A Cock and Jug Story – C.J. Grant on pottery

C.J. Grant, Insnaring the Preston Cock, 20th April 1831

If you’ve been following this blog for a while then you’ll know that the reproduction of caricature designs on pottery and the works of the radical caricaturist C.J. Grant are two subjects for which The Print Shop Window has a seemingly limitless degree of enthusiasm. It therefore won’t surprise you to learn that we had to take several deep breaths into a large brown paper bag when we happened across this item in a saleroom the other day. It’s a creamware jug that’s been decorated with a transfer-printed copy of C.J. Grant’s Insnaring the Preston Cock.

The original version was one of a small number of plates that Grant engraved for the little-known City publisher M. Clarke during the spring and summer of 1831. It refers to rumours which had circulated in the press at that time about a possible deal between hardline Tories and ultra-radicals to scupper the government’s Reform Bill. The radical MP Henry Hunt, who represented the Parliamentary constituency of Preston and had often spoke under a flag showing a red game cock trampling a crown, is shown as a literal embodiment of his nickname. Leaning over the farmyard fence to the left we see a collection of leading Tories, who hold out inducements with which they hope to tempt Hunt over to their side. Robert Peel proffers a cage containing papers marked “patronage” and “place”. The Duke of Wellington and Horace Twiss MP both empty purses of money onto the ground. While the Duke foolishly clucks “Cup Cup Biddy Cup Cup—Come and Crow on our Dunghill”, his colleague confidently boasts “See how His eyes glisten at the Golden Grain”. Next comes Sir Charles Wetherell, who holds out a new “Anti-Reform Bill” for Hunt’s endorsement. The Dukes of Cumberland and Gloucester, both arch-conservatives who had even attempted to bring down Wellington’s government to prevent Catholic emancipation during the 1820s, stand at a distance and gloat “A Rotten Borough and a Bottle of Blacking [and] he’s ours”. Two of Hunt’s constituents watch this palarver unfolding from the window of the farmhouse on the right. The first says: “See Measter. them Suspicious looking Chaps be going to entice away our Old Matchless.” To which his mate bluntly replies: “D—n him let ’em have him. he be’ant worth keeping.”

The design reflects the anger many moderate reformists felt when they learned of Hunt’s unwillingness to back the government’s reform programme. William Cobbett’s Political Register led the charge to denounce Hunt as a Tory quisling and even threatened to sponsor a campaign to unseat him if he did not drop his objections and toe the reformist line. Hunt remained resolute, arguing that the Reform Bill was a sop designed to buy off the middle classes and prevent the introduction of more radical measures. It was an astutely cynical view which was was largely borne out by events in the years that followed the final passage of the Reform Act in 1832.

This poor old jug looks as though it’s taken a bit of a battering over the years but it’s still one of the more interesting pieces of printed pottery that we’ve come across in a while. Unusually, the potter has managed to produce a remarkably faithful reproduction of Grant’s original caricature, with very few signs of the amendments which were often made in order to accommodate the limited space and three dimensional shape of the pot, or the rudimentary artistic skills of the manufacturer. Another great first for The Print Shop Window.

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St George and the Dragon or the Glorious æra of 1798

Cruikshank & Sansom (?), St George and the Dragon or Glorious æra of 1798, Published by S.W. Fores, 5th December 1798. Note the “S.W.F” shop stamp at the bottom right-hand corner of the print.

Here’s another print from a marvellous set of caricatures that came into my possession a couple of weeks ago. It shows Pitt as St George, slaying the dragon of Whig opposition while surrounded by a panoply of unfortunate beasties representing the great powers of Europe.

As much as I enjoy this print, I’m not sure that it is entirely successful as a piece of political satire. The artist has attempted to cram too many references to various aspects of Britain’s domestic politics and foreign affairs into a single plate and consequently it fails to convey a single coherent message that extends beyond a rather vague sense of Tory triumphalism.  Nonetheless, the quality of the engraving work on display here and the beautiful delicacy of the colouring, mean that this is still an excellent example of the standard of English satirical printmaking in this period.

The design seemingly draws upon influences taken from both the world of high art and other pieces of contemporary English caricature. The central theme may have been derived from one of the popular engraved editions of seventeenth-century Flemish paintings of St George, such as Hans von Aachen’s St George Slaying the Dragon and Balthazar van Lemens’ St George and the Dragon. The latter painting having been reproduced as a highly successful mezzotint by the English engraver John Smith in 1685. The St George motif had already appeared in a number of English satirical prints and it’s possible that this design was based on one of these earlier caricatures. There is certainly a distinct similarity between the ‘dragon’ which appears in this design and the multi-headed monster that featured in a crudely etched political satire on the downfall of the Fox-North Coalition entitled George and the Dragon (1784). The artist also appears to have plundered a selection of recent prints by James Gillray to obtain accurate likenesses of the individuals portrayed. The images of Tierney (right), Sheridan and Pitt all being strikingly close to those which appeared in French Habits (1798), Doublûres of characters;- or – striking resemblances in phisiognomy (1798) and The Giant Factotum amusing himself (1797) respectively.

At first glance the print appears to be a blandly patriotic satire celebrating the revitalizing effect Nelson’s victory at the Nile had on the government’s standing at home and Britain’s position abroad. Pitt charges forward on John Bull, impaling his Whig opponents on the lance of the “United strength of the people”, while his mount tramples a pack of cockerels representing the Directory and an unfortunate Spanish hound. The constellation of European powers shifts above his head to shine their lights on England and reflect the fact that Austria, Russia and the Ottoman Empire were now all considering revanchist strikes against France. Look closely though and this celebratory tone becomes far more ambiguous. Pitt’s ruddy cheeks and closed eyes are indicative of extreme intoxication and it seems as though he has in fact been carried to victory on the back of the British bull. His flowing purple robes also carry a mixed symbolism which stands at once for both the triumphs, vanity and despotic tendencies of the emperors of ancient Rome. Even the bovine emblem of John Bull, who could be considered to be the real hero of the piece, seems enraged to the point of madness and is depicted in a posture which seems to suggest that it is about to toss the slumbering rider to the ground.

The identity of the print’s creator remains a matter of some conjecture. Edward Hawkins, the original curator of the British Museum’s collection of caricatures, recorded it as a work by Isaac Cruikshank but Dorothy George rejected this notion when she came to write her catalogue of the Museum’s collection a century later. It is certainly possible to discern a certain similarity between the likenesses of the individuals portrayed in this caricature and those that appear in other prints Cruikshank engraved for S.W. Fores around this time. However, the precise engraving that appears on the rest of the plate bears little comparison with the slightly scruffy style that typifies so much of Cruikshank’s output.

In 2008 an an amateur historian contacted the Museum to suggest that the lettering which had been added to this caricature and a number of other S.W. Fores prints in the collection, indicated that they were the work of the engraver Francis Sansom. Sansom is chiefly remembered today as the botanical illustrator responsible for producing the engraved plates that were published in the early editions of The Botanical Magazine but he was in fact a commercial engraver who worked on all manner of publications. He was retained by Fores for a period of roughly five years, from 1796 to 1801 during which time he was chiefly employed in engraving the designs of artists, such as G.W. Woodward and John Cawse, who lacked the technical skills required to translate their caricatures into print. The evidence of Cruikshank’s hand at work on this particular print therefore raises the intriguing possibility that it was the product of a collaboration between Sansom and Cruikshank. However, this begs us to ask why Fores felt the need to pair an experienced caricaturist like Cruikshank up with another engraver? One theory is that Fores insistence on Sansom’s involvement in the production of Cruikshank’s prints was symptomatic of a wider breakdown in the relationship which took place between Isaac Cruikshank and his publisher during 1798-99. It is certainly true that the number of plates Fores was commissioning from Cruikshank dropped off sharply after 1798 and that the printseller began offering more work to artists such as Woodward, Cawse and Charles Williams. It has been suggested that this transition may have been prompted by Fores growing frustration with Cruikshank’s slapdash approach to engraving and the number of mistakes that were being left uncorrected on his finished copperplates. In these circumstances it seems feasible that Fores may have insisted on pairing up Cruikshank with a more reliable craftsman like Sansom.

Of course, this is all pure speculation. The print may have been produced entirely by Sansom, or by Sansom and another artist whose identity has now been lost to history. Attributing unsigned prints to specific artists is an art rather than a science and should always be taken with a suitably large pinch of salt. Still, it is precisely this kind of unsolvable historical conundrum which makes Georgian caricatures such fascinating items to study.

The Leering Coachman and friends – Watercolours by Rowlandson

There is a veritable bonanza of Rowlandson watercolours appearing at auction in London this month. Here’s a couple of highlights.

This image of a London coachman arguing with his passengers over the fare for a late-night cab ride appeared in two printed versions. The first was Miseries of London, or a surly saucy Hackney coachman, which Rowlandson published himself in June 1814. A copy of the original copperplate carrying the design can still be found in the Museum of London collection. It was then rechristened Hackney Coachman and reused as one of the plates in the series Characteristic sketches of the lower orders, which were produced for the publisher Samuel Leigh between 1820 and 1823.

The second watercolour is a classic piece of Rowlandson comic smut. Dubbed The Leering Coachman in the auctioneers catalogue, the painting shows a grotesque coachman flirting outrageously with a voluptuous barmaid in the doorway of a roadside coaching inn. The printed edition was published under the slightly more cumbersome title of A bait for Kiddies on the north road. Or that’s your sort prime bang up the mark by Thomas Tegg in May 1810. In this version, Rowlandson has turned the level of innuendo up a notch by placing the canoodling couple under a sign which identifies the tavern as The Cock and Bottle. He also includes a second female figure, who stands in the tavern doorway beneath a sign that reads: “Genteel Accommodations“; hinting that refreshments may not be the only thing on offer to those within. 

The third painting offers a comic grotesque vision of a group of revelers gathered by the fireplace. Once again, Rowlandson introduces a sexual subtext by having the hands of the pretty young woman rest on a set of bellows which lays across the lap of the revolting old gent to her right. The design does not appear to have been published in print form but the themes of sensuality, the contrast between young and old and the simple pleasures of drinking, smoking and socialising, are ones that reoccur throughout Rowlandson’s work in caricature.

Finally, we have a drawing entitled How to lose your way, showing riders battling against a strong headwind on the highway. It is interesting to note that, despite the fact that this sketch was evidently executed with some degree of haste, Rowlandson was still able to add little touches which really bring the image to life. The way in which the rider’s horse has its head set low against the wind, the attitude of the two men riding on the carriage in the distance and the frenetic rendering of the foliage in the background, all helps to convey a sense that there is a howling gale blowing across the page.

A specimen of light horsemanship, S.W. Fores, 1795

Anon., A specimen of Light Horsemanship,  26th December 1795. Published by S.W. Fores. Note the artist originally misspelled the word ‘horsemanship’ and was forced to amend the original engraving to include the ‘e’.

This print may be a recent edition to the Print Shop Window’s own secret stash of Georgian caricatures but it’s rapidly becoming a personal favourite. It’s one of the few caricature prints whose humour has not diminished during the last two hundred years and it never fails to bring a smile to my face.  

The title is an ironic reference to the frantic dash which Prime Minister William Pitt is making for the safety of the fortified gates of the Treasury building to the left. An angry mob follows hot on his heels, pulling his horse’s tail and pelting him with mud, stones and the carcasses of several unfortunate animals. His terrified mount bears an uncanny resemblance to the white horse which appeared at the centre of the King’s coat-of-arms and it’s flight is being spurred on by the presence of the vicious-looking bulldog, wearing a collar labelled ‘John Bull’, that snaps at its hind quarters.

It is one of a number of satirical attacks which were published in the wake of the passage of the so-called Gagging Acts in late 1795. The Acts were intended to counter the threat of English Jacobinism by stamping out political societies and seriously curtailing civil liberties. They marked a depressing end point to a year which had been characterised by recession, harvest failures, widespread rioting and a series of reversals in the war against France. By the time the Acts were passed into law on the 18th December 1795, Pitt could not venture out onto the streets of London without being booed, hissed and greeted with cries of “Peace and Bread”, “No Pitt” and “No King”.

This design appears to have been intended as a prequel to A Recent Escape (detail right) which Fores had published just five days earlier, on the 21st December 1795. This print shows a confrontation between Pitt and the Whig leader Charles James Fox which takes place moments after the Prime Minister has escaped the clutches of the furious London mob. He stands arrayed in his mud-spattered riding gear and exclaims “These are the Blessed effects of Your Patriotism, & be D—— to you”, to the evident amusement of his chuckling opponent.