Part 123
The printed description of these processions are usually entitled “_Triumphs_,” though they are more commonly called “_The London Pageants_,” all of them are scarce, and some of such extreme rarity, as to bear a price at the rate of two and three guineas a leaf. The description of sir Patience Ward’s show, on the 29th of October, 1680, composed by Thomas Jordan, is an interesting specimen of the setting out and pageantry of this procession. The lord mayor being of the livery of the merchant-tailors’ company, at seven o’clock in the morning, liverymen of the first rank, appointed to conduct the business of the day, assembled at merchant-tailors’ hall, to meet the masters, wardens, and assistants, in their gowns, faced with _foyns_, (the skin of the martin.) In the second rank, others in gowns faced with _budge_, (lambs’-skin, with the wool dressed outwards,) and livery-hoods. In the third rank, a number of foyns-bachelors, and forty budge-bachelors, both attired in scarlet hoods and gowns. Sixty gentlemen-ushers, in velvet coats and chains of gold, bearing white staves. Thirty more in plush and buff, bearing colours and banners. Thirty-six of the king’s trumpeters, with silver trumpets, headed by the serjeant-trumpeter, he wearing two scarfs, one the lord mayor’s, and the other the company’s colours. The king’s drum-major, followed by four of the king’s drums and fifes. Seven other drums and two fifes, wearing vests of buff, with black breeches and waste scarfs. Two city marshals on horseback, with attendants. The foot-marshal, with a rich broad shoulder-scarf, to put them in rank and file, attended by six others. The fence-master, with attendants, bearing bright broadswords drawn. Poor pensioners, with gowns and caps, bearing standards and banners. A troop of poor persons, in azure gowns and caps. One hundred more with javelins and targets, bearing the arms of their benefactors. Being all assembled, they are by the foot-marshal’s judgment, arranged into six divisions, ranked out by two and two. _The first division contains_ the ensigns of the company, followed by the poor company of pensioners. Four drums and one fife. Pensioners in coats as before described. Persons of worth, each bearing a standard or banner. Four trumpets. Two merchant-tailors’ ensigns, bearing their supporters and crest. Six gentlemen-ushers. The budge-bachelors, marching in measured order. _Second division._ Six trumpets. Two gentlemen, bearing the coats of arms of the city, and the merchant-tailors’ company. Eight gentlemen, wearing gold chains. The foyns-bachelors. _Third division._ Two gentlemen in velvet coats with banners. Ten gentlemen-ushers in coats and chains of gold, as before described. A large body of the livery in their gowns and livery-hoods, followed by “all lord mayors in the _potential mood_.” In their rear divers of the city trumpets. Two gentlemen bearing the arms of the city and the lord mayor. Gentlemen-ushers. The court of assistants. Four drums. Six trumpets. Three gallants, bearing the banners of the diadem. The king’s, queen’s, and city’s ensigns, attended by six gentlemen as pages. The masters and wardens of the merchant-tailors’ company. Thus formed, they march from merchant-tailors’ hall to the lord mayor’s house, where his lordship and the aldermen take horse, according to their degree, and the whole body proceed in state to Guildhall. Being met at the gate by the old lord mayor, and there attired with the gown, fur hood, and scarf, and guarded by knights, esquires, and gentlemen, they all march through King-street down to Three-Crane-wharf, where the lord mayor and aldermen, discharging some of the attendants, take barge at the west-end of the wharf; the court of assistants’ livery, and the best of the gentlemen-ushers taking barge at the east-end. The rest of the ushers, with the foyns and the budge-bachelors, remain ashore, with others, to await the return of his lordship, who proceeds with several city companies by water, and is rowed all along by the Strand to Westminster, a pleasure boat with great guns aboard saluting him on the way. At New Palace Stairs they disembark, and making a lane to the hall, the lord mayor passes along to take the oath and go through the usual ceremonies. These being completed, he makes a liberal donation to the poor of Westminster, reembarks with all his retinue, and being rowed back to Blackfriars Stairs, he lands there under beat of drum and a salute of three volleys from the artillery company in their martial ornaments, some in buff, with head-pieces, many being of massy silver. From Blackfriars they march before the lord mayor and aldermen through Cheapside to Guildhall. The pensioners and banners who went not to Westminster, being set in order to march, the foot-marshal in the rear of the artillery company, leads the way along by the channel up Ludgate-hill, through Ludgate, into St. Paul’s Churchyard, and so into Cheapside, where his lordship is entertained by the _first pageant_, consisting of a large stage with the coat armour of the merchant-tailors’ company, eminently erected, consisting of a large tent royal, _gules_, fringed and richly garnished, _or_, lined, faced, and doubled, _ermine_. This stage is winged or flanked by two other stages, bearing two excellent figures of lively carved camels, the supporters to the company’s coat. On the back of one camel, a black native Indian, in a golden robe, a purple mantle fringed with gold, pearl pendants in his ears, coronet of gold with feathers, and golden buskins laced with scarlet ribbon, holds a golden bridle in his left, and a banner of the company, representing _Treasure_ in his right hand. On the other camel, a West Indian, in a robe of silver, scarlet mantle, diamonds pendant from his ears, buskins of silver, laced with purple ribbons, a golden crown feathered, holds a silver bridle in his left, and a banner of the lord mayor, representing _Traffic_, in his right hand. On one of the camel stages four figures sit on pedestals, one at each corner, representing _Diligence_, _Industry_, _Ingenuity_, and _Success_; on the other camel-stage, in like manner, _Mediocrity_, _Amity_, _Verity_, _Variety_, all richly habited in silk or sarcenet, bear splendid emblems and banners. The royal tent, or imperial pavilion, between these two stages, is supported on one side by a minister of state representing _Royalty_, and on the other side by another representing _Loyalty_; each in rich robes of honor _gules_, wearing on their left arms shields _azure_, with this motto in gold, _For the king and kingdom_, one bearing a banner of the king’s, and the other one of the city’s banners. On a high and eminent seat of throne-like ascension is seated _Sovereignty_, in royal posture and alone, with black curled hair, wearing an imperial crown, a robe of purple velvet, lined, faced, and caped with ermine, a collar of SS with a George pendant; bearing in one hand a golden globe, in the other a royal sceptre. On a seat beneath, are _Principality_, _Nobility_, and _Honour_, all richly habited. On the next seat, gradually descending beneath, are, 1. _Gentility_, shaped like a scholar and soldier, holding in one hand, clad with a golden gauntlet, a silver spear, in the other a book; 2. _Integrity_, wearing an earl’s coronet for the court, a loose robe of scarlet-coloured silk for the city, underneath a close coat of grass-green plush for the county; 3. _Commonalty_, as a knight of the shire in parliamentary robes. On the lowest seat, an _ancient English Hero_, with brown curling hair, in ancient armour, as worn by chief commanders, the coat of mail richly gilt, crimson and velvet scarf fringed with gold, a quiver of arrows in a gold belt on one side, a sword at the other, buskins laced with silver and gold, a silver helmet with red and white plume, in one hand a large long bow, and a spear in the other. This personage, representing _sir John Hawkwood_, a merchant-tailor of martial renown under Edward III., when he conquered France, as soon as he perceives the lord mayor prepared, with attention riseth up, and with a martial bow exhibiteth a speech in verse of thirty-seven lines, in compliment to the merchant-tailors and the lord mayor. His lordship testifying his approbation, rideth with all his brethren through the throng of spectators, till at Milk-street end, he is intercepted by _the second pageant_, which is a chariot of ovation, or peaceful triumph, adorned with delightful pieces of curious painting, and drawn by a golden lion and a lamb. On the lion is mounted a young negro prince, richly habited, according to the royal mode in India, holding a golden bridle, and in the other hand St. George’s banner, representing _Power_. On the lamb is mounted a white beautiful seraphim-like creature, with long bright flaxen curled hair, and on it a golden coronet of cherubims’ heads and wings, a carnation sarcenet robe, with a silver mantle and wings of gold, silver, purple, and scarlet, reining the lamb by a silver bridle in his left hand, and with his right bearing an angelical staff, charged with a red cross, representing _Clemency_. In the chariot sitteth seven persons, 1. _Concordia_, 2. _Unanimia_, 3. _Pacifica_, 4. _Consentania_, 5. _Melodea_, 6. _Benevolentia_, (whose habits, and those of other characters already and hereafter mentioned, are not described here for want of room) and 7. “_Harmonia_, a lady of great gravity, with masculine aspect, wearing a lovely dark brown peruke, curiously curled, on which is planted a crown imperial; she wears a robe of French green velvet, pleasantly embroidered with gold, a crimson coloured silk and silver mantle, and sitting majestically alone in front, upon the approach and fixation of my lord mayor, improves the opportunity, riseth up, and delivereth an oration.” This consists of forty-four lines in verse, wherein she acquaints his lordship that the other characters are her attributes, recommends unity, because division is the policy of the pope and the jesuits, expresses her belief that if the lion and the lamb fall out, she should run to ruin, descants upon magistrate-like virtues, and in the end tells his lordship,--
You have done all things fair, no action foul; Your sherevalry gave relish of good rule, Nor need they doubt your mayoralty, therefore, Begging your pardon, I shall say no more.
This speech being concluded, his lordship exhibiting a gracious aspect of favourable acceptation, advanceth further towards Guildhall, but is civilly obstructed by another scene, and in regard, his lordship is a merchant, and his company merchant-tailors, the _Third Triumphal Scene, or Pageant_, is a ship called the _Patience_, with masts and sails, fully rigged and manned, the _captain_ whereof addresseth to my lord a speech beginning,--
What cheer, my lord? I am return’d from sea, To amplifie your day of Jubilee, In this tried vessel, &c.
His lordship having surveyed the ship, and the trumpets sounding, he continueth his determined course toward Guildhall, but by the way is once more obstructed by another scene, called the _Palace of Pleasure_, which is a triumphal ionic arch of excellent structure, where, in distinct and perspicuous situations, sitteth nine beautiful and pleasant ladies, whose names, natures, and ornaments are consentaneous, 1. _Jollity_, 2. _Delight_, 3. _Fancy_, 4. _Felicity_, 5. _Wit_, 6. _Invention_, 7. _Tumult_, 8. _Slaughter_, 9. _Gladness_; all of them properly enrobed and adorned; and to augment their delight, there are several persons properly habited, playing on sundry loud instruments of music, one of which, with a voice as loud and as tunable as a treble hautboy, chanteth out _a Ditty in commendation of the Merchant-tailors’ Trade_, commencing thus,
Of all the professions that ever were nam’d The Taylers though slighted, is much to be fam’d: For various invention and antiquity, No trade with the _Taylers_ compared may be: For warmth and distinction and fashion he doth Provide for both sexes with silk, stuff, and cloth: Then do not disdain him or slight him, or flout him, Since (if well consider’d) you can’t live without him. But let all due praises (that can be) be made To honour and dignifie the _Taylers_ trade.
When Adam and Eve out of Eden were hurl’d, They were at that time king and queen of the world: Yet this royal couple were forced to play The _Taylers_, and put themselves in green array; For modesty and for necessity’s sake They had figs for the belly, and leaves for the back And afterward clothing of sheep-skins they made Then judge if a _Tayler_ was not the first trade, The oldest profession; and they are but railers, Who scoff and deride men that be _Merchant-Taylers_.
This song, containing five more verses, being ended, the foot-marshal places the assistants, livery, and the companies on both sides of King’s-street, and the pensioners with their targets hung on the tops of the javelins; in the rear of them the ensign-bearers; drums and fifes in front; he then hastens the foins and budge-bachelors, together with the gentlemen ushers, to Guildhall, where his lordship is again saluted by the artillerymen with three volleys more, which concludes their duty. His land attendants pass through the gallery or lane so made into Guildhall; after which the company repairs to dinner in the hall, and the several silk-works and triumphs are likewise conveyed into Blackwell-hall; and the officers aforesaid, and the children that sit in the pageants, there refresh themselves until his lordship hath dined. At the dinner in Guildhall, his lordship and the guests being all seated, the city music begin to touch their instruments with very artful fingers. Their ears being as well feasted as their palates, and a concert lesson or two succeeding, “a sober person with a good voice, grave humour, and audible utterance, proper to the condition of the times,” sings a song called _The Protestants’ Exhortation_, the burden whereof is, _Love one another_, and the subject against the catholics. The song being ended, the musicians play divers new airs, which having done, three or four “habit themselves according to the humour of the song,” and one of them chanteth forth The _Plotting Papist’s Litany_, in ten stanzas, the first of which ends with
Joyntly then wee ’l agree, To sing a Litany, And let the burden be, _Ora pro nobis_.
In the year 1688, the second mayoralty of sir Thomas Pilkington, who being of the skinners’ company, a pageant in honour of their occupation, consisted of “a spacious wilderness, haunted and inhabited with all manner of wild beasts and birds of various shapes and colours, even to beasts of prey, as wolves, bears, panthers, leopards, sables, and beavers; likewise dogs, cats, foxes, and rabbits, which tossed up now and then into a balcony fell oft upon the _company’s_ heads, and by them tossed again into the crowd, afforded great diversion; melodious harmony likewise allayed the fury of the wild beasts, who were continually moving, dancing, curvetting, and tumbling to the music.”
On the alteration of the style, the swearing in of the lord mayor and the accompanying show, which had been on the 29th of October, was changed to the 9th of November. The speeches in the pageants were usually composed by the city poet, an officer of the corporation, with an annual salary, who provided a printed description for the members of the corporation before the day. Settle, the last city poet, wrote the last pamphlet intended to describe a lord mayor’s show; it was for sir Charles Duncombe’s, in 1708, but the prince of Denmark’s death the day before, prevented the exhibition. The last lord mayor who rode on horseback at his mayoralty was sir Gilbert Heathcote in the reign of queen Anne.
It will be remarked after this perusal, that the modern exhibitions have no pretension to vie with the grandeur of the old “London triumphs.” In 1760, the court of common council recommended pageants to be exhibited for the entertainment of their majesties on lord mayor’s day. Such revivals are inexpedient, yet probably some means might be devised for improving the appearance of the present procession, without further expenditure from the city funds, or interfering with the public appropriation of the allowance for the support of the civic dignity. All that remains of the lord mayor’s show, to remind the curiously informed of its ancient character, is in the first part of the procession, wherein the poor men of the company to which the lord mayor belongs, or persons hired to represent them, are habited in long gowns and close caps of the company’s colour, and bear painted shields on their arms, but without javelins. So many of these head the show, as there are years in the lord mayor’s age. Their obsolete costume and hobbling walk are sport for the unsedate, who, from imperfect tradition, year after year, are accustomed to call them “old bachelors”--tongues less polite call them “_old fogeys_.” The numerous band of gentlemen-ushers in velvet coats, wearing chains of gold and bearing white staves, is reduced to half-a-dozen full-dressed footmen, carrying umbrellas in their hands. The antiquarian reminiscences occasioned by the throwing of substances that stone-eaters alone would covet, from the tops of the houses, can arise no more; and even the giants in Guildhall are elevated upon octagon stone columns, to watch and ward the great west window, in no other than a gigantic capacity: their proper situation they were displaced from some few years ago, owing, it is presumed, to lack of information in the civic authorities, that figures of giants anciently belonged to Guildhall, and that their _corporate_ station was at the Guildhall door. In their present station, they are as much out of place as a church weathercock would be if it were removed from the steeple, and put on the sounding board of the pulpit.
HUSBANDS AND WIVES.
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book._
Sir,
It is not often that men, now-a-days, send copies of verses to their wives, but I think the editor of the _Every-Day Book_ who is fond of the times gone by, is still old fashioned enough not to condemn the practice. The following lines, which have not appeared in print, are much at your service. My best wishes attend the complete success of your useful and instructive undertaking.
I remain,
Your constant reader,
H.
_Norfolk, Oct. 19, 1825._
_To Mrs. -------- on my Birth-day._
My Betsy lo! the year’s gone round, We see this day once more, November’s leaves bespread the ground, And I am forty-four.
I look me back to boyhood’s days, When I was wont to pore O’er grammar, ’neath a master’s gaze, Nor thought of forty-four.
The mathematics I began, Twice two I said was four, What more know I, tho’ time has ran, And made me forty-four.
Of French and crabbed Latin too I laid in little store, Yet both are pleasing to my view, Now I am forty-four.
Thus time makes pleasant in his round What once to us was sore, This truth full often have I found, Ere I was forty-four.
One nymph to crown our nuptial bliss, See dancing on the floor, May all our days be blest as this On which I am forty-four.
Tho’ small my girl, our share, our wealth, On wolf, we bar the door; If Providence but sends me health, I’m blest at forty-four.
For thee, my love, long life I ask, That blessing sent of yore, When men like _boys_ conn’d o’er a task At ten times forty-four.
“The earth hath bubbles as the water has, And this is of them.”
This personage has obtained himself to be sketched and lithographed. It is a true portraiture of his dress and form, but not of his face. By way of denoting his pretension to “deathless notoriety,” it has these few expressive words beneath it; namely,--“Without equal in nature or art, this or in any other age or globe.” Afterwards follows this intimation, “Published as the act directs, by Mr. Leeming, London, October, 1825.” In vain did he solicit the printsellers to sell the prints for five shillings each. Although he had coupled it with written intimation that he is “the Ærial invaluable,” and that after his decease will be inscribed on his tomb, “If this was not a _gentleman_, he would not have been buried in christian burial,” yet the publishers were impenetrable to his “assurance,” and therefore before and after, and on Guy Fawkes’ day, a man was employed to walk the streets with a board bearing a couple of the impressions pasted thereon, the said man bearing also unpasted ones, “to all who choose to buy them” at one shilling each.
The first public intimation of this “phenomenon,” is in the _Times_ of Saturday, July 2, 1825:--“An individual in a splendid dress of Spanish costume has excited much attention at Vauxhall gardens. Having walked or rather skipped round the promenade, with a great air of consequence, saluting the company as he passed along, he at length mingled amongst the audience in the front of the orchestra, and distributed a number of cards, on each of which was written, ‘The Ærial challenges the whole world to find a man that can in any way compete with him as such.’ After having served about three or four hundred of these challenges, he darted off like lightning, taking the whole circuit of the gardens in his career, and made his exit through the grand entrance into the road where a carriage was in waiting for him, into which he sprang, and was driven off.”
Postponing a few particulars of this visitation of Vauxhall by “_The Ærial_” for a minute or two, we proceed to state that he declares himself “an Adonis;” that to glad the eyes of artists with a view of his uncommon person, he condescended to leave the good town of Manchester by the common stage coach, and that assuming the disguise of common dress, like Apollo in “Midas” after expulsion from the celestials, he arrived in London on the day of June. Dull as he found this metropolis to personal merit, yet, to his “Agreeable Surprise,” there were some who said in the language of _Lingo_:--
“Such beauties in view I Can never praise too high.”
Sculptors and painters of eminence to whom he proffered disclosure of his elegant person were honoured by visits from him. He represents some interviews to this effect. Sir Thomas Lawrence, the president of the royal academy, gazed upon him, and inquired what “he considered the essential principle of man?” the Ærial immediately answered “the thigh.” Sir Thomas insensible to the mundane charms before him, observed that he thought the beauties of the mind should be preferred to those of the body, and therefore suggested the propriety of his cultivating mental beauty. This was an indignity, for it was opposed to the theory maintained by the Ærial, that mental beauty results from personal beauty. Mr. Haydon was not quite so shocking; he admitted to, and to the cost of the Ærial, as will hereafter appear, that he had “a beautiful leg.” His oral developement of his sylph-like perfections to Mr. Chantry, induced that gentleman to decline prolongation of the interview, and to say he should at once call himself Ærial, and from that moment he did. Mr. Behnes told him that he was “no conjuror,” and that every body laughed at him. The Ærial was not to be so subdued, nor by such means humbled. He deemed them to be the sayings of envy. His organ of self-esteem attained a new swell, and in harmonious strength he rose like Antæus from the dust, a giant refreshed.