Friday, 4 April 2014

The Opening of London's First Circus

There is little I like more than passing a few hours of entertainment and as a lady with a love for equestrianism, it is a pleasure to share the tale of the estimable Philip Astley and his hugely popular circus, which opened on 4th April 1768. Astley had spent many years in the 15th Light Dragoons and during the military career that eventually saw him attain the rank of Sergeant Major, he honed and perfected his riding skills, discovering a natural affinity with horses.


Philip Astley


Astley was a soldier, horseman and born businessman to boot. Once he retired from the army he established himself as a riding instructor and entertainer, performing shows of trick riding in a small outdoor enclosure he established in Lambeth. The former cavalry officer soon had audiences flocking to watch the astounding equestrian displays and it wasn't long before he employed clowns to entertain the audiences in between equestrian displays. He has the honour of being the first man to bring together a variety of acts in an arena, thus creating the modern circus. With Astley's becoming something of a hot ticket, the circus extended its opening hours into the evenings and crowds thrilled to fireworks, pantomime, music and all manner of entertainments.


Exterior view (1777) of the Amphitheatre of Astley's circus by Charles John Smith after William Capon
Exterior view (1777) of the Amphitheatre of Astley's circus by Charles John Smith after William Capon

By 1770 demand for tickets to Astley's shows far outstripped capacity and he moved the circus to Westminster Bridge, adding a broad range of other acts such as acrobats, musicians and even performing dogs. With circus shows taking place in the afternoon and evening, in the morning Astley continued to run his successful riding school. As the circus grew so too did Astley begin to reap the financial rewards and as new circuses began to spring up, he invested greatly in his business. The open air amphitheatre eventually gained proper audience seating and a roof, with Astley grandly christening it the Royal Amphitheatre. 


Astley's Ampitheatre in London as drawn by Thomas Rowlandson and Augustus Pugin for Ackermann's Microcosm of London (1808-11)
Astley's Ampitheatre in London by Thomas Rowlandson and Augustus Pugin for Ackermann's Microcosm of London (1808-11)

The showman enjoyed enormous success in England and opened further venues throughout the country before shifting his attention to France. Louis XV adored him and invited the circus to perform at Versailles for the court where Marie Antoinette herself was charmed by the entertainments. Perhaps most important of all, he understood the importance of giving the audience what they wanted; by observing spectators at his own establishment, at street entertainments and in the theatre he was able to identify what it was that the public enjoyed and his shows constantly evolved to reflect this. Performers travelled from across the world to join the show

Surviving against rivals, fires and social change, it was time that eventually defeated Astley's; the amphitheatre that had once been the toast of the town was demolished in 1893 and no trace of it remains today.

Thursday, 3 April 2014

A Most Singular Doctor: John Abernethy FRS

John Abernethy FRS (London, England, 3rd April 1764 – London, England, 20th April 1831)


John Abernethy engraved by John Cochran after Thomas Lawrence
John Abernethy FRS engraved by John Cochran after Sir Thomas Lawrence 

We have met a fair few medical types here at the salon, often courtesy of my charming Edinburgh friend, the estimable Dr Dillingham. As we enjoyed tea and watched the world pass by I asked the good doctor if he might have another tale to tell and he shared the story of John Abernethy, a most singular sort of chap.

Born the son of successful merchant, Abernethy enjoyed a good education at Wolverhampton Grammar School and decided early in his life that he intended to follow a career in medicine. Aged just 15 he won the position of apprentice to Sir Charles Blicke and assisted his surgeries at St Bartholomew's Hospital. A dedicated and driven young man, he attended lectures and demonstrations given by our old friend, Percivall Pott and when Blicke succeeded Pott as surgeon of St Bartholomew's in 1787, Abernethy was named assistant-surgeon. He married Anne Threlfall in 1800, by now a pillar of St Bartholomew's, where he would remain for nearly three decades.

Abernethy became known for the quality of his medical lectures and soon he had to give up his plans to host them in his own home as the demand far outstripped capacity. Instead, the governors of St Bartholomew's built a lecture theatre for Abernethy's use and he became the founder of the hospital's famed medical school. Although noted as a medical educationalist, he was less famed as a surgeon than Blicke or Pott though he did succeed Blicke as surgeon in 1815.

Abernethy was utterly outraged to discover in 1824 that his lectures had been published in The Lancet by Thomas Wakley, who had not sought the surgeon's permission. Wakley responded that his sharing of the lecture content was a democratic move and would prevent medical knowledge being disseminated only among an academic elite. The furious Abernethy attempted to bring the matter to court but his case was rejected, an occurrence he never accepted.

However, there was another side to Abernethy and he became known for his rigid and strongly-held opinions. He taught from his own book, Surgical Observations on the Constitutional Origin and Treatment of Local Diseases, and countenanced no contradiction, dryly deriding any who questioned him and making occasionally influential enemies. The irascible surgeon did not trouble himself with developing a bedside manner and treated his patients with the same brusque approach that he brought to his students and colleagues. 

Despite or perhaps because of these eccentricities, Abernethy became famed in London. He amassed a small fortune thanks to an appointment book full of extremely wealthy patients who would travel from as far as Scotland to attend his surgery. Abernethy retired in 1827 as a result of failing health and died at home four years later.

Wednesday, 2 April 2014

Wilhelmine Reichard, An Intrepid Lady of Aviation

Wilhelmine Reichard (née Johanne Wilhelmine Siegmundine Schmidt; Brunswick, Germany, 2nd April 1788 - Döhlen, Germany, 22nd February 1848)


Wilhelmine Reichart by Adolph Friedrich Kunike, 1820
Wilhelmine Reichard by Adolph Friedrich Kunike, 1820

If you are a regular visitor to the salon, you will know that I have told stories of intrepid balloonists before; we Georgians loved the thought of flying high above the rabble as we pushed the boundaries of travel and rising up towards the clouds was a most exiting development in transport! From my grandmother Gilflurt's tale of the Montgolfier brothers, to the first parachute descent and the story of a most adventurous lady, Jeanne Garnerin, the glorious long 18th century was full of ground-breaking aviators and today's guest is another fearless flyer.

Nicknamed Minna, the girl who would one day take to the skies was born the daughter of a Brunswick butler. An intelligent and adventurous girl, at the age of 19 she married Professor of Physics Johann Gottfried Reichard and the happy couple welcomed the first of their eight children to the world that same year. From the start the couple shared a fascination for ballooning and when they settled in 1810, they dedicated themselves to building a gas balloon in which Johann would make his maiden flight. By the end of the year Johann and Minna were making balloon ascents together and were constantly researching and working to improve their creations.

On 16 April 1811, Minna made her first solo flight. In her gas-powered balloon she rose high above Berlin, peaking at 16,000 feet before making a safe landing. More uneventful flights followed and the couple became celebrated throughout Europe for their adventurous nature and scientific observations. Though the balloonists experienced occasional crash landings when flying together, Minna was to experience a serious accident during a solo ascent though the lucky aviatrix lived to tell the tale.

As well as carrying out chemical experiments with Johann, Minna was a keen meteorologist and eventually rose higher and higher in the balloon as she conducted her observations. On one trip she rose to over 20,000 feet and was overcome by the effects of altitude, losing consciousness. The balloon split and she plummeted down to earth, surviving only because the basket became stuck in a canopy of trees. The intrepid lady was badly injured and was helped to safety by local farm workers; as a result she would not fly again for several years but Minna spent her recuperation in further research, dedicating herself to chemistry.

Despite this incident, Minna was not deterred and took to the air again, this time with the aim of raising enough money to support her husband's planned purchase of a chemical factory in Döhlen. The Reichards toured Europe and enjoyed no small measure of celebrity; they achieved her aims and retired from flight in 1820, with the hard-earned factory opening the following year. Minna now became a woman of business and with her husband ran the factory, becoming its sole manager following his death in 1844 and remaining in the post until her own death from a stroke four years later.

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

Charles II August, Duke of Zweibrücken: A Man in Search of Territory

Charles II August, Duke of Zweibrücken (Düsseldorf, Germany, 29th October 1746 - Mannheim, Germany, 1st April 1795)


Charles II August, Duke of Zweibrücken


My rakish Colonial gentleman is a great fan of marking 1st April with hilarious pranks and wheezes, but today's salon guest is a rather more serious gentleman. Charles II August, Duke of Zweibrücken did not always enjoy the best of luck and dynastic wrangling kept the Duke from following his heart, whilst political scheming foiled his plans for territorial expansion.

Charles was born into an illustrious family as the son of Frederick Michael of Zweibrücken-Birkenfeld and Maria Franziska of Sulzbach; as the first of five children, he would one day count monarchs amongst his siblings. Despite the fine titles of his family, Charles was not a particularly senior figure amongst European nobles and this would prove to be the barrier that would eventually stand between him and the woman who stole his heart.

At the age of 22, Charles fell in love with Archduchess Marie Amalie, daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor, Francis I and his wife, Maria Theresa. Although he was popular at court and the young Archduchess longed to be his wife, the Empress had other ideas. She decided that the young man was simply not of a grand enough rank to marry her daughter. On top of that, she had already laid plans to marry Marie Amalie into the Bourbon dynasty and her love for Charles would not be allowed to get in the way of such a valuable political match.

Eventually and despite the wishes of the intended bride, the Archduchess was married to Ferdinand, Duke of Parma. Neither she nor Charles ever really forgave the Empress for insisting upon the marriage and, with his true love wed to another, Charles looked elsewhere for a bride. In 1774 he married his sister in law, Princess Maria Amalia of Saxony, and the couple had just one son, who he did not survive to adulthood.

The year after his marriage, Charles inherited the title of Duke of Zweibrücken, but lands which he stood to one day inherit looked likely to evade his grip as elsewhere in Europe, other rules were looking to make territorial changes. 

When Maximilian III Joseph, Elector of Bavaria, died in 1778, his cousin, Charles Theodore, was next in line to the title and immediately set about attempting to broker territorial exchanges with Emperor Joseph, including his Bavarian territories. Charles was furious as he was expecting to inherit these Bavarian lands in time and to press his point, he marshaled the support of other monarchs in support of his claim. The territorial disputes were eventually at the heart to the War of the Bavarian Succession, in which Charles Theodore prevailed. In 1784 Charles once again attempted to oppose a territorial exchange but once again failed.

As fate would have it, Charles predeceased Charles Theodore and so would never have inherited the territories in question anyway. Instead, they eventually went to his brother and the next holder of the title, Duke of Zweibrücken, Maximilian Joseph.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

Pen and Sword
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Book Depository (free worldwide shipping)