Halloween 2015: The Castle of Otranto and The Gothic

This is the first in a series of posts leading up to my favourite holiday, Halloween. The late 18th Century saw the rise of the Gothic genre, a reaction against the rationalism that had defined the century. Leading this trend was Horace Walpole, writer of what is considered the first Gothic novel, The Castle of Otranto. Like many of the novels published at the time, The Castle of Otranto was originally published with the claim that it was a true story, with the original full title being  The Castle of Otranto, A Story. Translated by William Marshal, Gent. From the Original Italian of Onuphrio Muralto, Canon of the Church of St. Nicholas at Otranto. In fact it claimed to be a translation of a recently discovered 16th Century Italian text, and it wasn't until the second and subsequent editions that Walpole claimed ownership.

"The following work was found in the library of an ancient Catholic family in the north of England. It was printed in Naples, in the black letter, in the year 1529. How much sooner it was written does not appear. The principle incidents are such are were believed in the darkest ages of Christianity ; but the language and conduct have nothing that favours barbarism. The style is the purest Italian. If the story was written near the time it is supposed to have happened, it must have been between 1095, the era of the first crusade, and 1243, the date of the last or not long afterwards."

 For anyone familiar with the basic plot it seems ridiculous for anyone at the time to actually think the story could be true. I encourage you to go read it if you haven't already because to a modern reader it's absolutely hilarious, it's every horror cliché crammed into around a hundred pages. But if you consider that nothing like this, at least in this genre, had ever been written before, and that all of the Gothic tropes that can be found in the novel were brand new, this isn't just a load of adults falling for ghost stories. It's a very clever writer writing in the dominant story-telling form of the age, and twisting it to tell a story that would captivate its audience by appealing to its darkest fears.

Possibly the most interesting thing about the novel is that it is the first time we see many of the Gothic tropes that we're still familiar with today. These include old castles, secret passages, and virginal maids pursued by evil villains.

Another thing that remained a trend in the Gothic is its not-so-subtle psycho-sexuality, for example a character is killed by a falling giant helmet, and this is continued further in other exemplary Gothic novels such as The Monk and Dracula (a piece dedicated to Dracula to follow.) Even today's horror films contain overtly sexual themes. The Gothic represented the hidden desires of the sub-conscience, and presented them to its readers in a way that horrified them.

I'd argue that horror still does the same today, but the use of the supernatural makes the horrors of humanity more palatable for the consumer. When the villain is a vampire, ghost, zombie, or a werewolf, we can walk away from the film safe in the knowledge that these creatures don't really exist.We can process the ideas that are being presented to us in a safe environment, without feeling any immediate threat. Often monsters represent the darker sides of the human psyche, and this is never more apparent than in the Gothic novel. Perhaps that's something to bear in mind as we read these novels. Perhaps the scariest monsters aren't the monsters in ghost stories, but the monsters in our heads.

#PigGate | Pigs in 18th Century Political Satire

Thomas Rowlandson, 'The Wonderful Pig, 1785

Following what was easily the best couple of hours I have ever spent on Twitter, where pig puns could never get old, and we wondered how Hameron and his crew down in Number 10 would deal with all of the embarrassment, I started to wonder if there was any hilarity of this kind in 18th Century political satire. Well it turns out they never went full Black Mirror, but there's still plenty of laughs to be found. 

The Learned Pig

The illustration at the top of this post depicts a phenomenon that occurred in London society in the 1780s. Pigs were trained for the purposes of entertainment to pick up cards with their mouths in order to spell words and answer arithmetical problems. The original Learned Pig was trained by a Scottish shoemaker named Samuel Bisset, who ran a travelling novelty show. In fact, according to Jan Bondeson "The Wonderful Pig soon became the leading light in Mr Bisset's troupe. It could kneel, bow, spell out names using cardboard letters, cast up accounts, and point out married and unmarried people in the audience." Naturally, satirists saw an opportunity here, and ran with it.

It became a bit of the in joke to compare a writer or politician to a learned pig, and even the then Prime Minister of Great Britain William Pitt was referred to as "the Wonderful pig", and was depicted in a caricature with the body of a pig. (I'm led to believe that The British Museum may have the image, but unfortunately as I write this the Collection Online search on their website isn't working.)

The 'Swinish Multitude'

The complete reversal of the above, where the masses are characterised as the pigs, is also present in eighteenth century literature. In Edmund Burke's 1790 Reflections on the Revolution in France, Burke wrote "along with its natural protectors and guardians, learning will be cast into the mire, and trodden down under the hoofs of a swinish multitude." Naturally, the idea that revolutionary supporters were an animalistic and dangerous mob that would destroy any notion of civilised society and education caused some outrage. For many this highlighted how the upper classes were completely out of touch with the issues facing the working class.

Burke's comments generated plenty of commentary and satire. Thomas Spence wrote a poem narrated by an anti-revolutionary simply called 'Burke's Address to the "Swinish Multitude"', which is littered with piggish puns.

YE vile SWINISH Herd, in the Sty of Taxation,

What would ye be after?—diſturbing the Nation?

Give over your grunting—Be off—To your Sty!

Nor dare to look out, if a KING paſſes by:

...

Do you think that a KING is no more than a Man?

Ye Brutiſh, Ye Swiniſh, irrational Clan?

I ſwear by his Office, his Right is divine,

To flog you, and [...]eed you, and treat you like Swine!

...

Then no more about MAN and his RIGHTS,

TOM PAINE, and a Rabble of Liberty Lights:

That you are but our "SWINE," if ye ever forget,

We'll throw you alive to the HORRIBLE PIT!

Get ye down! down! down!—Keep ye down!

(You can read the text in its entirety HERE)

His satire points out that this kind of language is designed to keep the lower classes down and remind them that they are a "lesser" than the men of nobility. And it struck me reading this poem how incredibly relevant it is to recent events. If the pigs are the working masses that are continually put down by an oppressive form of government, then #PigGate seems too perfectly crafted a satire to be true. To those of us who feel we are being continually fucked over by David Cameron and his party, we are that pig. 

Find out More:

Thomas Hood, 'The Lament of Toby the Learned Pig'

Christopher Machell, The Politics of Beastial Imagery in Satire, 1789-1820

Jan Bondeson, The Feejee Mermaid and Other Essays in Natural and Unnatural History

On Clarissa | Part 1, Background

'The Harlowe Family' by Joseph Highmore'

[CW: This novel contains rape as a main plot point, and so my posts about the novel may contain discussions about sexual violence within the narrative.]

Those of you who follow me elsewhere may know that I'm in the process of reading Samuel Richardson's 'Clarissa', the longest novel in English Literature. Those of you who know me personally may also know that despite three years of study as an undergraduate, I'm a pretty slow reader. Suffice to say, I still haven't finished reading it, and certainly won't finish it any time soon. And so I thought perhaps I'd dedicate a corner of my blog to my thoughts whilst reading the novel, whilst hopefully staying as spoiler free as possible.

I'm reading the Penguin Classics edition which is the first edition of the novel, although apparently not the longest (because apparently 1499 large pages with small font isn't big enough.) The novel was edited for future editions and a few more letters were added, and that edition is said to be closest to what Richardson intended. I'm reading the novel for my own personal enjoyment however, not for any scholarly work, so none of this really mattered to me. It's something to bear in mind though if you're buying a copy for yourself.

The blurb reads:

"In Clarissa, one of the greatest European novels and its author's triumph, Samuel Richardson had the luck or prescience to hit upon a story that became a myth to his own age, and remains so now.

How Clarissa, in resisting parental pressure to marry a loathsome man for money, falls prey to Lovelace, is raped and dies, is the bare outline of a story that blossomed in all directions under Richardson's hands. He was, self-confessedly and happily, 'a poor pruner'. Written in letters, the novel contains all the urgency and tension of personal communications set down 'to the moment', compelling our confidence but also our distrust. Its rich ambiguities -- our sense of Clarissa's scrupulous virtue tinged with intimations of her capacity for self-deception in matters of sex; the wicked and amusing faces of Lovelace, who must be easily the most charming villain in English literature -- give the story extraordinary psychological momentum. In that fatally attracted pair, Richardson created lovers that haunt the imagination as Romeo and Juliet do, or Tristan and Isolde.

This Penguin Classic makes the first edition of Clarissa available for the first time since it appeared in 1747-8. The editor, Angus Ross, has provided an excellent introduction and notes."

For those who've suffered through Richardson's earlier novel Pamela, and are put off from reading Clarissa because of the similarities between them, I can assure you that they are vastly different novels beyond the basic premise.

So what's similar? Well both are epistolary novels about a young girl being pursued by a sexual predator. The bulk of Pamela's letters are to her parents, whilst Clarissa's are mostly to her best friend Anna Howe. The main difference in plot is that Pamela ends up falling in love with and marrying her attempted rapist (?!?!?!?! I know), whilst Clarissa is unable to tame the beast, and is raped, later dying of venereal disease. Both are bloody awful outcomes, but barely 200 pages in Clarissa is already a far more satisfying read. That's mostly down to Clarissa being a far more realistic female character, rather than a caricature of what an eighteenth century man might think a virtuous woman should be. Her friendship with Anna is charming too (and I'd argue very gay, but let's save that for another time), and Anna is fast becoming one of my favourite female characters in literature. She's Moll Flanders if she was born into a wealthy family and didn't have to resort to crime. She's passionate, demands to be heard, and loves her best friend dearly, so much so I'm convinced she'd kill for her (silently wishing she chops Lovelace up with an axe at the end.) In fact if anyone wants to write a fan fic where Anna Howe is a vampire slayer, I will read that in a heart beat. (Send me all your Clarissa/Anna slash fic as well.)

Both novels, like most novels of the period, were published with the claim that they are true stories, notice how the title page of Clarissa says it's from the EDITOR of Pamela, not the author. They also claim to be published for moral guidance rather than for raw entertainment, so all this must be taken into account when we read the novel, as contemporaries wouldn't have the wealth of information surrounding it as we have today. Perhaps for that reason I should leave it there.

If you're going to be reading along with me, let me know in the comments below. If not, you can read my posts so you can talk about the novel and pretend you know all about it without actually having to read the whole thing (I wouldn't judge.) Also, I promise to blog more frequently from now on! So until then, bye for now :)

Frederick Prince of Wales - The Greatest King We Never Had

'The Music Party', Frederick Prince of Wales and his
sisters, Philippe Mercier, 1733

It's Sunday night as I sit down to start writing this, after a busy week of taking my boyfriend on days out to the zoo, the aquarium, Speke Hall, and all the fun things there is to do in Merseyside when you've seen all the sights in Liverpool. I also forced him to sit down and watch last year's The First Georgians: The German Kings who made Britain, which has been rerunning on BBC Four. I mean he has to know what I'm talking about when I get all emotional about the Georgians, right? Re-watching the series I was reminded of everything that made me fall in love with the Eighteenth Century in the first place. It also helped me rekindle my love for my sweetheart, Frederick Prince of Wales. Rebel, lover and supporter of the Arts, and "People's Prince", Frederick is one of my favourite historical figures, never mind favourite royals. And so in this post, at risk of having turnips thrown at my head by angry Jacobites, I'll attempt to give a brief history of this Hanoverian Prince, as well as defend my firm belief that King Frederick I would of been one of the greatest monarch's Britain had ever had. 

Please remember that I do not claim to be an expert, and I appreciate any feedback you may have.

Childhood

Frederick, Prince of Wales was the oldest son of George II, born in 1707, and therefore would have been king after his death, had he not died before him, allowing Frederick's son to take the crown and become George III, commonly known as the 'mad king.' But before all that, I'm going to start at the early years. 

Christian Friedrich Zincke (painted when Frederick
was about seven)

The father/son relationships of the Georgian kings were notoriously terrible. George II had a terrible relationship with his father George I, after all his mother had been imprisoned for adultery, never to see her son again. And tensions began with Frederick and his father in the formative years too; he was left at the age of seven in Hanover to act as a figurehead while the his parents were in Britain. Frederick grows up in Hanover and doesn't see his parents for 14 years, until he joins them in England upon his father's ascension to the throne in 1727. It's upon Frederick's arrival that their hatred for each other really started to grow.


Frederick and George II

It all starts to go downhill after George II only offers his son an allowance of £50,000, just half of what he'd been expecting, It sounds like petty rich kid drama, and it is when you put it simply, but Frederick probably took this as a deliberate insult, and possible attempt to limit his freedom by limiting his expenditure. 

The family of George II, William Hogarth, 1731-2
(Frederick is on the far right)

Frederick also opposed his father politically. A group of politicians branched off from the Whig party calling themselves the Patriot Whigs, and Frederick was heavily involved with them, earning their support. The Patriot Whigs were troubled by the idea of a "prime" minister, one man having too much power. While George II was away in Hanover, Robert Walpole took it upon himself to hold cabinet without him. Due to their support of Frederick against his father, the issue of the allowance was raised in parliament, causing further irreparable damage between father and son.

The final straw was when Fredrick's wife, Princess Augusta of Saxe-Gotha, went into labour. To stop the King and Queen being able to witness the birth of their grandchild and possible future heir, Frederick took his wife off from Hampton Court in a carriage in the middle of the night to St James' palace, where she would give birth. This not only offended the King and Queen, but the people of Great Britain, who were outraged at what seemed like Frederick's readiness to endanger his wife and unborn daughter in order to get one up on his dad. Even his supporters had to admit this was an immature and unwise move. It was also a move that got him banned from court.

So why was he so great?

Jacopo Amigoni, 1735

So far I've probably painted a picture of a bratty, immature rich kid, and that might be true to some extent, but dear old Frederick was so much more than that.

I've already touched on his political leanings, but what's most striking about this is that Frederick actually seemed to care. It's easy to be cynical about this, after all you could argue his involvement with the Patriot Whigs was just his throwing a tantrum at his dad. But compared to George I spending most of his time in Hanover, he would have stood out as a different kind of ruler. He was progressive, preferring a government where power was shared more equally within parliament, and was also a great supporter of the Arts.

Anonymous print of office-seeker kissing
Walpole's enormous buttocks

If the Georgian age saw the rise of the middling class, and more and more people being able to sell their work for profit through the support of subscribers, and not just a commission of an aristocrat, this was a time that saw a surge in creative freedom. Artists and writers were suddenly able to produce satire in great volumes after a law hadn't been renewed in parliament, because someone had forgotten to put it on the parliamentary timetable. Indeed, Frederick even wrote a satirical play himself under a pseudonym, although it was reportedly terrible and only got two performances. Nevertheless Frederick revelled in this new creative freedom, whilst Sir Robert Walpole and George II had to laugh along at drawings of their exposed buttocks'.

The portrait at the beginning of this post depicts Frederick playing the cello in front of a window, and this he did regularly, so that passers by could hear him play. Whilst it's true he probably loved the attention, it also shows how he placed a heavier weight of importance on pleasing the people, that on out-dated notions of propriety. He really took the biscuit with this during the gin riots when he entered a pub and ordered a pint of gin, thereby showing the people his support for them, and his opposition against the gin tax. He was a much more likeable and sociable figure than either his father or his grandfather therefore, he could be seen out in the public, instead of always locked away in a palace or over in Hanover.

St James' Park and the Mall, 1745 (Frederick is right of centre)

Frederick set himself apart by interacting with the people, and becoming one of them, he can be seen in this painting on the right surrounded by people of all walks of life. Like his mother Queen Caroline before him who was noteably on of the subscribers to Alexander Pope's translation of the Iliad, Frederick was an important and influential supporter of the Arts.


The importance of this support for the arts cannot be underestimated, after all it is the writers of this era that dominate in our understanding of the Eighteenth Century, as opposed to the kings. Frederick would have been a Hanoverian monarch who had finally gained the love and trust of the people, and I believe it would be him, as opposed to Victoria, that we would identify as the monarch to bring us into the modern age had he ruled.