What a Circus!

Many Regency romances, my own included, mention Astley’s Amphitheatre as a place where equestrian feats could be enjoyed. But there was another theatre that rivaled it for a time, a theatre that could not quite make up its mind what it wanted to be.

South of London's Blackfriar’s Bridge, on Great Surry Street stood the Royal Circus and Equestrian Philharmonic Academy. Opened in 1782, burned down in 1806 and rebuilt, the Royal Circus was initially a collaboration between Charles Didbin, who wrote plays, songs, and pantomimes, and Charles Hughes, a trick rider who had trained under Philip Astley and became his chief rival. Besides a variety of animal acts, they hired children to perform in various plays and musical numbers Didbin created. Didbin dreamed of the place being a training ground for young actors.

Unfortunately, the theatre didn’t do as well as he’d hoped. In 1809, new management converted it to a theatre proper, the Surrey Theatre. In the picture you can see that the arena for the horses has been opened to a form of standing pit for patrons, though the ground still appears to be dirt to me. Good thing, too, for  another change in management saw the theatre converted back to a circus in 1814, a format it kept until 1827.

But just south of the Royal Circus on Great Surry Street was another. St. George’s Circus was one of London’s first traffic circles or roundabouts as they call them in my neck of the woods. Built in 1771, the center featured an obelisk with four oil lamps. It was inscribed to King George and marked the distances to key landmarks such as Palace Yard, London Bridge, and Fleet Street. Though it was removed at one point late in the 19^th century, it has now been returned (without its lamps).

So, you can still go to the circus south of Blackfriar's Bride, if you like.

Your Best Guides to London

I've been to London, but oh how I want to go back!  It's a city steeped in history, in drama.  I swear excitement lives in the very air.  Maybe it's because I’m walking down the streets my characters walked, seeing sights that existed before they were even born.  Despite all my critique partners admonitions not to look like a tourist for safety's sake, I gawk and cry out and point to things with giddy delight.  Nineteenth century lads and lasses were no different.

Touring London was a common practice in the early nineteenth century, even if you weren't a young miss on your first Season.  People from the country came up to the great metropolis to take in the culture, the politics.  And what better way to tour a city than to follow the advice of a reputable guide?

Samuel Leigh was a bookseller and publisher who specialized in travel guides.  He claimed to have written his New Picture of London because so many other travel guides were not updated regularly and ended up leading the tourist places that, at best, no longer existed  and at worst might be downright dangerous to visit.  The book  lays out the social and political history of the city and then goes on to list everything from public buildings to churches and colleges and even tea houses of merit.  One chapter offers a plan for visiting London in eight days.    

But Leigh wasn't the only one determined to educate London tourists.  An anonymous gentleman “who has made the police of the metropolis an object of enquiry twenty-two years” wrote The London Guide and Stranger's Safeguard against the Cheats, Swindlers, and Pickpockets.  The book enumerates the many ways criminals can accost you in London, from pickpockets on the streets to robbers at the inn and informers looking to make a buck off your supposed immoral acts. 

Armed with these two books, how could any tourist go wrong?

Making a Further Spectacle of Yourself

Some time ago I discussed what the nearsighted young ladies of the 19th century did to avoid walking into walls and other people (though walking into a handsome young earl wouldn’t have been such a bad thing!). Since then, I’ve gotten my hands on an example of a few of them, and thought it would fun to take a closer look at quizzing glasses and lorgnettes.

Remember what quizzing glasses are? Those small lenses worn as a piece of jewelry round the neck for when the wearer wished to have a better look at something (say, a handsome young earl coming into the ballroom)? Well, here you go: This one dates to about 1820 and is made of silver, with decorative scrollwork around its rim and a simple twisted loop handle. It measures a little under three inches long. It came with a small leather holder, which suggests it might have resided in someone’s pocket or reticule for occasional use rather than being worn around the neck on a ribbon or chain. Interestingly, the glass is held in with a screw (you can just see where it fits in, between the small loop and the lens frame) so that it could be changed; the one in there works well as a magnifying glass, so maybe the owner used it for reading.

And then there’s the lorgnette, or specs on a stick. These appear to be a nice sturdy brass, about five and a half inches long with the lenses about an inch and a quarter across. But wait! you’re saying. Where’s the other lens? Well, this is pretty slick. See the small rings around the handle near the small loop at the end of the handle? They’re actually a latch: if you slide them down just a little, a catch releases and voila! The second lens is released and swivels out. This certainly makes it less awkward to wear them on a necklace. There’s some pretty ornamentation on the nose bridge as you can see in the second photo, and like the quizzing glass above, the lenses can be changed.

 

And just as a side note, I noticed a gent (the one in the green coat, peering at the horses) wearing specs in this 1820 illustration by Cruikshank from Pierce Egan's well-known Life in London, or The Day and Night Scenes of Jerry Hawthorn, Esq. and his Elegant Friend Corinthian Tom in Their Rambles and Sprees through the Metropolis. Tom and Jerry weren't the only ones making a spectacle of themselves at this time!