Georgian Gentleman

When I did a blog on Philip Astley, and the popularity of the circus in the latter half of George III’s reign, it produced an interesting response from Pietro Micheli. He wanted to know if I had any ephemera relating to Eighteenth Century conjurers, in particular one called Breslaw. It wasn’t a name I had come across and as Pietro has written a book on the subject of conjurers and magicians (entitled “They lived by Tricks” I suggested he did a guest blog for me.

By way of background: Philip Breslaw is believed to have been born into a Jewish family near Berlin in 1726. Some reports suggest that he died in 1783, but there are various different dates attributed to him and Pietro gives the date of death as 1803. When he was in his early-thirties (around 1759) Breslaw came to live in England. There are records that he was performing in Ireland in 1767.  There were few business openings for Jewish immigrants in Britain at that time – it was difficult for them to get apprenticeships or open business premises, and Breslaw became a travelling magician, with an act which contained tricks with cards, watches, rings and so on. At that time being a travelling entertainer was considered only one up from vagrancy, yet in the course of his career Breslaw managed to raise it to something far more respectable and popular. He in effect developed the role of the impresario, heralding in the birth of the Music Hall the following century.

In his early days he was playing in taverns, but by 1771 was performing in rooms at London’s Haymarket. Breslaw is believed to have been one of the first eminent figures of the era to have explored the field of mind reading and thought transmission, most likely drawing inspiration from the French conjurer Comus. He would have relied on verbal codes (and possibly physical gestures) given by a stooge or confederate.

Pietro explains an interesting conflict between Breslaw and Philip Astley, especially concerning Astley’s trick with his “Little Military Learned Horse”. Sometimes also called ‘Little Conjuring Horse’ Astley claimed the horse could “count, could turn a gold watch into an orange, and an orange into a living bird” and was obviously treading on Breslaw’s toes in what he regarded as “his territory” – conjuring and mind reading.

Pietro explains:

“In June 1772 Breslaw was presenting his sleight-of-hand shows in London, at his Exhibition Room in Cockspur-Street. Some of his newspaper advertisements and playbills contained an abrasive – however indirect – mention of his opponent Philip Astley (1742 – 1814), referring to him as the “Hobby-Horse Rider, or pretended conjuror, at the foot of Westminster Bridge”.

Astley was primarily a brilliant rider and showman and he was also trying to compete with the growing number of conjurers who were working in London : he extended his act by making forays into the territory of the magician/conjurer, taking advantage of the fact that it was very much in vogue thanks to people like Breslaw. In 1785 Astley had published a book called “Natural magic: or physical amusements revealed”.

Astley saw Breslaw as a rival. The antagonism between the two was unforgiving: having been denigrated as a “hobby-horse rider”, the equestrian publicized his “little learned military horse” as being able to equal if not surpass all the present conjurors and to exhibit every trick, “the town of Breslaw not excepted”, clearly aiming – using a pun – at the Prussian performer. The animosity between the two apparently led a few inquisitive gentlemen to see, and test, the abilities of Astley’s much publicized Little Military Learned Horse at Westminster-bridge. Evidently, these spectators were not satisfied with the results and, sensing that the whole thing was but hot air, proposed to toss the puffer in a blanket. Afterwards, they seemingly advised Breslaw not to pay much attention to the rider’s claims.

Equestrian figure from Astley handbill

At the same time, Astley published an article in a local journal hinting at a previous incident that occurred to Breslaw during one of his performances in Cambridge, where the Prussian magician apparently had been tossed in a blanket for his vulgarity demonstrated towards female spectators. Then, Astley, distancing himself from the conjurer, underlined that he, on the contrary, had never been punished for such improper acts.

What did Breslaw do to the ladies in Cambridge? Probably, we will never know exactly, but we can guess what the matter was about reading this extract of a letter dated 9 November 1771 and cited in “The Virginia Gazette”, 13 February 1772:

“Last night we had a new exhibition: One Breslau, who shows slight [sic] of hand, came here, and in his performances he gave a piece of paper to three ladies to read, the only three in the room. As soon as they looked at it, they rose; and without speaking, left the place. The gentlemen of the University, immediately guessing that there must be something very gross in what was given them to read, in revenge of the insult tossed the conjurer in a blanket.”

In 1784 a book was published entitled ‘Breslaw’s Last Legacy; Or the Magical Companion: Containing All that is Curious, Pleasing, Entertaining, and Comical; … Including the Various Exhibitions of Those Wonderful Artists: Breslaw, Sieur Comus, Jonas, &c. … With an Accurate Description of the Method how to Make the Air Balloon’. Rather than being written by Breslaw, Pietro is almost certain that it was simply seeking to cash in on the Breslaw name, and was a re-hash of earlier material. It did however become very popular and original copies of the book sell for large sums. One in January is being offered at auction with a guide price of $2200. A check on Amazon shows that re-prints are still being produced.

The Biographical Dictionary of Actors Actresses and Musicians refers to a playbill in the Finsbury Public Library dated 4th June 1781 advising the public that at Breslaw’s Great Room in Cornhill “Miss Rosomond, a young lady about 9 years of age, will deliver a satirical lecture …” Another describing ‘Breslaw’s Italian troupe’ at ‘Merchants Hall Bristol beginning 16th October 1775’ had a Sieur Romaldo on the bill, who offered bird imitations. Another gives the list of birds imitated on stage by these supporting acts: finch, goldfinch, canary, skylark, blackbird linnet, robin, thrush, crow and of course the nightingale, whereupon the performer would oblige “the above birds” to obey his call and “on his imitation of the last bird all the birds will fly around the stage”. Sounds like chaos!

Some of the tricks apparently performed by Breslaw give an interesting insight into the work of 18th century illusionists. Pietro gives us the following:

1.     To make an egg jump out of any person’s pocket into a box on the table, and back again;

2.     To make a piece of money fly out of one handkerchief into another, at one yard distance;

3.     To replicate  any word (unseen) which another person has written in another room;

4.     To make a living bird fly out of a fresh egg;

5.     To change a card under any person’s hand, at two yards distance;

6.      To make a ring hang in the air, over a table, for several minutes by itself

Breslaw had his detractors. From “A Full detection and explanation of all the delusive tricks performed by Mr Breslau” printed in Dublin in 1767 we have some idea of his alleged repertoire – getting a piece of gold to jump from one hand to the other; borrowing a ladies ruffle or handkerchief and appearing to cut in in pieces and setting fire to the fabric, only to produce the item undamaged; exchanging an orange for a dove inside a hat (described as ‘a poor low trick which is equally as well performed by every puppet-show man in the country of Ireland’); and somewhat bizarrely, producing a freshly made pancake, still hot, from the inside of a man’s hat!

It looks as though the ‘detection and explanation’ was written by a rival determined to denigrate Breslaw, no doubt jealous of his huge success.

I am most grateful to Pietro for introducing me to this extraordinary man, and for providing me with much of the material for this post.

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As a post-script for those who have asked about the practice of tossing in a blanket – here is a detail from a caricature by Richard Newton dated 1795:

I confess that I had never heard of a card game called Pope Joan until I came across a picture of a papier mache bowl (offered for sale at auction by Skinners). They described it as being late 19th Century – I would have guessed somewhat earlier, perhaps Regency.

A quick search on google reveals a couple of similar bowls – this one a tinware glazed bowl made some time between 1750 and 1770 (shown courtesy of the British Museum).

There is also another late Georgian one shown here, courtesy of the Graphic Arts Collection, Princeton University Library.

So who, what and why Pope Joan? Apparently stories started circulating in the 1300′s to the effect that around 900 A.D. there had been a female pontiff, who lived her life disguised as a man.

A print showing Pope Joan giving birth, courtesy of the British Museum (c. 1353).

Her cover was blown when she very publicly gave birth to a child while crossing the Via Sacra between the Coliseum and  St Clement’s Church in Rome. Pope John VIII (as she was known) was apparently deposed (or is that de-poped?) and a lovely story suggests that subsequent pontiffs had to undergo a rather intimate examination by a selected Cardinal who would then sing out  ”Duos habet et bene pendentes” (“He has two, and they dangle nicely”).

All such scurrilous stories would have been enjoyed  in the Eighteenth Century, a time when anti-Papist feelings ran strong. The name was  given to a card game which became extremely popular in the second half of the century. Played for money it was a game for up to eight players and apart from the staking board shown above, it involved a pack of cards from which the eight of diamonds had been removed. The dealer would start by ‘dressing the board’ – that is to say by placing six counters in the compartment marked ‘Pope’ ( the nine of diamonds), two each in Matrimony and Intrigue, and one each in Ace, King, Queen, Jack and Game.

The cards are dealt with a dummy hand and trumps are selected by turning up the last card dealt. The aim of the game is to win counters by playing cards that correspond to the labeled compartments, and to be the first to run out of cards.

The actual rules are set out more fully here but a summary from that site gives us the following:

The player to the dealers left leads by playing the lowest card he has of any suit he chooses (Ace is low). Whoever holds the next higher card of the same suit plays it next. This continues until no one is able to play and the sequence is stopped. A stop is any King, or any card that no one can follow. Whoever plays a stop card continues the game by playing the lowest card they have of any suit they choose.

Whoever plays the Ace, King, Queen or Jack of trumps, or “Pope”, wins the counters in the appropriate compartment. Anyone playing both Jack and Queen of trumps in succession wins the contents of “Intrigue”.

The first player to play all their cards wins the counters in Game, and also one counter from each player for each card they hold in their hand, except the holder of the unplayed “Pope” card, who is exempted from this payment.

A game consists of several rounds. Unclaimed counters are carried forward to the next deal. It is possible for the “Matrimony” and “Intrigue” compartments to build up large quantities of counters.

The significance of ‘stop cards’ (that is to say the King, or any card which no player can follow e.g. because it is hidden in the dummy hand) is shown by this cartoon by Charles Williams dated  November 1805 (at a time when an invasion by the forces of Napoleon was considered imminent). The lady on the left asks her companion “Whom in your opinion are the happiest couple in England?” and gets the response “The King and Queen Madam, and that’s a stop”

The couple in the middle:  “And do you really think, Major, that Bonaparte means to attempt an Invasion? – pray what is your opinion of him.” To which the answer is given, “A knave Ma’am, and that’s a stop.”

Then on the right a question to the gout-ridden gentleman in his wheel chair: “What unfortunate old lady was that you mentioned just now Mr Spintext?” leading to the response “The Pope, Madam,and I clear the table”

I cannot finish without this lovely cartoon by James Gillray  published in 1796 and entitled ”Lady Godina’s rout; – or – Peeping-Tom spying out Pope-Joan”

According to the National Portrait Gallery  the caricature refers to Lady Georgiana Gordon (1781–1853), who became Duchess of Bedford in 1803.  The title and the lecherous servant refer to Lady Godiva. Pope-Joan is the card game being played by those assembled; Lady “Godina” is holding the nine of diamonds, which is known as”Pope”. The man sitting on Lady “Godina”‘s right is John Sneyd (1763–1835); the fat woman sitting on her left is Albinia, Countess of Buckinghamshire (died 1816).

January 24th marks the birthday of Carlo Broschi, one of the most famous of the 18th Century curiosities, the castrati. He was born on this day in 1705 near Naples. Like several thousand poor Italian boys each year, he was castrated in the hope that this would preserve his high-pitched singing voice. But unlike so many of his fellow-eunuchs, he did become a singing sensation, and did become rich and famous. He adopted the name Farinelli, supposedly after an Italian magistrate who possibly acted as patron, and made his first public singing appearance in 1720. Two years later he made a sensational debut in Rome, apparently out-performing a leading trumpeter (for whom  the composer Nicola Porpora had written an obbligato) by holding and swelling a note of prodigious length, purity and power. Not only did he out-blast the trumpeter but added his own variations, roulades and trills which left the audience enraptured.

He went on to wow Venice, Vienna and Milan and in 1734 arrived in London, where Handel had established the Royal Academy of Music at a theatre in the Haymarket with the castrato Senesino as lead male singer. Senesino had been on a reported salary of some two thousand guineas – a vast sum of money. Handel and Senesino were constantly at loggerheads and when Senesino went off and set up a rival company known as the Opera of the Nobility in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, it was here that Farinelli performed. He was a stunning success and was showered with expensive gifts and awarded a salary of 1500 guineas per annum. But one season’s meteor was the next season’s damp squib, and his popularity started to wane to the extent that when he received a summons to go and visit the Spanish court in 1737 he did so with alacrity. On his way he stopped off to sing for Louis XV, being rewarded with a large pile of money and his portrait framed with diamonds. He arrived in Madrid in August 1737, expecting to stay a few months, but remained for nearly a quarter of a century…

The court of King Philip V must have been a strange place – the King suffered from extreme melancholia and it was hoped that Farinelli’s exquisite voice would drive away the sadness. And so he sang, night after night, the same songs over and over again, until the old king died nine years later. This was not the end of Farinelli’s influence – far from it. The new king was Philip’s son, Ferdinand VI. He too required an exclusive access to the voice of Farinelli (who never sang in public again) and would accompany him on the harpsichord while Farinelli sang duets with  the Queen. He was  a close personal friend of them both and was made Knight of the Order of Calatrava in 1750, an honour of which he was inordinately proud. With the honours came power and influence (some have described him as being de facto prime minister, although he does not appear to have meddled in politics). Nevertheless he was extremely influential and it must have been a huge blow when Ferdinand died in 1759 and was succeeded by his decidedly non-musical half-brother. Farinelli stayed long enough to pick up a decent pension, then packed his bags and went back to Italy. He lived in considerable wealth but increasing loneliness at Bologna until his death  in 1782. His estate include art works by Velázquez and Murillo as well as a violin crafted by Stradivarius and a number of exquisite harpsichords and early pianos.

The castrati remained popular throughout the 1700′s, but fashions changed in the following century and they went out of favour. It is said that the effect of ‘the snip’ was to make the castrati not just long-lived (and hirsute!) but also altered their musculature so that they ended up extremely tall and with extended ribs and hence a huge lung capacity. This is what gave them the ability to hold a note for so long. The practice of castrating young boys for this purpose was banned in Italy in 1870, and the singing role in arias etc has been taken over by mezzo-sopranos or countertenors. Somehow baroque music will never sound the same again – poor Handel would be turning in his grave.

It is interesting to see how many of the key names and traditions of modern horse racing date back to the second half of the eighteenth century. Think Jockey Club (founded 1750); think Tattersall’s (bloodstock auctioneers, founded by Richard Tattersall with headquarters off Hyde Park in 1766) ; think thoroughbred stud books (John Weatherby produced the first one in 1791 and it has been maintained ever since by the Weatherby family/company, meticulously recording every thoroughbred birth in England and Ireland). Add to these the fact that the Oaks was first raced in 1779 and the Derby in 1780.

The period also saw the introduction of racing colours, known now as silks, in 1762. Their use was adopted by the Jockey Club with the record as follows:

“For the greater conveniency of distinguishing the horses running, as also for the prevention of disputes
arising from not knowing the colours worn by each rider, the underwritten gentlemen have come to the resolution and agreement of having the colours annexed to the following names, worn by their respective riders: The stewards therefore hope, in the name of the Jockey Club, that the named gentlemen will take care that the riders be provided with dresses accordingly”

Nineteen owners were listed: seven Dukes, one Marquis, four Earls. one Viscount, one Lord, two Baronets, and three commoners.
The Duke of Cumberland chose: “purple”
The Duke of Grafton chose: “sky blue”
The Duke of Devonshire chose: “straw”
The Duke of Northumberland chose: “yellow”
The Duke of Kingston chose “crimson”
The Duke of Ancaster chose: “buff”
The Duke of Bridgewater chose: “garter blue”
The Earl of Waldegrave chose: “deep red”
The Earl of Oxford chose: “purple and white”
The Earl of March chose: “white”
The Earl of Gower chose: “blue”
Viscount Bolingbroke chose: “black”
Lord Grosvenor chose: “orange”
Sir John Moore chose: “darkest green”
Sir James Lowther chose: “orange”
Mr. R. Vernon chose: “white”
The Hon. Mr. Greville chose “brown trimmed with yellow”
Mr. Jenison Shafto chose: “pink”

Sir J Lowther proved indecisive and failed to make his mind up in  time…

Originally, a black velvet huntsman’s cap was the only type used by the riders and was more or less associated with the colours listed above, but this gave way to caps varied in colour as we know them today.  Of those listed, one family have kept the same set of colours throughout the ensuing two and a half centuries – the Duke of Devonshire with his straw colours.

Both William Douglas (1725-1810) who later became known as ‘Old Q’ once he became the 4th Duke of Queensbury, and the Honourable Richard Vernon of Newmarket chose White. In fact ‘Old Q’ reverted to using his black and red racing colours for an astonishing 57 consecutive years of racing between 1748 and 1805. He was an infamous old roué but a great supporter of Racing and a devoted gambler. No mean amateur jockey himself, on one occasion his chosen jockey informed him that bookmakers were offering him money to throw a race. The Duke advised him to take the money – and then on the day of the race inspected his horse in the parade ring before announcing that it was such a fine horse that he would ride it himself – and promptly removed his great coat to reveal his red and black silks underneath. He won the race.

An all-black strip has been associated with some of the great names of the horse racing world – first with Viscount Bolingbroke. Frederick St John, 2nd Viscount Bolingbroke (1732-1787) kept a stable of some twenty racehorses. He owned several famous horses including Gimcrack, who was painted by George Stubbs with the jockey in black colours. He also owned the great racehorse (and later great stud) Highflyer – who was undefeated in fourteen race starts. Highflyer had to be sold during his racing career because Lord Bolingbroke had racked up a huge gambling debt. The purchaser, paying £2,500, was Richard Tattersall, who made at least £15,000 a year out of stud fees for the heroic animal (enough to pay for the building of a fine mansion for Tattersall, appropriately  called Highflyer Hall

Gimcrack on Newmarket Heath, painted by Stubbs in 1765

The black colours then passed to the Duke of Grafton before being adopted by the 9th Duke of Hamilton (1740 – 1819). Jockeys wearing his famous black silks won seven St Leger wins in the period between 1786 and 1814. A later all-black owner, John Bowes, won the Derby on no fewer than four occasions between 1835 and 1853.

In 1787 the then Lord Derby changed his colours from “green and white stripes” to the famous “black with white cap” which is still used by his successors today. Due to a superstition which followed Lord Derby’s Sansovino win in the 1924 Derby the jacket always has one white button amongst the black.

In 1799 the Grosvenor family dropped the all-orange and adopted “yellow with a black cap” colours which have been used by the Dukes of Westminster ever since.

For many years there was a free-for-all with horse owners choosing all manner of colours and combinations. Finally in 1971 the Jockey Club laid down a list of just 18 permitted colours. This means that in accordance with the rules of the International Federation of Horseracing Authorities there are 18 colours, 25 body designs, and 12 sleeve designs. This gives a huge number of permutations (Weatherby’s have over 19,000 combinations registered).Oddly you do not even have to own a horse to own a set of colours – some are bought as an investment – yes, there are people who buy ‘cherished’ colours as an alternative investment particularly if these have a particular historical connection. If any of the original ‘pure’ colours comes up for auction, expect to pay tens of thousands of pounds as with the plain emerald green strip sold in Ireland (for charity) in 1995. For a time these cherished colours were sold “under the counter” and so in 1996 the British Horseracing Board introduced a sale of currently unregistered colours. There were a dozen of them, and the sale fetched just under £130,000 with the highest figure (£28,750 ) going to a plain dark-blue set of silks. That is dwarfed by the £69,000 paid by stable owner John Fretwell for his plain lime-green colours or by the plain pink set bought by Mrs Sue Magnier. Mr Shafto, who had the registration for plain pink back in 1762, would have been amazed (and no, his jockeys didn’t wear silver buckles at their knees – that’s a different Shafto altogether…).

The Battenberg              The Chocolatier         

The Obama                     The Traffic Cone        

The Cruella de Vil                 The Lighthouse   

Pictures courtesy of the British Horse Racing  Authority site at http://www.britishhorseracing.com/goracing/racing/racingcolours/default.asp  showing racing silks supplied by Allerton & Co.