Fanning the Flames of Revolution

Political turmoil, coupled with the tearing down of repressive ancien régime laws on press censorship, prompted a boom in satirical print publishing in Paris during the revolutionary summer of 1789. The French print market, which had hitherto been dominated by elaborate, classical-style, engravings of landscapes, historical subjects and genre scenes, was suddenly swamped by a flood of crude political caricatures that were shocking to the sensibilities of cultivated observers. When the educational reformer and publisher Joachim Heinrich Campe visited Paris as a revolutionary tourist in the summer of 1789, he noted that the walls of every building on the banks of the Seine were festooned with printed images concerning the Revolution [1].

Whilst most of these images were designed to appeal to the baser sentiments of the Parisian mob, others were evidently targeted at the middling classes and members of the aristocracy (some of whom were still sympathetic to the early phase of revolutionary fervor.) These images were often executed in the same careful manner as traditional ancien régime engravings and were presumably sold at a higher price and in much small numbers than the prints which Campe had observed littering the streets of Paris.

This printed fan-leaf is one such object. It is decorated with a satirical etching entitled La pompe funèbre du Clergé de France, décédé à l’Assemblée Nationale, le 2 novembre 1789 [The funeral pomp of the Clergy of France, died at the National Assembly, November 2, 1789], elements of which appear to have been copied from a contemporary engraving with aquatint. The image is an ironic scene of mourning, in which clergymen grieve for the loss of their wealth and privileges following the Revolutionary government’s decision to nationalise the property of the Catholic church. The liberation of the people from the burden of ecclesiastical taxes and the subordination of the church to the will of the state is celebrated in four columns of printed text on the rear of the leaf. 

The image does not appear to have been based on a real event. However, mock funerals were feature of both the French and American Revolutions, as well as Radical agitation in Great Britain. As one historian who has studied the phenomena of mock funerals in the context of the protests against British policy in colonial America explains, these ceremonies provided a means of translating political events into everyday life and “to transform a political conflict into a ritual defeat of evil.”[2].

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1. Hubertus Kohle, R.R., Visualizing the Revolution: Politics and the Pictorial Arts in Late Eighteenth-Century France, (London, 2008), pp. 37-38.

2. Fairfax Withington, A., Towards a More Perfect Union: Virtue and the Formation of American Republics, (Oxford, 1991), pp. 144 – 145.

A satirical skit-note and a ‘sticky’ situation

It’s not unusual to come across eighteenth and early nineteenth-century satirical prints that have been modified in some way. Our ancestors treated these prints with far less reverence than we do, regarding them as tactile objects which could be cut, coloured, and otherwise amended after purchase. This interaction with printed satire is not something which has been particularly well documented by historians, probably because academics tend to rely on large institutional collections of perfectly-preserved caricatures, but it’s something with which most private collectors will be familiar.

Modern amendments are something altogether different though, and would presumably only occur as a result of either accidental damage or gross ignorance on the part of the owner. I will let the reader decide which of those criteria applies to a former owner of this skit-note; for they, at some point during their custodianship of this 200 year old object, evidently decided that it’s appearance would be enhanced by the addition of  fuzzy-felt stickers spelling out the title “Compensation Wanted” across the top of the print. Sadly the aesthetic impact of their modification has somewhat diminished over time, as the felt is now starting to fall off, leaving patches of white sticky-back plastic visible underneath.

Let’s just take a minute to allow the classiness of that wash over us…

It’s a great shame, as this is an otherwise interesting and seemingly rather rare example of a satirical skit-note engraved by W.J. Layton of Oxford Street in 1810. The British Museum has a similar version of the note in its collection, but it’s of notably lower quality and is evidently a copy of Layton’s original edition.

The note carries a roundel imitating Josiah Wedgewood’s famous abolitionist logo, depicting a kneeling slave and the text “A Day, An Hour, of Virtuous Liberty is Worth a Whole Eternity in Bondage”, which is a quote from Joseph Addison’s Cato, a Tragedy (1712). The remaining text reads:

England Expects every Man to do his Duty 1810

I Promise to pays Messrs. Cambridgeshire, Ryecastle, & Co. Bearer on Demand TWO PENCE when Englishmens grievances be recompensed when Foreigners are Banished from our Land, & Willm. Cobbett cease to expound Britons Cause.

For the Govr. & Compy. of Integrity Innocence.

The image of the slave and the reference to money appear to have convinced the former owner of this print that it related to the abolition of the slave trade in 1807. Unfortunately, it’s got nothing to do with the slave trade or African slavery at all. The figure of the slave is entirely symbolic and probably refers to the perceived oppression of the British people. The satire is actually about the radical political journalist William Cobbett, who was jailed in June 1810 for attacking the government’s decision to garrison German soldiers on British soil and went on to publish a series of open letters attacking the economic hardships imposed on ordinary working people by the disruption of trade, war taxes, and inflation of the currency. The note promises that the bearer will be able to exchange their paper money for cold hard cash when the reformist cause is won, the King’s German Legion have been sent packing, and Cobbett has no more cause to complain about the government’s conduct. 

Sadly, the misinterpretation of this image means that not only has someone spoiled an antique print, but that they’ve also spoiled it for entirely the wrong reason!

The notes’ coming up for auction in the US in a couple of weeks time. The estimate’s £200 – £350, but I’d want to be pretty certain that those sticky letters will come off before paying that kind of money for it.

The New European Barbershop on lacquerware

This lacquerware box was manufactured in the workshop of Johann Heinrich Stobwasser (1740 – 1829), in the German city of Braunschweig, sometime around 1814. It is decorated with an oil and lacquer image of Die Neue Europaeische Barbierstube, which was engraved by the Bavarian satirical artist Johann Michael Voltz (1784 – 1858) in late 1813.

The impact depicts Napoleon being forcibly shaved by (l-r) Alexander I of Russia, Frederick William II of Prussia, and Francis II of Austria. The Emperor wears a bib, which is spattered with blood in Voltz’s original engraving, inscribed with the locations of various French military defeats – “Mailand, Culm, Kazbach, Leipzig, Russland”. Alexander also carries an empty plate labelled ‘1812’ and a white ball – possibly a snowball – which presumably alludes to Napoleon’s ill-fated Russian winter campaign.

The Battle of Leipzig had ended on the 19th October 1813 and is the most recent event referenced in the design. It is likely that Voltz’s engraving was published shortly after the battle and then copied in Stobwasser’s workshop sometime during the winter of 1813/14.

The box measures 2.3 cm x 14.4 cm x 8.8 cm and will be offered up for auction in Germany later this month. It carries an estimate of £1,700 – £2,100.

Bilston Enamel Box c.1786

On 2nd August 1786, George III was alighting from his carriage outside St James’s Palace when a poor woman dashed towards him holding out a piece of paper. As he reached out to take the paper, which he assumed to be a petition of some kind, the woman lunged at him with a large table-knife she had concealed in her other hand. The knife had sharp edges but a blunt point and it failed to penetrate the king’s topcoat. She was quickly seized but the king shouted out: “the poor creature is mad, do not hurt her. She has not harmed me.” Upon which, the would-be regicide was led away quietly.

The lady’s name was Margret Nicholson, a former maidservant who had fallen on hard times and apparently drifted into insanity, eventually believing that she was the rightful queen of England and George and a usurping impostor. She was immediately certified insane and committed to the ‘incurables’ ward of Bethlem Royal Hospital, colloquially known as ‘Bedlam’, where she would remain for the rest of her life.

The incident proved to be something of a propaganda coup for the royal family and spawned a wave commemorative prints and other commercial tat with which loyal subjects could demonstrate their thanks for the king’s deliverance. This enamel box was probably manufactured in the West Midland’s town of Bilston, which was then the centre of the English enamel trade. It measures 2.5 cm, 3.5 cm wide and 5 cm deep and consists of a pink enamel body and hinged lid decorated with a (sadly slightly damaged) image of Margaret Nicholson’s attack.

The Up Shut or Bonny-Fire

This interesting creamware jug caught my eye whilst browsing through some auction catalogues this week.

It’s 15cm high and probably dates to circa 1815. The body is decorated with two transfer-printed designs. The first and most substantial of these is a caricature entitled The Up Shut or Bonny-Fire. It depicts Napoleon, bound and gagged, hanging from a gallows above a pile of combustible materials to which John Bull is about to set light. The following text has been crudely etched into a speech bubble above John’s head:

Fore George! You’ve quieten’d him, He’s made a stir in’t world long enough, now’s my turn. I’ll stir him when my fire lights. 

Whilst most satirical designs which appear on creamware during this period were copied from printed caricatures, I’ve been unable to identify a source print for this image. Therefore, I can only assume it’s either an original image created by the potter, or that it has been copied from a print which has subsequently been lost to history.

In contrast to the scene of gleeful immolation displayed on this side of the pot, the obverse is decorated with a nice bunch of flowers.