1750+-+Our+Family's+Electronic+Visit+to+1750

= Our Family’s Electronic Visit to 1750 = I sat, snug and cozy, on the bed while my daughters, Halie and Emma, gathered ‘round me, peering over each of my shoulders. Despite the fast internet connection and the joys of electricity, we were about to enter the year 1750. I was reading aloud what is affectionately known around our house as “The Univerfal Magazine of Knowledge and Pleafure,” a phrase that gets funnier the more often it is said (just try it), and toys with the contrast of reading an eighteenth-century periodical, chock full of long //s//’s (sometimes spoken as //f//’s just for kicks), to one’s teenage daughters, on this year’s Apple Macbook. Boy, do we know how to get the party out of a Saturday evening and a pot of tea. Since I had become so cozy with the magazine over the last few weeks, I decided to share some of what I was learning about the year 1750 with my family. I think of this as three girls of the computer “information age” re-entering the eighteenth-century print “information age”—no passport or teleport necessary— simply for the universal pleasure of knowledge.

// The Universal Magazine o ////f Knowledge and Pleasure// was published in London between the years 1747 and 1799 by John Hinton. It contains a little of everything, just as its title suggests, and presupposes the audience’s interest in acquiring knowledge of all kinds. There are smatterings of: history, science, mathematics, religion, local news, world news, stock prices, deaths, marriages, printed music with “new” dances, riddles, poems, plays, husbandry, advice, and motivational materials. A few hours spent with the magazine leaves one feeling, well, smarter. We imagined the women of the eighteenth-century felt the same way, though we wondered how many of them actually tried the geometry problems that we decided to skip. We also wondered how they must have felt to have relatively inexpensive access to so much educated thought. It must have been a very exciting time, for women in particular, to be exposed to so many new ideas and to be included in the ongoing conversations surrounding these things. Did they feel like we did when we discovered we could Google anything we wanted to know about? Would Kant think we “might as well even have a beard” (Kramnick 581)? Do any of us even care what Kant thinks? Maybe we should go back and work the geometry problems just because we can, and just because Kant said “[a] woman. . . will learn no geometry. . . ” (Kramnick 582). We stroke our imaginary beards and laugh. From February’s edition one could learn how to make blue letters on a sword blade, how to melt glass easily, how to make a powder for polishing stones, and the best of all, how to make secret ink for letters you wish to keep private. We thought this would have been very useful to Mary Queen of Scotts (her story was included in the section on the history of England) in regard to her casket letters. The letters are invisible until submerged in a water bath— too bad she lived her life too early to read the “Univerfal Magazine of Knowledge of Pleafure” like us girls. We even learned the sly trick of writing with regular ink on the flip side to ward off suspicion of the invisible ink on blank paper (Feb 1750). As a recently married woman, I wondered how the new wife of Reverend Tatterthal, widow Tuncks, felt about her 16,000 sterling //pounds// being included in her wedding announcement, proudly mentioned in the local news section.

The girls recently had the luxury of a trip to London with their father. They went to the British Museum and saw many of the Egyptian artifacts there. They stood in front of the Rosetta Stone, a piece of history that we read about when they were children, and that had not been discovered and decoded when the 1750’s magazine published their history of ancient Egypt. I thought it was interesting to read an Egyptian history composed before the decoding of the hieroglyphics shed its light on the topic. I was also amused with how Pharaoh of Egypt was presented as being completely subject to his people and the laws of the land, including in the choice of his food and the choice of his wife (even when he could sexually be with his wife). It was difficult not to see this as a jab and scolding at England’s monarchy, indicating newsprint’s then new ability to craft public opinion to its liking. According to the author of the article, Pharaoh was apparently a near-perfect monarch, a “King, who governed according to the laws of the kingdom; and enlarged on his royal virtues, on his piety towards the gods, tenderness towards his subjects, and on his moderation, temperance, justice, magnanimity, strict veracity, liberality, chastity and equity in punishing below, and rewarding above desert” (Hinton 2). Also included is a jab at English debt-slavery. The article relates that an Egyptian’s body belonged to the city or province “who had a right to his service both in peace and war. This law was to prevent the sacrificing an useful member of the republic to the cruelty or avarice of a private person: and not unworthy the imitation of the moderns” (Hinton 5). Also interesting is that the Egyptian court cases were written down instead of argued in person, so the eloquence of the lawyer could not persuade the judge (Hinton 4). David Hume addresses the problem of eloquence influencing justice as well, saying: “Eloquence, when at its highest pitch, leaves little room for reason or reflection; but addressing itself entirely to the fancy or the affections, captivates the willing hearers, and subdues their understanding” (Kramnick,111).

The Enlightenment news editor, obviously a Protestant, also took a jab at the “superstitions” of the eighteenth-century Roman church in his retelling of the Egyptian history. In March’s edition, he says, “What will not a mind, darkened with superstition, stoop until! They classed out their Deities, as the Romanists now do their Saints” (Hinton 97). This observation is immediately followed by an example of the human sacrifices offered by the Egyptians. To Typhon, at the tomb of Osiris, they offered red oxen and, whenever they had the non-natives available for disposal, red-haired men! Also, in Heliopolis, there were three humans offered daily to Juno until King Amoses abolished the practice by substituting wax figures (Hinton 97). A quick Google search from the twenty-first century revealed that these accounts were taken from the ancient history of Manetho, an Egyptian priest from the third century B.C. Thus, through our internet database and from our cozy spot on the bed, we were connecting thousands of years of transmitted information. One could learn very practical things from the magazine as well, such as how to make cheese and how to fat lambs for market. In May’s edition, we learned how to grow good kidney beans and to never eat a melon the same day it is picked; it will be watery. In April’s edition, Sir George Cobb provides a remedy for the bite of a mad dog. He claims it has been given to hundreds and that he cured two people with it. The mixture is of twenty-four grains of cinnabar and fictitious cinnabar (Halie wondered how well it worked when the cinnabar was fictitious), along with sixteen grains of musk; these were stirred in brandy. We thought perhaps the brandy was the most efficacious part of the mixture and wondered how many people fell victim to the “cures” published in the new periodicals —perhaps not as many as fall victim to the current “cures” posted on the web.

In the news sections, we discovered a few outbreaks of “distemper” in cattle. Was this eighteenth century mad-cow disease? Also, on the eighth of March there was an earthquake that knocked down one of the piers on the tops of Westminster Abbey. People ran from their beds without their clothes and the earth visibly moved in St. James Park (Hinton 137). Another quick Google search revealed that this was the last earthquake that had its epicenter in London. We also learned that a fire consumed twelve thousand houses, a tenth of Constantinople, in January (Hinton 139). In April’s edition, there is a list of all the acts of the concluding Parliament, including the following: the building of a new bridge over the Thames at Hampton-Court (we found a picture), the forbidding of steel production in America, but the encouragement of American iron exports to England, an act to encourage the production of silk in America (something that never took off) and another to allow Persian silk to be imported to England. His majesty was also granted a million pounds. Another of the continued histories of the magazine was the story of the County of Essex, including a description of the Epping Forrest and a discussion of a manor that was forfeited for reasons of treason. This manor was then bestowed by Henry I onto a Robert Fitz-Richard whose daughter, Matilda, was poisoned by King John’s agents because she refused to submit to his advances. Also, according to the custom of Dunmow, any man who has not transgressed his marriage vows, nor argued with his wife, nor wished himself unmarried for an entire year should receive a side of bacon (Hinton 65). We thought this custom was quite advantageous to women and therefore ought to be revived.

Turning towards art, //The Universal Magazine of Knowledge and Pleasure// featured a segment containing William Whitehead’s play //The Roman Father,// a story concerning the ancient Roman Horatii and Curiatii. //The London Stage// lists that it debuted Saturday, the twenty-fourth of February, and was “receiv’d with Extravagant applause” (179). It must have be well-received, because two nights later it was noted that no one asked for their money back after the curtain was raised. By the twelfth of March, however, Mrs. Pritchard was hoarse and an apology had to be made to the crowd— the performance still bagged 180 pounds. There was even a plot to bring down the play’s public esteem. //The London Stage// noted that a printer was paid to advertise thus: “Those Gentlemen who borrow’d gold-laced hats to go to Drury Lane in order to damn the new play are desir’d to return them to their owners, or their names will be publish’d at full length” (179). Also, there is an editor’s note that perhaps a ship had been named after the production, hinting at the play’s popularity (179).

Another new play, also featured in the //Universal Magazine of Knowledge and Pleasure//, William Shirley’s //Edward the Black Prince//, survived nine showings of January’s theater schedule at Drury Lane, with David Garrick in the leading role. It was “receiv’d with great Applause— only a little groaning at some of the Love Scenes” (The London Stage 166). Garrick was a major part of the 1750 theater season, performing principal roles ninety-seven times and playing a part in another interesting aspect of the season, the //Romeo and Juliet// wars (The London Stage 203). No wonder he was popular, Halie thought he looked a bit like George Clooney in photo below. I wonder if ladies tore his picture out of the magazine to pin up on their wall?

On Friday, the twenty-eighth of September, Covent Garden and Drury Lane began their //Romeo and Juliet// wars. The popular Garrick played the role of Romeo at Drury Lane, and Covent Garden added a never before seen funeral procession scene. Mr. Barry and Mrs. Cibber worked the Covent Garden stage and Garrick performed with a well-received rookie, Miss Bellamy. This continued night after night until the twelfth of October when it was derailed because “Mrs. Cibber would act in Romeo no longer” (The London Stage 211). Shakespeare’s other plays filled the bulk of the performances for 1750, with multiple performances of //Hamlet, The Tempest, King Lear, King Richard III, Othello, The Merchant of Venice//, etc. Also prominent was the //Beggar’s Opera// which, on the ninth of February, had the distinction of wiping out the deficit held over from last season at Covent Garden (The London Stage 174). It was also performed by special command of their Highnesses Prince George, Prince William, and Lady Augusta in March (The London Stage 181). The //Universal Magazine of Knowledge and Pleasure// included small musical pieces in each edition, sometimes with dancing instructions. We were less than inspired by these pieces and no one wanted to try the dance moves, so to round out our tour of the literary year, I read “The Passions” by William Collins. This poem was put to music by composer William Hayes in 1750. This production of his poem was the nearest thing to literary success that Collins saw in his lifetime (he was eventually driven insane by a combination of drinking and lack of notice), but his style marked the beginning of the departure from the heroic writing of Alexander Pope toward the Romantic. In the poem, Collins thinks back to the time of ancient Greece when music was a young “heavenly maid” (1). Each of the passions were aroused by her sound and they built themselves instruments, from the “myrtles round / They snatch’d her instruments of sound” (11-12). Fear was the first to try, but quickly put his instrument down. Then Anger played furiously on the lyre while Despair played in “low sullen sounds” (26). Hope echoed her measures through the vale until “Revenge impatient rose” (40). He grabbed a trumpet and blew long, dreadful sounds. Jealousy, in its fickle way, couldn’t decide what to play; first it “courted Love” then it “call’d on Hate” (56). Melancholy then “[p]oured through the mellow horn her pensive soul” (61). Playing happier notes, Cheerfulness was a “nymph of healthiest hue / Her bow across her shoulder flung” (70-71). Finally, Joy tries a pipe, but settles himself with a “brisk awakening viol,” because he loved its “sweet entrancing voice” best (83-84). Collins looked back to Greece for a simpler time; he calls for music to once again “[a]rise, as in that elder time” to awake our passions (105). He ends the poem with a bid that the musicians of his day “cease” their “vain endeavours” and “[r]evive the just, design of Greece: Return in all thy simple state!” (116-117). Apparently Hayes couldn’t resist the challenge and took Collins’s poem on its intended musical journey through the passions. We can now hear each passion play out its role as voices sing the words Collins penned.

While I can’t help but sense some musical snobbery on the part of Collins, our family can relate to the lust for old music. We own many instruments made of trees (Emma is our “joy” on the viol), and our musical taste, with some noted exceptions from the girls, is pretty much stuck in the “ancient” nineteen-seventies with James Taylor, CSN, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, and John Denver. I discovered a link where we could listen to the music Hayes wrote to follow the passions of the poem. The link below provides a few samples of the recently rediscovered music, recorded in 2008 in Switzerland. The girls thought the overture was lovely. __ @http://www.glossamusic.com/glossa/reference.aspx?id=203 __



Overall, 1750 was a hit at our house. My artist husband even picked up a printout of this engraving of the Alexandrian lighthouse from the printer and commented on how much he liked the style of it. There was a wonderful piece included in the magazine’s April edition concerning contentment. It likened contentment to the philosopher’s stone, turning any situation into riches, and I could not have asked for a better lesson to share with the girls. The article related how Socrates said that content is “natural wealth” and the author added that the continual want of the “stuff” is a sort of “artificial poverty.” This seemed to echo what David Hume said about “a sense of honor and virtue” being the only thing that can “restrain or regulate the love of money” (Kramnick 495). An illustration of content was told about a man who used to be thankful when he had the “distemper” that he didn’t have the “stone” and when he had the “stone” that he didn’t have both distempers. Our tour to 1750 made an impression on our lives and proved that some kinds of knowledge are indeed timeless. The other day while driving with my daughter I was in a complaining mood. She looked at me, smiled sweetly, and said, “Well, Mommy, at least you don’t have the stone AND the distempers.” I stopped my complaining to laugh and consider how the sharing of knowledge impacts lives, including my own, and provides us with pleasure. This may be why Hinton named his magazine what he did, because knowledge is pleasure and this is universal, in 1750 or in 2015. Works Cited //English Poetry II: From Collins to Fitzgerald//. Vol. XLI//. The Harvard Classics//. New York: P.F. Collier & Son, 1909–14. 2001. www.bartleby.com/41/.

Hayes, William. //The Passions: An Ode for Music//. Oxford, 1750. Schola Canterorum Basileninsis. Rec. October 2008. Basel. CD. www.glossamusic.com.

Hinton, John. //The Universal Magazine of Knowledge And Pleasure//. Vol. 1. June 1747-Dec. 1803. London: J. Stratford. [].

Kramnick, Isaac. //The Portable Enlightenment Reader.// New York: Penguin Books, 1995. Print.

//The London Stage, 1660-1800: a Calendar of Plays, Entertainments & Afterpieces, Together With Casts, Box-receipts And Contemporary Comment//. [1st ed.] Vol. 5 in 11. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1960196811965. www.hathitrust.org.