London has seldom seen a more remarkable foreigner than Giovanni Baptista Belzoni who, in a lifetime spanning just forty-five years, was barber, monk, acrobat, engineer, traveller and popular author. Belzoni’s Exhibition drew Londoners to the Egyptian Hall in 1821 to see the Theban tomb and mummy. Belzoni had been born in Padua in 1778, where his barber father educated his son to be a monk. However, wanderlust filled the young Belzoni’s breast and in 1803 he arrived in England in order seek his fortune.

Belzoni was a giant of a man, standing six foot and seven inches tall, and turned his hand to performing at Sadler’s Wells Theatre, where he took the stage name of The patagonian Samson and displayed feats of strength. He went on to give performances at Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre, Bartholomew Fair and in scores of towns throughout the British Isles. Saving up a nest egg, Belzoni married an Englishwoman and then turned his mind to engineering, specifically to the study of hydraulics. This led him to the scheme that he might go to Egypt and instruct the populace on a method of raising water.

In 1815 Belzoni went to Cairo to offer to Mohammed Ali Pasha, the founder of modern Egypt, a hydraulic machine he had invented, which worked extremely well. While in Egypt he met the British Consul General, Henry Salt, who engaged him to travel to Thebes to remove the colossal stone head of Rameses II (The Young Memnon) to be delivered to the British Museum. His success prompted Henry Salt to further Belzoni’s expeditions to the temple of Edfu, Philae and Elephantine, where he cleared the great temple of Rameses II at Abu Simbel, excavated at Karnak, and in 1817 discovered the tomb of the pharaoh Seti I, in the Valley of the Kings. Belzoni was the first person to penetrate into the second pyramid of Giza (1818) by using his engineering genius to locate the entrance to the inner chambers, and the first European to visit the oasis of Siwah, and identify the ruined city of Berenice on the Red Sea.

Upon his return to England, Belzoni was lionized by society and struck up a friendship with publisher John Murray, who published Belzoni’s Narratives of the Operation and recent Discoveries within the Pyramids, Temples, Tombs and excavations in Egypt and Nubia. Byron’s take on the book was this, “Belzoni is a grand traveller, and his English is very prettily broken.” No matter, the book saw three printings.

From Dr. Smiles book, The Memoirs of John Murray, we get the following account of George IV’s coronation and Belzoni’s part in it: “Like many other men of Herculean power, Belzoni ws not eager to exhibit his strength, but on one occasion he gave proof of it. Mr. Murray had asked him to accompany him to the coronation of George IV. They had tickets of admission to Westminster Hall, but on arriving there they found that the sudden advent of Queen Caroline, accompanied by a mob claiming admission to the Abbey, had alarmed the authorities, who had caused all the doors to be shut. That by which they should have entered was held close and guarded by several stalwart janitors. Belzoni thereupon advanced to the door, and in spite of the efforts of these guardians, including Tom Cribb and others of the pugilistic corps who had been engaged as constables, opened it with ease, and admitted himself and Mr. Murray.”

Unfortunately, Belzoni still retained his wanderlust and sense of adventure and embarked for Timbuctoo in 1823. In Benin, he was seized by dysentery and died. A statue to Belzoni was raised in his native Padua and the city of Belzoni, Mississippi was named in his honour. His widow eventually received a small pension from the British Government and, in 1829, published his drawings of the royal tombs at Thebes.

For further information,, read Stanley May’s The Great Belzoni: The Circus Strongman Who Discovered Egypt’s Ancient Treasures

I’ve just been reading all of your comments – LOL! Yes, saved by the Duke – again! We got a cab first thing this a.m. and drove over to Eaton Place, where the cab driver wondered why I wanted to take pics of #65. I asked if he had seen the original Upstairs, Downstairs and he said he had, so I explained to him that #65 is what they used for #165 in the series. Then it was on to the Tower – boy, this time out, the Beefeater included many Wellington anecdotes – I’ll do a post on them soon. Then we went to Cecil Court, to Mark Sullivan Antiques, where I bought that wonderful Staffordshire figurine of the Duke in June. Mark and I chatted a bit and he told me, once again, that I’d missed seeing the current Duke of Wellington as he’d been in a few days before. Mark had some so/so Artie stuff and I made noises about taking a pass on the items when Mark told me to hold on a moment, that he had two things downstairs that he was holding for a dealer, but the dealer hadn’t yet come back, so he offered them to me – a Lambeth pottery mug with a figure of Artie on the front and a small, bronze bust. Reader, I bought both. Again, pics and post to follow. Then we did the Thos. Lawrence exhibit at the National Portrait Galler – again, a post to come. Then to Madame Tussauds and now we’re back in the room for a quick brush up before dinner. Tonight the final episode of U/D, tomorrow Oxford and the Cotswolds. My back is aching, I’m really exhausted but I’m not complaining in the least. I’m in heaven. Miss you all, wish you could be racketing round London with me. I’ll try to post again tomorrow . . . .

Unlike Mr. White (see post below) Greg and I haven’t yet run into any shady characters, though we’ve been covering alot of ground. We did the bus tour again today, Blue Route this time, walked Regent Street, went to Liberty’s (thought of you, Vicky!) took a boat cruise on the River Thames then went to Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street for dinner. It was closed until the 29th – and the cab had left. Fleet Street after business hours is desolate, to say the least. What to do? Well, I thought, I’ll just carry on as if I know what the Hell I’m doing. “This way,” I told Greg as I walked purposefully towards the Strand. Please God, I prayed, let there be somewhere’s nice to eat. We passed The George pub – very old, very atmospheric, very closed. Xmas and the Bank Holiday are playing havoc with opening times. Right then, I told myself, keep marching. We fell upon Somerset House and went inside to watch the ice skaters. Then we walked another three blocks up the Strand when, off on the far right corner I saw something promising – lights were on, people were inside and it looked like a pub. It was a pub . . . The Duke of Wellington in Wellington Street. NO, I’m not kidding . . . saved by the Duke. Again. We had a pint in the bar and then went upstairs to the dining room, where we had a fantastic meal (lamb shank pie for me, steak for Greg) and warmed ourselves by the gas fire. The Duke of Wellington – I ask you, what were the odds!? Then we went off on the Ripper Walk and back to the hotel for Part 2 of Upstairs, Downstairs – yes, it’s still delicious.

Watching the news afterwards, we saw that the NY/NJ metro airports have cancelled flights due to snow and now resemble Heathrow. Thank God we timed our flight just right, another day we might have been grounded. Of course, if it snows here now and we can’t get out of Heathrow, I could care less. Yippeee says I. In the meantime, we have Eaton Place, the Tower, Madame Tussaud’s, National Portrait Gallery, Cecil Court and who knows what else in store. Will keep posting . . . . . . Needless to say, having a wonderful time, wish you all were here.

The following account was taken from Letters on England, written by Joshua E. White (1816). The book contains a series of descriptive views of the areas he visited and his general observations. White was an American merchant who traveled to England in connection with business and left Savannah, Georgia bound for Liverpool in May of 1810. Eventually, Mr. White arrived in London, as do most visitors to England. Here is his account of his run-in with a disreputable hackney-coachman. And two prostitutes. And the law.

At Chiswick, on the bank of the Thames, I sometimes sought an asylum from the noise and confusion of London. My letters introduced me to the acquaintance of Mrs. Levett, (who resided here,) the young and beautiful widow of a gentleman who died in Georgia, in 1808. He had left his widow and two infant daughters in London; and after the melancholy tidings reached her, she sought a retreat with her respectable mother, Mrs. Wright, and her amiable sister, Miss Charlotte Wright, at the little village just mentioned. In this charming company I embraced every opportunity of spending a few hours. When tired of the noise of the city, I would visit this agreeable family, and I always met with a cordial and a kind reception. It will be for a long time to me a source of pleasure to reflect on the means which introduced me to the acquaintance of those females; and no period of my stay in England will be remembered with more fond delight than those hours I spent at Chiswick.

I cannot avoid noting an occurrence that took place after I had passed the day at Chiswick. Miss Wright had accompanied me with one of the little daughters of Mrs. Levett, up Chiswick lane into the main road from Windsor to London. Here I intended to take the first empty hackney coach I saw; but being engaged in conversation I permitted them to pass one after another, until night came, and I found myself on the high road, eight miles from my lodgings. It was very dark, but I did not apprehend any danger; for in my various walks through the city at almost all hours of the night, I was in no instance molested or insulted. I felt as much security as if I were in the midst of a hamlet. I walked on slowly, and having reached Leicester square a sudden and violent shower compelled me to increase my speed, and having reached the Strand, I saw a hackney-coach. I made a momentary stop, when I was addressed by a voice from within it, “do you want a coach?” I replied “yes;” and a man jumped from behind it, opened the door, and I took my seat.

There were two women and a young man seated in it. The former I very soon discovered to be common prostitutes, who were going to the Hay Market Theatre, and were desirous I should accompany them. I bade the coachman drive to my lodging in Aldersgate street, after he had put them down. They alighted at the Theatre, and I proceeded to the inn. Having arrived within a hundred yards of it, the coach was obliged to stop from having met with another, and there was no room to pass. I got out and proposed walking home.

Upon tendering the legal fare to the coachman, which was two shillings, he refused it, and demanded four shillings. This I positively objected to give him; and upon expostulating on the unreasonableness of his demand, he told me I “must pay for the ladies who were in the coach,” and observed one of them told him
“the gentleman in the coach will pay for us.” Irritated at this remark, and believing he intended a fraud, I determined to reject the fellow’s demand; and after again offering to pay the fare for myself, I was about to proceed on, when he stopped me. I raised my cane to strike him, but at that moment I recollected that personal revenge in this way would be immediately cognizable by the law, and prudence bade me forbear.

The noise had collected the people from the neighbourhood, and among them the constable of the ward; demanding the cause of the noise, I told him; and he advised me to make the coachman drive me to the inn door, or otherwise he would say I intended to leave him without paying his fare; when there he directed me to take the number of his coach. This advice I followed, and I related to the master of the inn the whole of the circumstances, and what I deemed an imposition. He pushed the coachman from the door, and advised me not to pay him any thing. Believing him entitled by law to two shillings, I paid him that sum.

This adventure was of service to me: first, it reminded me that I had no right to get into a coach that was previously occupied: secondly, by remaining in the coach after the other passengers were discharged, I. became liable for the whole amount of the fare: thirdly, it convinced me that the police of London is as well regulated as any city perhaps can be, which has within its limits nearly a million of people. Personal injuries dare not be inflicted with impunity; and unlike what was the state of the people in France before the late revolution, individual rights, so far at least as they regard exemption from violence and assault, are most carefully preserved and protected.