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Emily Brand charts eight of the most shocking scandals in Georgian Britain
From the illicit affairs of high society to duels, crimes and even ghosts, Georgian Britain loved a scandal. Today’s long read, written by historian and author Emily Brand, charts eight of the most shocking. HistoryExtra Long Reads brings you the best articles from BBC History Magazine, direct to your ears. Today’s feature originally appeared in the September 2023 issue (you can read it here) and has been voiced in partnership with the RNIB.
8 scandals that shocked Georgian Britain
Mass-produced newspapers, pamphlets and satirical drawings kept a voracious Georgian public well sated with salacious stories and gossip, but every now and again there would be a scandal that went too far. From royal marriages to ghostly murder enquiries, Emily Brand explores eight incidents that rocked Georgian Britain to its core
The king’s brother weds a widowed commoner In November 1771, Henry, Duke of Cumberland and Strathearn, handed his brother, George III, a note. In it he confessed his marriage to a young widow, Anne Horton (née Luttrell), in a secret ceremony. The horrified king demanded that the couple leave court, declaring that the alliance of prince and commoner “must inevitably ruin him and distress his relations”. Within days, gossip columns were awash with tales of the duke being “desperately in love”. Wedding prints were published in The Lady’s Magazine, and letters alleged details of Anne’s disreputable father and “eye-lashes a yard long”. “The violence of the duke’s attachment to Mrs Horton has ended in a terrible mess,” wrote one gentleman. “What an event,” gasped another – “the Luttrell Duchess of Cumberland!” On the podcast | Emily Brand shares stories that scandalised Georgian society In the second half of the 18th century, matrimony in the fashionable Georgian world was undergoing a sea change. Expectations of love within marriage blossomed, and members of the younger generation of the upper classes were increasingly defying arranged matches. And when legislation passed in 1753 laid out strict requirements for a valid marriage, including parental consent for people under 21, a trend for eloping to Scotland was launched. For the royal family, an unsuitable match risked damaging foreign alliances and the reputation of the monarchy itself. Cumberland had already proved himself to be a liability: having allegedly married another commoner in secret in 1767, two years later he had been sued for ‘criminal conversation’ with a baron’s wife. After this latest indiscretion, the king took decisive action. The Royal Marriages Act of 1772 forbade descendants of George II from marrying without the monarch’s permission. (The Duke of Gloucester subsequently admitted sheepishly that he had married an illegitimate commoner in 1766.) Later on, the act caused problems for the king’s son, the future George IV, whose clandestine marriage to a Catholic widow in 1785 would be ruled illegitimate. In 2013, the legislation was amended so that only the first six people in the line of succession required the monarch’s permission. The trial of the swindling ‘thief takers’ Before the establishment of professional policing, law enforcement relied on a network of local parish constables, watchmen and ‘thief-takers’, who claimed state rewards for apprehending criminals. In 1756, the arrest of publican and thief-taker Stephen MacDaniel exposed the potential for corruption that skulked at the heart of the 18th-century criminal justice system. Working with accomplices for around six years, MacDaniel regularly brought offenders before London’s magistrates. But after he brought forward two ‘thieves’ in 1754, one accomplice exposed their scam: with food, gin and tales of expensive goods, they persuaded “poor friendless Lads” to take part in or witness the ‘robbery’ of one of their own men, before another gang member apprehended them. They were then hauled before the courts to face a death sentence. Following MacDaniel’s trial, along with three others, for perversion of justice in February 1756, it was estimated that they had racked up £1,200 in rewards. The men were sentenced to imprisonment and the pillory, where public rage was so acute that “such a multitude of people was never known to be assembled on the like occasion”, according to the Public Advertiser. Two men died after being beaten in the pillory; MacDaniel and the other died later in Newgate Prison. Murder and the Cock Lane Ghost In January 1762, word spread around London that a man had been accused of murder – with the finger being pointed at him from beyond the grave. Investigating a series of seemingly supernatural knocks only made in the presence of Richard Parsons’ young daughter, Elizabeth, an excited Methodist preacher established communication and ascertained that the ‘ghost’ was Fanny, the recently deceased mistress of Parsons’ former lodger, William Kent – who was accused by the phantom of her murder by arsenic poisoning. Newspapers picked up the story, and the public – including author Samuel Johnson and Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany – crowded into the house in Cock Lane for seances. Public opinion was divided: while terrified witnesses insisted that it was “no laughing matter”, The London Magazine wrote that anyone who “exercises his rational faculties, unfettered by the chains and shackles of superstition” must recognise this as fraud. In February the affair descended into revulsion and then dismay as an investigative committee resorted to opening Fanny’s coffin. Meanwhile, Elizabeth was discovered to have made the noises by scratching at bits of wood hidden in her bedsheets – on the orders of her father, who had sought revenge on Kent over a disputed debt. The hoax uncovered, Kent was cleared of the “wicked and scandalous imputation”, while Parsons was found guilty of conspiracy, and sentenced to imprisonment and the pillory. The affair of the Cock Lane Ghost energised religious controversy, delivering a public blow to the reputation of the more superstitious Methodism against ‘rational’ Anglican thought. Along with other impostures – including the 17th-century Bilston boy who faked demonic possession to avoid school, and the 1720s woman who appeared to give birth to rabbits – such Georgian ghost hoaxes further dented belief in the supernatural in an increasingly scientific world. The prime minister parades his mistress, then divorces his wife When Augustus Henry Fitzroy, 3rd Duke of Grafton, discreetly separated from his wife, Anne Liddell, in 1764, he was careful to avoid scandal. Unfortunately, this prudence did not extend to his relationship with courtesan Nancy Parsons, who was branded “one of the commonest creatures in London” by gossip Horace Walpole. Living openly with his mistress, Grafton allowed her to preside over his dinner table and paraded her at the opera. As a promising young politician, this was unwise; after he became prime minister in 1768, it was a gift to his enemies. As bad press and titillating exposés proliferated, Grafton came to embody all the out-of-touch vices of the elite, and his fitness for office was questioned. “When we see a man act in this manner we may admit the shameless depravity of his heart,” proclaimed one commentator, “but what are we to think of his understanding?” Grafton was accused of neglecting his country and setting Nancy’s whims over national security. Claiming that the couple had illegally smuggled goods from France, politician John Wilkes even called for their arrest. Read more | Georgian Britain: sex in high places When the duchess fell pregnant by her own lover, the Earl of Upper Ossory, a divorce by Act of Parliament was the only option for salvaging their reputations and remarrying. Despite colluding to keep the dirtiest laundry from court, servants’ testimonies of illicit trysts were printed and read voraciously. The divorce was finalised in March 1769, and both remarried within weeks. (Nancy was dropped unceremoniously.) As the public became increasingly disillusioned with the “Folly and Excess” of those in power, the scandal sparked a series of (unsuccessful) calls for legislation prohibiting adultery. Grafton’s record as the only prime minister to divorce and remarry while in office was broken only with the recent tenure of Boris Johnson. The South Sea Bubble pushes Britain to bankruptcy In the autumn of 1720, London was in shock and desolation. Following a summer of unparalleled investment mania, the implosion of stocks in the South Sea Company had bankrupted thousands and brought the economy to its knees. “The vast inundation of the S. Sea has drowned all,” regretted poet Alexander Pope, “except a few unrighteous men” who had grown “richer for the calamities of others”. In 1713, the company had been licensed to conduct the slave trade with Spanish America, and huge profits were promised. When those failed to materialise, the company directors dabbled in illicit trading, and evaded providing accounts. In 1720, the government became further entangled when the company secured an agreement to refinance the national debt. Hopes were raised of expanding trade and increasing the value of shares; a propaganda campaign plugged the actual short fall and boosted public confidence, while new money was paid out to older investors – a ponzi scheme. Many people bought shares on credit in hopes of huge profits from selling them in future. Share prices surged to over £1,000 in August, then – as people sought to realise their profits, and no income from the company materialised – plummeted, falling to £124 in December. Amid this “general calamity”, fortunes disappeared and suicide rates soared. The company’s chief cashier fled with a ledger of incriminating evidence. Along with concurrent financial bubbles in France and the Dutch Republic, the fraud contributed to the first international stock market crash. Amid intense popular backlash, the scheme was lambasted in newspapers and prints. Outrage was directed, of course, at greedy speculators; there was little sympathy for African lives stolen and lost. The estates of company directors were confiscated to alleviate the national debt, and John Aislabie – the unrepentant chancellor of the Exchequer, who had made a fortune – was imprisoned. The newly appointed chancellor, Robert Walpole, introduced emergency measures to shore up Britain’s economy, ultimately emerging as the nation’s first ‘prime minister’. A love triangle and shambolic duels The unconventional courtship between renowned singer Elizabeth Linley and aspiring young writer Richard Brinsley Sheridan began with a clandestine flight to France in March 1772. That alone would spark sensation enough, but Sheridan’s note explaining that he was acting to protect Elizabeth from the unwanted advances of married military officer Thomas Mathews embroiled all three in a very public affair of honour. Retaliating with an advert in the Bath Chronicle, Mathews branded Sheridan a “Liar and treacherous Scoundrel”; feeling bound by “the laws of honour”, the defamed Sheridan challenged him to a duel. Duelling was a murky business. Despite being a popularly accepted means for an upper-class gentleman to defend his reputation – or that of a lady – he might yet be charged with manslaughter or murder. Over the Georgian era, hundreds of such combats with sword or pistol were recorded in England (the true number can never be known), provoked by slights ranging from accusations of military cowardice to writing unchivalrous poetry about a lady. Read more | A survivor’s guide to Georgian marriage When Sheridan and Mathews clashed swords in a London tavern in May 1772, the latter was quickly disarmed and forced to apologise. Unable to bear the humiliation – Sheridan jubilantly set about spreading the story – Mathews issued another challenge. The even messier second duel, fought near Bath in July, was derided in the press as “an unmanly combat”. According to one letter, after both men’s swords shattered, “they threw each other down, and with the broken Pieces hacked at each other rolling upon the Ground”. Mathews fled, leaving his opponent with apparently fatal wounds. Recovering, Sheridan and Elizabeth were legally married, albeit in the face of reluctance from both families. Enacted and reported in mortifying detail by the newspapers, the affair was later immortalised in poetry, ballads and even in Sheridan’s own plays. From ambitious MP to “a disgrace to the age” While sex scandals were very much grist to the 18th-century gossip mill, the disgrace of wealthy 24-year-old writer and MP William Beckford in autumn 1784 stood apart. He had been discovered in flagrante with 16-year-old William Courtenay, heir to Powderham Castle in Devon, after the boy’s tutor peered through a bedroom keyhole. Even worse came when information from their letters, intercepted by Courtenay’s uncle, was leaked to the press. To modern eyes, the most troubling aspect would be the age difference: though it’s uncertain when the relationship began, Courtenay was just 11 when the two met. For Georgian society, the charge of homosexuality caused more consternation. Sodomy was illegal – a capital offence, in fact. Though same-sex relationships are well attested in records of the time, exposure could mean imprisonment or execution. Long-standing rumours about Beckford’s sexuality had been quelled by his marriage in 1783. But the new revelations, spread by newspapers, letters and tea-table chatter, derailed both of the men’s lives. Beckford’s expected peerage evaporated, and he lamented that Courtenay, “poor wretch… is mangled, bruised and smashed every day”. The Morning Herald wrote scornfully of “a Grammatical mistake of Mr. B and the Hon. Mr. C, in regard to the genders”, sinking them “below the lowest class of brutes”. Lady Milbanke – later embroiled in similar scandal as the mother-in-law of Lord Byron – scoffed: “What an infamous wretch is Beckford! & what a disgrace to the Age that he should be suffered to walk about!” Ignoring his mother’s recommendation to dispel suspicion by gathering “half a dozen women about him” in Covent Garden, Beckford escaped social censure and potential arrest with a self-imposed exile in Europe until 1796, living reclusively thereafter. Courtenay continued to be “reviled and insulted” by neighbours decades later, eventually emigrating to America in 1811. The death penalty for homosexual sex was abolished in 1861, 17 years after Beckford’s death. It was not decriminalised until 1967. George IV brands his queen a cheat – hypocritically In August 1820, the sensational trial of Queen Caroline, estranged wife of newly minted George IV, dominated the news. After 25 years of unhappy marriage – 15 of which had been blighted by very public mud-slinging about promiscuity and infidelities on both sides – she stood formally accused of adultery. A bill was proposed to dissolve their marriage and deprive her of the rank of queen; a guilty verdict on this charge from the Houses of Parliament would allow the king to discard her once and for all. Unfortunately for the unpopular George, the story snowballed into much more than just another salacious royal dispute, as the ‘persecution’ of his wife was condemned in the press and lampooned in satirical prints. Fervent support for Caroline sprang up among all classes. According to radical journalist William Cobbett, the affair “let loose for a time every tongue and pen in England”. For some, the case was entwined with women’s rights. “Poor woman,” Jane Austen had observed as early as 1813, “I shall support her as long as I can, because she is a woman, and because I hate her husband.” The parliamentary debate – amounting to a trial of the queen – highlighted the double standards in divorce law: whereas men could sue on the basis of adultery, women could not escape marriage without evidence of physical cruelty. So while witnesses spilled damning details of Caroline bathing with her Italian lover, George’s succession of brazen infidelities was deemed irrelevant. The case also provided a rallying point for a public eager to show their displeasure with their extravagant new monarch and his increasingly oppressive Tory government. Provoking a “daily mobbing” of parliament and hundreds of petitions that poured in from across the country, the trial not only sparked popular political protest but also proved that it could be effective. The force of public opinion made it clear that the proposed bill would never pass in the Commons. It was ultimately dropped, providing a victory of sorts for the people and an important moment in 19th-century radical activism. Of the Tory government, one newspaper gloated that: “They are beaten, disgraced, and humbled, and put in that place which they deserve.” This article was first published in the September 2023 issue of BBC History Magazine
The history rich list: the 10 wealthiest people ever
Who is the richest person in history? In the list of the world’s all-time wealthiest there are both bad pennies and hearts of gold, as Emily Brand reveals…
Mansa Musa of Mali (Unknown–c1337–9) Ruling a kingdom that stretched across Africa, Mansa Musa I’s lands held the world’s most abundant stores of gold and controlled vital trading routes. During a pilgrimage to Mecca, he astounded onlookers with a glittering parade of slaves and camels transporting gold staffs, bars and dust. But he was also noted for promoting scholarship and a system of law. View Green Video on the source website Watch now | Video podcast: Who was Mansa Musa? Was Mansa Musa the richest man ever? It's impossible to know this for certain. However, here is what the historical sources do tell us: in 1324, Mansa Musa, ruler of the medieval Mali empire, which stretched across west Africa (not to be confused with today's Mali), set off on pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina, the two holiest cities of Islam. He undertook a lengthy trip across the Sahara, journeying from the banks of the Niger river towards the Nile and Red Sea. His party included thousands of soldiers and hundreds of enslaved people carrying salt, gold and other riches. During his trip he stopped in Cairo, where he reportedly injected so much gold into the local economy that the metal’s value dropped throughout Egypt, earning him his reputation as the richest man of all time. Mansa Musa's spectacular pilgrimage signalled to the world the capabilities of a powerful west African state, and the aspirations of its ambitious ruler. In the pilgrimage's wake, the cities of Timbuktu and Jenne in Mali grew into major hubs for the trade in commodities – especially those derived from the region's natural resources, as well as slaves and books - welcoming local scholars and intellectuals from throughout the Islamic world. Mansa Musa's fortune was certainly colossal by any historical or contemporary standards. However, numbers floating around estimating it in hundreds of billions of today's dollars are pure speculation. Moreover, these sky-high estimates obscure the fact that there remains a lot that scholars don't know about the economy, politics and organisation of the empire. Answered by Madina Thiam, doctoral candidate at the University of California, Los Angeles, who specialises in Mali and the Sahel John D Rockefeller (1839–1937) Rockefeller was the founder and major shareholder in Standard Oil Company which, at its peak, produced 90 to 95 per cent of the US’s oil. Following the success of his first refinery in Ohio, through canny investments he eventually became America’s first billionaire. He donated at least $540 million to charity. Does Richard Rich deserve his bad reputation? Andrew Carnegie (1835–1919) This Scottish-American tycoon worked up through the ranks of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company, before setting up his own business to supply steel. His company sold in 1901 to financier J. P. Morgan for a record sum of $480 million, and Carnegie received $250 million as his personal share, but, by his death, his fortune had depleted thanks to vast philanthropic donations. Marcus Licinius Crassus 'The Rich' (c115–53 BC) This Roman statesman had fingers in many pies, the most lucrative being property he had confiscated or bought at knock-down prices while it burned. Having profited from these “public calamities”, his fortune was estimated at 200 million sesterces. It was reported that after his death in battle, his opponent punished his greed by filling his mouth with molten gold. Nicholas II of Russia (1868–1918) Inheriting the wealth of the centuries-old Romanov Imperial dynasty in 1894, Nicholas II was the last Tsar of Russia’s glittering court. Much was tied up in the state, but also displayed in magnificent palaces, jewellery and works of art. Following the slaughter of Nicholas and his immediate family in 1918, most of the assets were seized by Bolshevik revolutionaries. Regency inequality: the gap between rich and poor in Georgian Britain Mir Osman Ali Khan (1886–1967) Taking the princedom of the Indian state of Hyderabad in 1911, his vast inheritance included the world’s most productive diamond mines and a flourishing pearl industry. His loyalty to the British Empire was rewarded with the title ‘His Exalted Highness’, and he poured funds into state education and transport. Despite his enormous fortune, it was said he wore the same fez for 35 years. William the Conqueror (c1028–87) Despite his illegitimate status, this 11th-century Norman nobleman secured his influence in France through inherited lands and marriage, before claiming the throne of England by conquest. Ruling from 1066-87, he generously bequested land and titles to his friends, setting them up in lavish style. Jakob Fugger (1459–1525) Expanding the family textile firm in his 30s, this German merchant and banker advanced his wealth through silver mining, banking and commercial trade – eventually dominating European business. He used his financial weight to promote the prosperity of the Habsburg monarchy, buying him considerable political influence too. Henry Ford (1863–1947) A farmer’s son fascinated with machines, Ford worked with railroad cars and steam engines before experimenting with “horseless carriages” as an engineer in Detroit. Following two failed ventures, Ford Motor Company was established in 1903, and the introduction of the Model T made the motor car available to ‘the great multitude’, as well as making him a great personal fortune. Cornelius Vanderbilt (1794–1877) Vanderbilt, who was born in Port Richmond, Staten Island, borrowed money to set up a ferry service as an enterprising teenager. Through determination (and luck) he slowly assumed management of various steamboat ventures, before buying stocks in railroads. Though often considered a ‘robber baron’, part of his legacy was the advancement of Vanderbilt University in Tennessee. This feature was first published in the December 2015 issue of BBC History Magazine
Navigating the marriage market in Regency high society could be a desperate business, with hopeful candidates bound by strict rules of etiquette that could make or mar their chances of an advantageous match. So how could they improve their prospects, or even – if they were especially lucky – set the fashionable world ‘on fire’? Historian Emily Brand explains more…
Make oneself agreeable For those all-important first impressions, it was crucial to look and act the part. For both sexes this inevitably meant being as physically attractive as possible, adhering to the contemporary standards of beauty, hygiene and high fashion. Books such as The Mirror of The Graces (1811) gave helpful “Directions for the Preservation of Health and Beauty”, and the fashion plates of magazines like La Belle Assemblée revealed the newest trends. But, as Jane Austen makes so clear, the possession of either an impressive fortune or illustrious rank could make up for any natural deficiencies in this area. Bridgerton: everything you need to know Step into the ballrooms of Regency England, and catch up on the real history that underpins seasons 1 and 2 of Bridgerton, from the real royals to the palaces and promenades | Read more <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2022/03/BRIDGERTON_204_Unit_04659R-57b98a4-e1683126162801.jpg" width="620" height="414" alt="Bridgerton. Simone Ashley as Kate Sharma, Jonathan Bailey as Anthony Bridgerton" title="Bridgerton. Simone Ashley as Kate Sharma, Jonathan Bailey as Anthony Bridgerton in an episode of Bridgerton. The series draws many elements from real Regency-era history" /> However, each sex was also expected to fulfil the highly gendered expectations of what was required in an appealing spouse. For gentlemen, sporting prowess, respectable, intellectual pursuits, extensive European travel and elegant dancing might all act as pleasing additions to a suitor’s character. In a young lady, the obvious virtues of modesty, chastity and youth could be polished with the mastery of “feminine accomplishments” such as music, French, needlework and the arts. Whatever your talent, life in the Regency ton offered endless opportunities to impress. Read more | What is the 'ton' in Bridgerton? Select your target Finding the perfect partner meant knowing where to look. Over the winter, the more traditional could seek access to the highlights of the year’s social ‘season’: perhaps the private masquerades of the great and good, fireworks displays in the pleasure gardens or – of course – the royal entertainments at which young ladies made their courtly and social debuts. Read more |A brief history of debutantes and the social season Outside of London, trips to fashionable spa or seaside towns such as Bath and Brighton also offered ample opportunities to fashionably promenade into the paths of suitable candidates. It was likely that a young person’s family or guardians were eagerly on the lookout for promising matches that could elevate their fortune or social status. A helping hand could also be found in gossiping books or newspaper columns naming and ranking society’s men and women either by fortune or by beauty. Anyone still struggling could place the Regency equivalent of ‘lonely hearts’ adverts in local or national newspapers, providing a summary of their attractions beneath the heading, MATRIMONY or WANTED: A WIFE. More background to Bridgerton The real story of Bridgerton’s Queen Charlotte: from glittering courts to tragic decline Beyond Kate Sharma: the real South Asian women in Regency-era England Yes, scandals sheets like Lady Whistledown's did exist Impress the family Since the mid-18th century there had been a growing expectation that marriages should ideally be based in affection over strategic alliance. However, among the upper classes the enduring importance of elevating one’s social standing ensured that family matchmaking was still prevalent, and obstructions to unprofitable relationships were common. In England, any marriage contracted with either party aged under 21 without consent from a parent or guardian was legally invalid (giving rise to the custom of eloping to Scottish towns like Edinburgh and Gretna Green). When Arthur Wellesley, the future Duke of Wellington, proposed to his sweetheart in 1793, it was her brother who blocked the match – quietly removing his objection once Wellesley had amassed military rank and fortune. Read more | 10 tips for surviving a Georgian marriage As well as these overriding qualities, one important tool for impressing the family was flawless etiquette. Whether it was knowing how to politely request and accept a dance, carve a roasted pig at the dinner table, correctly escort a lady on horseback, or simply properly address and converse with a potential partner and their associates, understanding the ‘rules’ of polite society showed that you belonged. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2022/03/BRIDGERTON_203_Unit_01664R-d1b0a22-e1714555259308.jpg" width="620" height="414" alt="Playing Pall-Mall in Bridgerton (L to R) Simone Ashley as Kate Sharma, Jonathan Bailey as Anthony Bridgerton, Charithra Chandran as Edwina Sharma in an episode of Bridgerton. (Imagee by Liam Daniel/Netflix © 2022)" title="BRIDGERTON_203_Unit_01664R" /> Books such as Principles of Politeness – based on the fatherly advice of Lord Chesterfield in the mid-18th century and expanded upon by John Trusler over various editions – outlined the correct form for such occasions and urged in general against keeping any ‘bad company’ that might tarnish a reputation. Make your intentions known (without inviting disgrace) With all the required introductions successfully made, and good relations forged, it was necessary to make one’s interest known either in private expressions or public behaviours. According to etiquette, there were some very specific means by which a suitor could indicate particular interest in a young lady. He might give thoughtful gifts such as books or music, or request the honour of more than one dance at a ball (though not three, which could be tantamount to announcing an engagement). Acceptance was generally received as a return of the sentiment. Read more | How to survive in the Georgian court Such public demonstrations of preference could be followed with increased (chaperoned) private calls to the family home and striking up an exchange of letters to become better acquainted. Crucially, though, any couple must behave at all times with propriety; being discovered alone together in dubious circumstances or conducting a long, secret correspondence would invite questions about how respectable the relationship truly was. Win their affections All that now remained was to secure the affections of one’s intended partner. While, then as now, there were not set rules about what could capture a particular person’s heart, there were common traits that were more generally prized (see ‘Making oneself agreeable’) and methods (such as gift-giving, or writing poetry) that could be safely pursued. Read more | How has dating changed over time? A brief history of courtship At a time when business or social engagements might keep courting couples apart for weeks or months at a time, a romantic correspondence – letters that elegantly expressed one’s feelings, but could be safely be read by each other’s families – could be key. For the especially anxious, manuals such as The Lover’s Instructor or The Herald of Love were repeatedly reprinted, providing useful hints on giving reassurance without overstepping. Make a proposal While there were no strict requirements for the format or etiquette of a marriage proposal, it could be performed with or without delicacy. Men, of course, took the active role (though the idea of a woman being permitted to propose on a leap year was already a subject for amusement in the press during the speculation about Princess Charlotte’s amorous affairs in 1816). While artistic representations of the formal proposals of the 18th-century and Regency eras often depict the gentleman on one knee, and it was considered a general ‘tribute of adoration’, there is nothing to suggest that it was a necessity; similarly, while the presentation of a keepsake or promise ring had been a feature of some proposals for centuries it was not essential. The question need not even be popped in person, as demonstrated by the poet Lord Byron’s vague proposals by letter (and even via an aunt) to fastidious heiress Annabella Milbanke. Read more | Adultery, elopement and incest: the scandalous sex lives of the 18th-century Byrons Whatever the method, once an engagement was public knowledge the couple could be feted in the newspapers as having escaped the hazardous seas of courtship, inbound for the safe haven of matrimony. However, as the tongue-in-cheek Dictionary of Love declared to its 18th-century reader, as far as promises of matrimony were concerned, ‘making them is one thing, and keeping them another’.
The Regency era: everything you wanted to know
Everything you wanted to know about history (podcast series)
Emily Brand responds to listener queries and popular search enquiries about the Regency era
Historian and author Emily Brand responds to listener queries and popular search enquiries about Britain in the Regency era, from the lavish spending and reputation of the Prince Regent himself to how much we can really learn from Jane Austen. Listen to more episodes in our ‘Everything you wanted to know’ podcast series Explore more content from week one of our Regency course: Introduction to the Regency, with Dr Lizzie Rogers - watching time 10 mins Regency timeline: the key dates you need to know - reading time 3 mins Regency inequality: the gap between rich and poor in Georgian Britain - reading time 14 mins The two sides of George IV: is his wretched reputation deserved? - reading time 13 mins The illness and decline of George III - reading time 10 mins
Adultery, elopement and incest: the scandalous sex lives of the 18th-century Byrons
The renowned poet Lord Byron has gone down in history for being “mad, bad and dangerous to know”. But his ancestors were hardly paragons of virtue either, writes Emily Brand, who explores three generations of Georgian debauchery in her new book. Here, she shares just a few of the notorious scandals – from shipwrecks to incest…
In April 1816, the notorious George, sixth Lord Byron, was leaving England for the final time. Hounded by increasingly damaging accusations – of adultery, sodomy (then a capital offence), and incest with his half-sister – he was escaping to the continent. (His many homosexual encounters were seemingly not, for the moment, public knowledge.) Like most married men of his rank he had committed adultery and fathered illegitimate children. It was a self-professed era of pleasure and bawdiness, when men’s gallantries were routine, printed pornography blossomed, and the sex industry was not only thriving but highly visible. But even in this atmosphere, as intimate details of Byron’s own sexual tastes spilled into society, the line was drawn at such flagrant ungodliness. His travelling companion reported that, on his first night abroad, Byron consoled himself by falling “like a thunderbolt upon the chambermaid”. Second perhaps only to the Italian libertine Giacomo Casanova, he remains one of the most notorious seducers of the Georgian era. But he was not the only Byron to have forged a questionable sexual career – the name already carried the weight of certain unfortunate and immoral connotations. When he inherited his family title and estates in 1798 aged just ten, the recent history of the Byrons was already littered with adultery, elopement, illegitimacy and incest. Listen | Emily Brand explores the dramatic lives of the Georgian aristocratic family whose lives were blighted by scandal long before the arrival of the renowned poet The Byrons’ taste for pleasure In 1677, Lord Byron’s great-great-grandfather William (who would become the third Lord Byron), received with amusement an epistle from a friend, which fawningly asked: “Is’t not enough the Byrons all excell, As much in loving, as in fighting well?” Years later, the amorous reputation of his son (also called William – the fourth Lord Byron) provoked gossip: his second wife had died in 1712, resulting in uncharitable tongues suggesting that “’tis said she died of a distemper her Lord gave her”. At the age of 51, the fourth Lord Byron took a third teenage wife, who dutifully provided him with a daughter and four sons who survived to adulthood: Isabella, William, John, Richard and George. (The second son, John, would become the famous poet’s grandfather.) Raised in aristocratic privilege in the 1720s and ’30s, these siblings developed an inevitable taste for pleasure, and the loss of their father in 1736 perhaps contributed to their inability to curb it. Isabella – the only sister – held a lifelong determination to pursue true love which brought her to the limits of propriety. There is no evidence to suggest that her much-older first husband Henry, Lord Carlisle, was not her first sexual partner (although her marriage was dogged by rumours of infidelity). Though the marriage successfully produced five children, their struggles with impotence are implied by the presence amongst her notebooks of a remedy, tactfully noted in French, for “an ailment very common in men of a certain age”. Read about romance and reality in Jane Austen’s world Her brother William, becoming the fifth Lord Byron at just 13, plunged quickly into a world of heady dissipation as a young gentleman and grew accustomed to getting his way with women. Even while negotiating his marriage to a pretty teenage heiress, he was also stubbornly pursuing an actress – she later claimed that he actually had her abducted with the intent of compelling her to accept him, and threatened to kill himself if she did not oblige. For his part, navy officer John (younger brother to the fifth Lord Byron), probably gained much of his sexual education in the Chilean city of Santiago, the final stop of a remarkable, five-year-long castaway survival story that began when he was 16. Certainly he was entranced by the bottom-pinching and half-naked women he flirted with at the local fandangoes. (Though one scurrilous and likely invented account later declared that he had lost his virginity to a cleaning girl at Westminster School when he was 12.) His eventual marriage to his cousin Sophia was affectionate and fruitful – despite his absences abroad, the couple had nine children in 13 years. Rampant infidelity None of these siblings – even the ‘gallant’ John – managed to stay faithful to their spouses. William’s half-hearted commitment to his marriage only weakened as years drew on – his eyes wandered to his wife’s friends, servants, and pretty women sweeping across assembly room floors. “I never saw any thing more Cavalier”, his sister wrote, after witnessing his attentions to a married woman at a ball in York. Isabella’s own marriage to Lord Carlisle was cloaked in gossip about her flirtations, and hints of infidelity. As a rich young widow “determin’d to pursue that which pleases me”, her reputation saw her targeted by mischievous suitors and caught up in scandalous trysts. When her second marriage to a toy boy baronet collapsed under angry accusations of adultery, she travelled Europe with a penniless German soldier who had charmed her into paying his way. The couple’s constant, unconvincing protests that there was “nothing improper” in their relationship only persuaded visitors that it was quite clearly a sexual affair. Ada Lovelace: a visionary of computing Subjects of gossip In the 1770s no fewer than three members of the family provided material for the gossiping Town and Country Magazine, which ran a monthly feature on high-society sex scandals. First was Isabella’s son Frederick, Lord Carlisle, and his amours abroad. Second, its revelation of John’s affair with his wife’s teenage chambermaid led to a humiliating public dissection of his entire sexual history. As well as his alleged encounters at school, he was credited with indulging in orgies with ‘princesses’ of the South Seas on his voyages, and being seduced by Italian landladies. But it was John’s eldest son, known as Jack – later the father of the poet – who could lay claim to the family’s most dissipated career of the century. His appearance in the Town and Country Magazine provides the only known image of Jack, but it captures nothing of his good looks. (Its crude portraits were usually woefully inaccurate.) One newspaper later gushed that he had been spotted and was “reported by all the world to be as handsome as ever”. The scandal that catapulted him to notoriety, in 1779, was his affair with the married Amelia, Lady Carmarthen. The subsequent divorce proceedings that followed saw their intimacies described in excruciating detail in court and the press: the bedsheets “much tumbled”, giggling behind closed doors, clandestine letters and illicit midnight meetings. Though the couple eventually married they had gained no friends by it. Official accounts painted him as a reckless and selfish youth; less sympathetic magazines labelled him a worthless nobody who had broken up a family and couldn’t stop boasting of his conquest. Georgian Britain: sex in high places Incestuous relationships? Evidence for the most shocking of Jack’s exploits comes in his private correspondence. In 1790, having abandoned his second wife Catherine and their infant son George, he took up with his eldest sister Fanny in France. On her departure his letters to her filled with boasts of his conquests, but repeatedly spilled into distinctly unbrotherly territory. He wrote passionately of her beauty, of his fury that she was his sister – and, ultimately, that during sex with other women, whenever he did anything “extraordinary” he could think only of her. On reading these sexually charged and self-indulgent missives it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the siblings had slipped into incest while living together (if not before), and sets an alarmingly prescient backdrop for the later relationship between Jack’s two surviving children, Augusta and the poet George. Though it is unlikely that this affair became public knowledge, by the poet’s lifetime the seal had been set on his grandfather Jack’s reputation for immorality – he was posthumously accused of settling gambling debts by charging aristocratic ladies for sexual favours. A legacy of scandal It was Sophia Byron, wife of navy officer John and mother of Jack, who was perhaps the most long-suffering member of the family. She braved a series of scandals precipitated not only by the men, but also by her daughters: the married Fanny took a string of lovers and another eloped at 16. Despite poor health caused by decades of stress, Sophia clung to her pride and continued to attend fashionable soirees – once throwing a courtesan out of a salon held by her friend Hester Thrale. But despite this public hauteur, even the honourable Mrs Byron nursed a taste for the bawdy (and a hypocritical penchant for whatever gossip whirled around other people’s families). She did, however, have the sense to keep it behind closed doors. When Sophia privately sent Hester an innuendo-ridden poem she found amusing – though it was ostensibly about a flower the imagery was relentlessly phallic – her friend wrote in her diary that she thought it “so obscene that I will not pollute my book with it”. And though she did not live to witness her poetic grandson’s distinguished career of debauchery and literary success, Hester followed it avidly on her behalf. In 1821, when Lord Byron had been abroad for almost five years, the elderly hostess reminisced about her old friend, commenting, “Poor Mrs Byron … would have enjoyed her grandson’s reputation, would not she?” With the rise of his celebrity, the poet had elevated the family’s reputation for scandal and seduction to new heights of notoriety.
Emily Brand explores the dramatic lives of the Georgian aristocratic family whose lives were blighted by scandal long before the arrival of the renowned poet
Historian and author Emily Brand speaks about her new book, The Fall of the House of Byron, which explores the dramatic lives of the Georgian aristocratic family whose lives were blighted by scandal long before the arrival of the renowned poet. Read more about the scandalous sex lives of the 18th-century Byrons…
How has dating changed over time? A brief history of courtship
The supposed ‘death of romance’ is a common lament in modern dating – particularly with the rise of apps such as Tinder and Bumble. But how romantic were the courtships of the past? And what did dating look like through history? Emily Brand explores how our ancestors might have wooed a potential suitor…
In western culture, where only marriage could produce legitimate offspring, the wooing of a spouse has been a fundamental part of human existence. The practice of courtship (ie with view to marriage) was often bound by particular rules, especially in the upper classes. Advice on the ‘art of love’ survives from ancient Rome, from medieval France, and continues to flourish today. But inevitably, as ideas and expectations about marriage have evolved over the centuries, so too have the rituals of courtship. For centuries the purpose of upper-class marriage was to forge an alliance beneficial to both families, whether that meant the acquisition of titles, fortunes, or the influential contacts of new in-laws. A match was often entirely negotiated by the couple’s parents, and the courtship swiftly orchestrated through chaperoned visits, correspondence and gifts. The roles were highly gendered; one 1670s matrimonial guide declared: “Modesty in a woman is required, Boldness in a Man.” Influenced by the rituals of medieval ‘courtly love’ (a perception of love that emphasised chivalry), expressions of devotion were made through poetry, music, or a well-timed sigh. As for gifts, gold was considered the “vanquisher of women”, though books, ribbons, locks of hair, and coins etched with hearts were also exchanged. Did you know? Pre-marital sex was the norm for many people. Condoms that could be washed out with carbolic soap were used from the mid-19th century The later 18th century saw a huge shift, as marriage was increasingly linked to affection rather than alliance. Young couples were emboldened to reject parental control, and suitors increasingly expected to “fill her ears with themes of love”. Here we meet a favourite ‘golden age’ of romance for modern audiences: the highly-mannered but love-orientated fiction of Jane Austen’s era. Advances in technology promptly ushered in new romantic opportunities. As soon as popular print developed in the 17th century, people began placing ‘lonely hearts’ adverts; as international travel improved in the 1800s, more ships of ‘husband-hunters’ set out for British India; reforms and restructuring of the postal service from the 1840s made it much easier to conduct a courtship by correspondence. Did you know? The Georgians were mad for ‘lonely hearts’ adverts, which they would write and post via newspapers including the Times, later in matrimonial gazettes, circulated around London’s coffee houses In the 20th century, expectations of courtship were transformed by the liberal social and sexual attitudes of the 1960s and ’70s, which initiated a gradual levelling of the power balance between the sexes, and placed romantic love on a pedestal even above the necessity of marriage itself. The recent development of instant messaging and dating apps has opened up what feels like an unlimited pool of potential partners, and often reduces the earliest stage of romantic correspondence to a right-swipe and a brief exchange of messages. And in an age where women are no longer prizes to be caught, the centuries-old advice to “haunt her like a shadow” until she relents is increasingly criticised. Though many look nostalgically at the etiquette of old, by letting go of the redundant rituals of the past we have gained independence, choice, and perhaps a better chance at finding a loving partnership.
Commissioned around 1503, Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa is perhaps the most famous portrait in the world. But who was the woman who sat for Mona Lisa? Historian Emily Brand investigates…
With Leonardo da Vinci himself making no mention of the work, a string of possible sitters for the Mona Lisa have since been identified – including, bizarrely, da Vinci himself in drag – but it seems likely to immortalise Lisa del Giocondo (nee Gherardini), the wife of a Florentine cloth merchant. Read more | A beginner's guide to art history Although by no means conclusive, details about the family and the painting itself offer some clues. A middle-class couple with aspirations to wealth and status, at around the time it was commissioned they celebrated both the purchase of their own house and the arrival of a son – both events worth commemorating. The painting’s alternative title, ‘La Gioconda’, may even allude to both to the model and her famous expression, being not only the feminine form of Lisa’s married name but translated roughly as ‘the happy one’. View Green Video on the source website This article was taken from the May 2015 issue of BBC History Revealed