandra Austen’s death, she  ruthlessly censored Jane’s  letters. In this image, taken from the Morgan Library website, you can see that an entire portion of the letter  is missing. To the left of  the same letter, Jane drew the pattern of a piece of lace, writing, “My cloak is come home, and here is the pattern of its lace.”

Portion of autograph letter signed, dated Bath, 2 June 1799 to Cassandra Austen

I was struck by how finely some of the portions had been cut out. In one letter that Jane wrote in 1814, Cassandra snipped only a few words and the cut was so unobtrusive that at first I did not spot the missing area. The sentence began with “Edward is quite…” Then nothing. Only a sliver of a line with several additional words cut out. Did the phrase reflect negatively upon Edward or Jane or another member of the family? We shall never know.

Franking letters was expensive for Jane, whose yearly personal budget consisted of £50 or less. She followed the common practice of cross writing. I noted how straight her lines were, and how carefully she placed them between the blank spaces of the lines on the other side. The letter below shows both practices. The Morgan Library website features this letter and allows you to enlarge it. Scroll to the bottom and study it in more detail. Learn more about crossed letters and the paper Jane used in this link.

Letter to Godmersham

Jane’s letters were not always crossed, nor did she always use both sides of the paper. In this delightful example, written to her  niece, Cassandra, in the last year of her life, Jane takes care to keep a large amount of blank space around the lines. She also writes in a much larger script. Written entirely backwards with an unfaltering hand, the letter must have thrilled its young recipient.

It is estimated that Jane Austen wrote 3,000 letters in her lifetime. Of the 160 that remain, the Morgan Library has purchased 51.  Not all of the lettters in this exhibit were written to family members. In the image below, the letter on the left was written by the Prince Regent’s librarian, James Stanier Clarke, to Jane. To the right of it sits one of her letters to him. I was struck by the brown color of the ink, which in some letters was still strong and vigorous, and in others had faded to a pale, watery color. Jane used iron gall ink, an ink common in her era, which is initially blue-black and then fades to brown.

It is composed of tannin (gallic acid), iron sulfate (known as vitriol in the nineteenth-century), gum arabic, and water. Because it is indelible, it was used for official documents from the middle ages onward. The ink is easy to make, inexpensive, and can be transported as a powder and mixed whenever needed. When first applied to paper, the ink appears pale-gray; as it is exposed to air, the ink darkens to a rich blue-black tone. Eventually, most iron gall ink changes to a brown color, as is evident in Austen’s letters and manuscripts – Thaw Conservation Center.

To learn more about Jane’s letters in the exhibit, I urge you to click on the Morgan Library website and study the few images that are shared with the public. Sadly, the Morgan did not publish a catalog, and much of the information in the exhibit is available only to visitors. Click here to view images from the exhibit. Click here to read about the technicalities of letter writing in Jane Austen’s day.

More links about the exhibit:

More links on this blog about letter writing and the royal mail in Jane Austen’s day:

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Happy Christmas from Jane Austen’s World



Heap on more wood! — the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.
Each age has deemed the new born year
The fittest time for festal cheer.
And well our Christian sires of old.
Loved when the year its course had rolled,
And brought blithe Christmas back again,
With all his hospitable train.
Domestic and religious rite
Gave honour to the holy night:
On Christmas eve the bells were rung;
On Christmas eve the mass was sung;
That only night, in all the year,
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen;
The hail was dressed with holly green;
Forth to the wood did merry men go,
To gather in the mistletoe,
Then opened wide the baron’s hail
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;
Power laid his rod of rule aside,
And ceremony doff’d his pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner choose.
The lord, underogating, share
The vulgar game of “post and pair!”
All hailed with uncontroll’d delight
And general voice, the happy night
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of salvation down.
The fire with well dried logs supplied,
Went roaring up the chimney wide;
The huge hail table’s oaken face,
Scrubb’d till it shone, the day to grace,
Bore then upon: its massive board
No mark to part the squire and lord.
Then was brought in the lusty brawn,
By old, blue-coated serving-man;
Then the grim boar’s head frowned on high,
Crested with bays and rosemary.
Well can the green-garbed ranger tell,
How, when, and where, the monster fell;
What dogs before his death he tore,
And all the baiting of the boar.
The wassail round in good brown bowls,
Garnished with ribbon, blithely trowls.
There the huge sirloin reeked: hard by
Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;
Nor failed old Scotland to produce
At such high tide her savoury goose.
Then came the merry masquers in,
And carols roar’d with blithesome din;
If unmelodious was the song,
It was a hearty note, and strong.
Who lists may in their mumming see
Traces of ancient mystery;
White shirts supplied the masquerade,
And smutted cheeks the visor made
But oh! what masquers, richly dight,
Can boast of bosoms half so light!
England was merry England when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
’Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale,
’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft would cheer
A poor man’s heart through half the year.

Sir Walter Scott, 1808, from Marmion

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