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The Tour of Dr. Syntax in Search of the Picturesque, Part 9

Dr. Syntax, Derby Porcelain Manufactory
English 1750-1848, soft-paste porcelain
with polychrome enamel decoration
 
Since it has been a while since we last encountered Dr. Syntax, let’s take look at where he stands. He is traveling around England on his mare Grizzle to sketch and write about the picturesque – an artistic concept, indeed a sort of fad in the first two decades of the 19th century.  This long poem was written by William Comb, illustrated by Thomas Rowlandson, and published by Rudolf Ackermann. It is a satire – or burlesque – on the writings of that seer of the “picturesque,”  the Reverend William Gilpin, whose writings were widely persuasive to many such as landscape architect Humpry Repton and even novelist Jane Austen. But like almost all artistic endeavors, when exaggerated to a great extent, the picturesque was certainly ripe for satire, with its disdain of a calm and serene landscape in favor of twisted trees, wild weather, and ruined buildings.
Being a curate and teacher in the church school, Dr. Syntax’s clerical career has not progressed to the degree he and his wife think he deserves. With this trip, he is attempting to make his fortune and reputation (as did Rev. Gilpin) with a book of his observations.  He has now reached Keswick in the Lake District, and has made friends with Squire Worthy and his family. This squire will figure prominently in the Doctor’s life in the future – but so far, little does he know…
As we meet him once again, Dr. Syntax is having breakfast with Squire Worthy , who is speaking:
Your free-born conduct I commend,
And shall rejoice to call you friend:
Oh ! how it would my spirits cheer
If you were but the Rector here!
Our Parson, I’m concern’d to say.
Had rather drink and game — than pray:
He makes no bones to curse and swear.
In any rout to take a share,
And what’s still worse, he’ll springe a hare.
I wish his neck he would but break,
Or tumble drunk into the Lake!
For, know, the living’s mine to give,
And you should soon the cure receive:
The benefice, I’m sure, is clear
At least three hundred pounds a year.”
 
“I thank you. Sir, with all my heart,”
Said Syntax, “but we now must part” …
 
Dr. Syntax, making another of his many errors, rides off until evening…
 
Dr. Syntax Robbed of his Property
 
But as he reach’d the destin’d inn.
The landlord, with officious grin.
At once declar’d he had no bed
Where Syntax could repose his head; …
At least, where such a rev’rend guest
Would think it fit to take his rest:
A main of cocks had fought that day,
And all the gentry chose to stay. …
Dr. Syntax is offered a room by one of the guests and innocently agrees….Dr. Syntax speaks:
“In short, I only want to sleep
Where neither rogue nor knave can creep.
I travel not with change of coats.
But in these bags are all my notes,
Which, should I lose, would prove my ruin,
And be forever my undoing.”
Thus as he spoke, a lively blade.
With dangling queue and smart cockade.
Replied at once, “I have a room;
The friend I look’d for is not come;
And of two beds where we may rest.
You, my good Sir, shall have the best;
So you may sleep without alarm;
No living wight shall do you harm…”
Ah, beware Doctor – but so far on this trip when he has been frequently accosted, he has learned nothing of human behavior!  He agrees to share the room with the Captain, and after dinner:
The Doctor and the Captain sat.
Till tir’d of each other’s chat.
They both agreed it would be best
To seek the balmy sweets of rest. 
Syntax soon clos’d his weary eye,
Nor thought of any danger nigh;
While, like the ever-watchful snake.
His sharp companion lay awake.
Impatient to assail his prey
When, soon as it was dawn of day.
He gently seiz’d the fancied store;
But, as he pass’d the creaking door.
Syntax awoke, and saw the thief;
When, loudly bawling for relief.
He forward rush’d in naked state,
And caught the culprit at the gate:
Against that gate his head he beat.
Then kick’d him headlong to the street.
The ostler from his bed arose,
In time to hear and see the blows…
Luckily our hero is able to recover his papers. Syntax and the ostler (a stableman from the inn) let the culprit run away – then return to their beds.
 
Excerpts from Canto 16
 
But, while he still enjoy’d his dream,
His story was the gen’ral theme
Of ev’ry tong
ue, and made a din
Through all the purlieus of the inn.
The ostler told it to the maid.
And she the whole, and more, betray’d;
Nay, in her idle, eager prate.
Mistook the window for the gate:
For, though she lay all snug and quiet.
And slept, unconscious of the riot,
She swore that, all within her view.
The Parson from the window threw
A full-grown man into the street. …
The Barber caught the story next,
Who stuck no closer to the text;
But left a face half-shav’d, and ran
To tell it to the Clergyman. …
“ At the Blue Bell there’s been such doing —
The house, I’m certain, it must ruin;
Nay, as I live, I’ll tell no further, —
A bishop has committed murther!” …
More exaggerations are spread…
The Blacksmith, while a trav’ller stay’d
That a new horse-shoe might be made,
Inform’d him that a rev’rend Clerk
Last night was strangled in the dark,
No one knew how — ’twas at the Belly
The murd’rer not a soul could tell: 
The Justice though would make a rout,
And try to find the fellow out.—
Thus Rumour spread the simple case,
In ev’ry form throughout t
he place.
The Doctor now unclos’d his eyes.
And thought that it was time to rise:
So up he got, and down he went.
To scold the Landlord fully bent;
The landlord makes profuse apologies… and finishes:
“…I understand the rogue you bang’d.
And in good time. Sir, he’ll be hang’d:
I hope that all your notes you’ve found, —
I’m told they’re worth a thousand pound.”
“Prove that,” says Syntax, “my dear honey,
And I will give you half the money.
Think not, my friend, I’m such a fool.
That I have been so late at school.
To put my bank-notes in a bag
That hangs across my Grizzle nag;
No, they were notes to make a book;
The thief my meaning, Mend, mistook:
For know, the man would not have found
Them worth — to him — a single pound:
Though much I hope that they will be
The source of many a pound to me.”
Thus Syntax cheer’d the Landlord’s heart,
Till the time wam’d him to depart;
When soon, along the beaten road.
Poor Grizzle bore her rev’rend load.
The Doctor’s pleasant thoughts beguile
The journey onward many a mile;
For many a mile he had not seen
But one unvarying, level green;
Nor had the way one object brought,
That wak’d a picturesquish thought. …
 
 
 
 
 
Dr.  Syntax is tricked into a wager – though he claims he never gambles.  A local yeoman bets Syntax that he cannot get a pound for his mare, the poor and boney Grizzle who has lost most of her ears and tail.  But one of the local fellows comes to the rescue:
 
“A parson, Sir,” says one, “distressed,
Would sell that poor, that wretched beast;
And asks, I hear, a pound or two:
I think he’ll ne’er get that from you.”
“If that’s the case,” the Yeoman said, —
“I’ll ease his heart, and buy the jade.
I’ll bid two pounds, my friend, that’s plain,
And give him back his beast again.”
The Farmer own’d the wager lost.
And op’d his bag to pay the cost;
“No Sir,” says Syntax, “’tis to you
To pay where’er you think it due…”
Thus the wager comes to naught and all are satisfied.
Excerpts from Canto 17
Dr. Syntax is invited to a village feast where he engages in the general festivities and tells stories, including a long lecture on the evils of gambling.  Dr. Syntax joins in the music-making by playing the fiddle.
 
Dr. Syntax … Rural Sports
 
Chorus of Peasants.
“Strike, strike the lyre! awake the sounding shell
How happy we who in these valleys dwell!
How blest we live beneath his gentle sway.
Whom mighty realms and distant seas obey!
Make him, propitious Heaven! your choicest care!
O make him happy as his people are!”
‘Twas thus they fiddled, danc’d, and sung;
With harmless glee the village rung:
At length, dull midnight bid them close
A day of joy, with calm repose.
To be continued…
 
 
 

A Couple In England – Day Three – Part Five

“What do I have to change for?” Hubby asked when we were up in our room.
“Because Winter Wonderland is outdoors. It’s in Hyde Park, behind Apsley House. We have to bundle up.”
“Oh, Jeez, it’s freezing out! And more crowds,” Hubby said as he looked longingly at the darts match (still) playing on the telly.
“At least it’s not raining.”
“Yeah. We’re getting a five minute break on the rain.”
So once again we bundled up – coats, scarves and gloves – and made our way to Piccadilly. Walking briskly towards Apsley House, we soon encountered a crowd on the sidewalk.
“What’s this now?” Hubby asked. “What are they all lining up for?”
“The Hard Rock Cafe. There’s always a line. Do you want to go in?” I asked, knowing how big Hubby is into rock and roll. “They have a Vault, with all kinds of rock memorabilia inside.”
“Are you crazy? I wouldn’t wait on that line, in the cold, to get inside if you told me Pink Floyd was in there. And that would be something, since half of them are dead.”
So we continued on our way until we reached Apsley House, which always looks magnificent when lit at night. And on past it to Hyde Park gate . . . . . .

And the entrance to Winter Wonderland.
“What are we stopping for?” Hubby asked. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was the one who’d explained to Hubby that the entrance to Winter Wonderland was right behind Apsely House. I knew it was right behind Apsley House, but I hadn’t realized that it was right behind Apsley House. As in within spitting distance. A child could have thrown a baseball from Apsley House to the entrance. Hell, even I could have thrown a baseball from Apsley House to the entrance. Surely the first Duke must be turning in his grave. And I daresay the present Duke can’t have been too happy, either.

We were soon forced to move forward towards the entrance by the sheer numbers of the crowd pressing ahead. Before us lay a wall of people, a cacophony of noise and the glare of thousands of neon lights.
“Into the valley of death rode the six hundred.”
“What? I can’t hear you!”
“Hold my hand,” I yelled. “I don’t want us to be separated.” Egad, I’d never find Hubby again in this crowd, and even if I did, he’d be spitting mad.

Although we had just come through the entrance, everyone already inside seemed to be coming at us. Like lemmings, we had to jostle our way in the opposite direction through a wall of humanity. Peripherally, I could make out booths on either side of the crowd, but dashed if I could make out what any of them were selling. If we went on at this pace, we’d never make it to the Big Wheel by 7 p.m., for which time we had tickets. Right, time to take matters into my own two feet. I gripped Hubby’s hand tighter still and forged ahead . . . twelve steps to the left, nine ahead. Eight steps to the right, 17 ahead. Thus, we twisted, turned and wended our way towrads the Big Wheel, which we could see in the distance.

Finally, we made our way, still together, to the Wheel and joined the queue. There were many gondolas on the wheel and so it was soon our turn to ride. Seated inside, we found buttons one could push in order to listen to either a narrative of the upcoming view or Christmas carols. We chose the narrative and soon we were off. Up and up, higher and higher we climbed. Then we stopped so that the next people in line could board. There we hung, in mid air, as it were.

“What’s the matter?” Hubby asked.

“I didn’t realize we’d be this high up.”

“We’re hardly off the ground yet.”

Apsley House looked like a Leggo toy below us. Staring at it, I thought of Wellington and tried to summon up some courage.

“Maybe we should change seats and sit on the other side so we can get a better view of the fair.”

“No!”

“Alright, alright. I just asked.”

Oddly enough, the higher we climbed, and the less I could see the ground way down below us, the more I began to r
elax. In the distance, one could see the twinkling lights of Mayfair and Knightsbridge. It was a glorious view, a smooth ride and we both thoroughly enjoyed it. Before long, it was time to disboard.

“That was great!”
“I’m glad you liked it. It was something different.”
“Did you enjoy it?”Hubby asked.
“Yes, I did. Though I could use a cigarette.”
We found an out of the way, miraculously empty area and lit up.
“Now what?”
“Zippo’s Circus. I saw it on our way over here. It’s over in that direction,” I said, pointing.

As we walked off towards the circus tent, it became obvious that, although we could clearly see it, there was no direct route one might take in order to reach the tent. We found it tantalizingly near, but confoundingly difficult to reach as it seemed blocked on all sides by other attractions.

First, we found our way blocked by the Alpen Hotel, a sort of haunted house ride by all appearances.
Then by a German Christmas village, where the crowds continued to thwart our every step forward. Finally, I found a ticket booth and asked the attendant how in the world one was actually supposed reach Zippo’s Circus.
“Oh, well, the best way to go is right up this lane here till you get to your first right turning. Then you’ll take that straight until you see the Bavarian Village. You have to go right through it and out the back. When you get out into the gardens behind, make a right and follow that lane right around to the right and then you’ll see it.”
“Well?” Hubby asked when I returned to his side.
“It’s right down here!” I said brightly. It was the first right turn she’d said, wasn’t it?

 

We made it to the Bavarian Village, which was chockablock with people, and finally out the back, up the lane and to Zippo’s Cirque Berserk.

.
 
 
Here’s a publicity still from Zippos, which will you give you some idea the flavour of the night.
 
 
 
 
Zippo’s is made up of a small, but amazingly talented, troupe of performers. All of the acts were tied together by a sort of Tim Burton/Grimm’s Fairy Tale-esque narrative. The forces of evil, nightmares and I don’t know what else all played a part. The woman who did the narrative had a heavy eastern European accent, so most of what she said was lost, but no matter, the show itself more than made up for it.
 
 
There was an awe inspiring aerialist, a couple who walked and rode bicycles on a tight rope and a group of tumblers and acrobats called the Zulu Warrior Troupe. You can watch a previous performance of theirs here, which will give you a sample of their talents.
 
“Good?”
&
nbsp;
“Great! I had no idea it would be this great. It’s all fabulous.”
 
The highlight of the show was the  Motorcycle Globe of Death, which stars Brazil’s Lucius Troupe. First, a single motorcyclist enters the globe and rides around the interior at breakneck speeds. Then another cyclist enters and the two of them drive like demons inside the globe. Then, a woman entered the globe and they sped around her dancing form. Then, she left and a third cyclist entered the globe . . . . .
 
“No freaking way,” said Hubby, who actually rides motorcycles. “That’s nuts.”
 
Way. Round and round they went and I have to say that it stopped being fun for me. No kidding. My heart was in my throat, my rounded eyes were glued to the globe and I really just wanted them to stop before they killed themselves. I couldn’t see this ending well. The air became thick with exhaust fumes, their engines raced and revved as they continued to accelerate, but otherwise the entire tent was silent, all of us watching with jaws hanging open.  
 
 
 
Words really cannot do justice to the performance, so I’ve included a YouTube clip of the act –  you can watch it here. And here’s a longer version. I will tell you that everyone survived the performance, even the audience members.
 
After the show, Hubby and I found a nearby, and blessedly empty, sausage stall with a beer stand not five feet away from it. There is a God! We chowed down, drank beer and had a really good time.
 
“So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” Hubby eventually asked.
 
“Apsley House!” I waited for a joyous response from Hubby. It never came. “Followed by your three hour rock and roll tour.”
 
“It’s not my rock and roll tour.”
 
“Well, it certainly isn’t mine. I booked it for you. Then we have the theatre tomorrow night.”
 
Eventually, we began to make our way out of the fair.
 
“Which way do we go?”
 
“Dashed if I know. I’m all turned around. I have no idea where in the Park we are any longer.” We walked aimlessly for a bit and then I saw a security guard up ahead.
 
“Can you tell me where the nearest exit is?” I asked. He raised his right arm to shoulder height and pointed in response. I followed his finger and there was a deserted lane leading down to what appeared to be a well travelled thoroughfare.
 
“Thanks.” We exited the Park and stood on the sidewalk.
 
“Where are we?”
 
“Give me a minute.”
 
“Are we lost?”
 
No! You can’t get lost coming out of Hyde Park. I just don’t know which gate this is.” I looked to my right . . . . Knightsbridge. I think. I looked across the road. Hhhhmmmm . . . . I do believe that if we were to cross right here and continue on we’d soon be at the Grenadier Pub. Just to make sure, I looked to the left and confirmed that I’d gotten my bearings right.
 
“This way.” I said to Hubby as I began to walk.
“Do you know where we are now?”
 
“Yes. And you know where we are, too.”
 
“I do?”
 
“Yup. St. George’s Hospital is just up here on the right.”
 
“Should we get a cab? Look, there’s a free cab!”
 
“We don’t need a cab! Come on, a few more steps and you’ll see where we are.”
 
And there, like a beacon in the night, glowed Apsley House.
 
 
 
 

Day Four Coming Soon!

The Secrets of Bloxley Bottom, Episode 5: The Duke Consents







Lady Louisa usually welcomed Monty to her drawing room with enthusiasm. But today, when she had so much to discuss with the Duke of Wellington, she would have preferred to send Monty away. His visit would no doubt outlast that of the Duke. How very annoying. No pussy-footing. She’d get him straight to the point.
Lady Louisa gestured to Monty before turning to the Duke.  “Have a seat, Monty.  Duke, Mr. Twydall has a new shipment of items from the continent.”
Monty’s wide grin turned into a little cough. “Why yes, Lady Louisa. But perhaps the Duke is not interested in such trifles.” Monty cast a furrowed brow in Louisa’s direction, wondering at her bluntness. Not to say lack of tact.

“Hmmmph,” the Duke said. “Better talk of trifles these days than hear more about the nonsense coming from Westminster.”
“How true,” Monty said. He would never discuss politics with the Duke. “But you are a real connoisseur, and most of what I have are little more than bibelots.”
“I am sometimes on the lookout for things that might interest my friend Mrs. Charles Arbuthnot. She has exquisite taste.”
“Is she interested in fans? I have one said to have belonged to Madame du Barry. As well as a pearl necklace that was Madame Grassini’s, or so they say.”

Monty kept his gaze fixed on the Duke’s face, but the old fellow’s famous sang-froid had not dimmed upon hearing the name of this former mistress.


In the Dower House kitchen Billy Green arrived, after following Monty on foot.

“Now wot have you et today, boy?” Mrs. Cubbins put down her spoon, slapped a plate and a hunk of cheese on the table. She sliced a thick piece of crusty bread and set it on the plate beside a tub of butter. “Fresh churned this morning.”

“Sure is good, ma’am.” Billy spoke through a mouthful of bread.

“Yer can take some ‘ome. I made a few extra loaves this mornin’ fer the egg man, but he hain’t come today.”

It was a perfect day for Billy. A shilling in his pocket and a bundle full of bread and cheese.
***
In the Drawing Room, Lady Louisa had succeeded in sending Monty away with Anne, on the pretext of his helping her to fetch the tea tray. At first Monty had balked at the suggestion that he carry the tea tray. Wasn’t that what Hartley was for? It had taken a ferocious look from Lady Louisa before the penny had dropped and he’d realized that the fetching of tea was simply an excuse to be rid of them.
When the door closed behind them, Louisa all but pounced upon the Duke. “Arthur, we will not have much time to discuss this.”
“I must be leaving quite soon.”

“Please, not until I explain.”

“Why do I feel this is not something I want to hear?”

“I told you already — it concerns Captain Bradley-Smythe and Prudence.”

The Duke sighed. “Let’s be done with it, then.”

“You were saying a few weeks ago what promise the Captain had shown and that you felt he could certainly advance in his military career, most especially if he were to find himself a suitable wife. You did say you preferred your officers to be settled in their personal lives, did you not?”

“Perhaps I did. It’s something I believe, certainly, but if I had mentioned such a thing, I assure you, Louisa, it was mentioned in passing and not intended to prompt you to find him a wife!”

“But it would be the most perfect arrangement, Arthur. I dare say my very first arrangement in regards to Prudence sixteen years ago at Waterloo has worked out mighty well. You can’t dispute that.”

The Duke narrowed his eyes, “You mean my plan for Prudence, surely.”

Louisa sucked in her breath, “Well!”

The Duke and Louisa each sat rigidly with gazes locked, neither one prepared to give an inch on the question. The Duke, used to dealing with people who attempted to push him down various paths he had no intention of traveling, would have sat stone faced thusly for however long the matter required. However, after the space of two minutes and 23 seconds precisely, Louisa suddenly sat back and smiled at him, a sly look in her hazel eyes.

“Why don’t we agree to refer to past matters as having been a plan of our mutual devising and leave it at that?”

“As you wish.” The Duke allowed, relaxing the set of his shoulders. “In any case, Louisa, how could you possibly have shuffled your well used deck of matchmaking cards and come up with the pair of Prudence and Bradley-Smythe? You’ve never met Bradley-Smythe, for a start. He could be a one-eyed hunchback for all you know.”

“Impossible. You, Arthur, only allow pretty fellows into your inner circle. Good looks, after all, do wonders for a uniform.”

“Louisa! That is not  -. ”

“Now, when can you bring him to me so that I might take his measure?”

“Dashed if I know. Bradley-Smythe’s not a member of my inner circle. He’s been acting as a sort of aide to Fitzroy-Somerset as far his parliamentary work is concerned. You know Somerset’s got his hand in many pies.”

“Yes, however Lord Fitzroy-Somerset is off for two weeks in Scotland soon and I dare say that if you asked to have the Captain come to you at Walmer while Somerset was away, he would be more than happy to oblige.”

“Fitzroy’s going to Scotland?”

Louisa sighed, “Yes. His sister-in-law, the Duchess of Beaufort, wrote to me and happened to mention it. A line about his trip, nothing more.”

“Louisa, do you keep up a correspondence with everyone in the world? You know absolutely everything about everyone, blast it. “

“Not everyone, Arthur, only those people who matter and in whom I take an interest. Now, when can we arrange for the Captain to visit?”
“I cannot tell you this instant, Louisa. I am certain there are a few things on my calendar in the coming weeks that may keep me otherwise occupied.”

“What sort of things?” Louisa asked impatiently.
“Trifling things. The king, parliament, the war office, the Duchess of Kent, Egypt. Nothing of any weight in the face of your personal desires, I dare say.”
Louisa had the grace to nod her assent to the importance of these matters. The Duke sighed, “I shall check my diary soonest and send you a note as to when a visit from Captain Bradley-Smythe may be convenient.”
“Very well. And not a word to Anne about it as yet. I want to get a look at the Captain first in order make certain that he’d be suitable for Prudence.”
“Suitable? Suitable, indeed. Prudence would be a fortunate girl to land the likes of Bradley-Smythe as a husband.”
Louisa bristled, “May I remind you, Arthur, that Prudence possesses many sterling qualities in herself, and she enjoys something most young ladies cannot claim, that being our patronage. You and I have set the course for her life and we must do everything in our power to see that she is set up fine. As fine as we can manage between ourselves!”
“Waterloo has got alot to answer for, by God! If I had realized then the scope of your propensity for scheming and interfering in other people’s lives, I would never have gone into partnership with you in our plans for Prudence at the time! Why I allow myself to be so easily persuaded by you I shall never know.”

“You do not always allow yourself to be persuaded by me, Arthur. As you very well know.”
“I know no such thing! Name me a single instance of my not having bowed to your powers of persuasion. A single instance!”
Louisa picked up her teacup and took a long pull. She swallowed and smiled prettily at the Duke before answering, “The Duchess of Richmond’s ball.”