Spitalfields Life

If you are at a loose end over the forthcoming Easter holidays and looking for an excuse for a walk, why not join me for THE GENTLE AUTHOR’S TOUR OF SPITALFIELDS on Easter Thursday 28th March at 2pm or THE GENTLE AUTHOR’S TOUR OF THE CITY OF LONDON on Easter Monday 1st April at 2pm?

CLICK HERE TO BOOK YOUR EASTER TREAT

In 1752, when Ann Fanshawe was twenty-eight years old, her father Crisp Gascoyne was appointed as Lord Mayor of London, and became the first incumbent to take residence in the newly built Mansion House. Since Margaret, her mother, had died back in 1740, it fell upon Ann to assume the role of Lady Mayoress and this spectacular dress of Spitalfields silk, which was purchased by the Museum of London from one of her descendants in 1983, is believed to have been made to be worn just once, upon the great occasion.

Born in 1724, Ann was the eldest daughter of Crisp Gascoyne of Bifrons House in Barking, marrying Thomas Fanshawe of Parsloes Manor in Dagenham at the age of twenty-one. In 1752, when she stepped out as Lady Mayoress, Ann had three children, John six years old, Susanna five years old and Ann four years old. Ten years later, Ann died at the birth of her fourth child Mary, in 1762. Parsloes Manor no longer exists but “The History of the Fanshawe family” by H.C. Fanshawe published in 1927 records this couplet engraved upon one of the windows there by Ann & Thomas.“Time ‘scapes our hand like water from a sieve, We come to die ere we come to live.”

Becoming Lord Mayor of London was an auspicious moment for Ann’s father (who had been Master of the Brewer’s Company in 1746) and he saw his eldest daughter step out in a silk dress that was emblematic of his success. The design contains images of hops and barley interwoven with flowers spilling from silver cornucopia, alternating with anchors and merchants’ packs in silver, all upon a background of white silk threaded with silver. It was a dress designed to be seen by candlelight and the effect of all this silver thread upon white silk, in a dress trimmed with silver lace, upon his eldest daughter adorned with diamonds, was the physical embodiment of Gascoyne’s momentous achievement. To crown it all, H.C. Fanshawe describes a lost portrait of Ann, “which shows her to have been strikingly handsome.”

As the Covent Garden Journal of 3rd November 1752 reported: “The Appearance at Guildhall, on Thursday last, was very noble, particularly that of the Ladies, many of whom were extremely brilliant, a Circumstance which in too great a Measure lost its Effect, their being mixed with an uncommon Crowd of Company… The Ball about ten o’Clock was opened by Mrs. Fanshaw (as Lady Mayoress, who made a most splendid Figure) …”

As everyone in Spitalfields knows, the Huguenot weavers here excelled at creating silk, both in their technical finesse and elegance of design. Such was the skilful incorporation of the expensive silver and coloured threads in the cloth for Ann Fanshawe’s dress that they were only used where they were visible, with very little wasted upon the reverse. According to the American critic, Andrea Feeser, the dye used for the blue flowers was rare indigo from South Carolina, where Ann’s brother-in-law Charles Fanshawe was stationed as a Rear-Admiral and had access to the indigo dye.

When Natalie Rothenstein, the authoritative scholar of Spitalfields silk, wrote to the curator at the Museum of London in July 1983 about the dress, she authenticated the fabric as being of being of Spitalfields manufacture, but also could not resist declaring her distaste for the design.“I am sure that the dress is Spitalfields and indeed the floral style is just right for the date 1752-3. I am sure too, that the design is unique – created for one rich lady. The bales and anchors ought to refer to a merchant, while the ears of corn and horn of plenty reveal the prosperity he brought to the city as well as his family’s execrable taste.”

Commonly, silks were woven in lengths of cloth sufficient for several dresses, but in this instance the design was likely to have been made solely for this garment. A customer bought a design from a mercer and six months was the lead time for the weaving of the silk cloth, which could have been made up into a dress in little more than a week. Natalie Rothenstein describes the chain of transactions thus, “silk was generally imported by a silk merchant. It was then sold through a broker to a silkman who, in turn, supplied the master weaver with the qualities and quantities required. Either the silkman or the master weaver had it thrown and dyed. The master weaver would normally obtain an order from a mercer and instruct his foreman. The latter, based at the master weaver’s warehouse, would measure out the warp for the journeyman, who returned it when completed.” Ann would never have met the people who made her dress and they may never have seen her in it.

When the culmination of this process arrived, once the silk had been designed, the dress manufactured and the great day came, Ann had to get dressed. No underwear was worn, just a shift of fine linen, probably with some lace at the neck, then silk stockings and garters to hold them up. Next came her stays of whalebone, that we should call a corset, and then her hooped petticoat, also with whalebone and cross ties to maintain the oval shape of the dress and not allow it to become circular. At last, Ann could put on her dress, which came in three pieces, first the skirt, then the stomacher followed by the bodice. There were no hooks or buttons to hold it all together, so pins would be used and a few discreet stitches where necessary. Lace sleeve ruffles were added and a lappet upon her head. Finally, diamonds upon the stomacher and around Ann’s neck, plus shoes and a fan completed the outfit.

Now Ann was ready for her appearance, except her dress was two metres wide and she could not walk through a door without turning sideways. Getting in and out of a carriage must have been a performance too. Ann was fully aware that her dress was not designed for sitting down but fortunately she did not to expect to sit.

What can we surmise about Ann’s experience in this dress? I was surprised at the workmanlike manufacture of the garment which was sewn together quickly and presented no finish upon the inside. The quality and expense of the materials was what counted, the tailoring of the dress was not of consequence. Almost like a stage costume, it was a dress to create an effect.

Maybe Ann was the apple of her father’s eye and she was proud to become his angel that incarnated the supremacy of their family in the City of London, or maybe she felt she was tricked out like a tinsel fairy in a ridiculous dress with symbols of brewing woven into the fabric, tolerating it all the for sake of her dad? No doubt her husband Thomas Fanshawe was present at the occasion, but maybe her children, John, Sukey and Nancy (as she called them) stayed behind at Parsloes Manor and did not see their mother wearing the famous dress. Did Crisp Gascoyne, her father, get sentimental on the night, shedding a tear for his wife Margaret and wishing that she had lived to see the day?

We shall never know the truth of these speculations, but everyone wants to have their moment of glory – looking their best at a significant occasion in life – and I should like to think that, on the one day she wore it, this dress delivered that moment for Ann Fanshawe.

You can see Ann Fanshawe’s dress for yourself at the Museum of London

The shadow of the East India Company looms large over Spitalfields. For it was to bring goods from the East India Dock that Commercial St was cut through the neighbourhood in the nineteenth century and, ultimately, it is why we have a large Bengali community here today.

Geoff Quilley, Emeritus Professor of Art History at Sussex University, will giving a lecture on this subject as part of the Spitalfields Series on Tuesday 2nd April at 7pm in the Hanbury Hall.

CLICK HERE TO BOOK FOR PROFESSOR QUILLEY’S LECTURE

Colonel Mordaunt’s Cock Match by John Zoffany 1784-8

The English East India Company was established by royal charter in 1600, giving it a monopoly on trading rights to the seemingly limitless natural resources offered by India and Asia, particularly in lucrative commodities of spices. However, it was not until the eighteenth century that the Company shifted in status from being a wealthy corporation of private maritime traders to the East, to becoming a financial concern of national significance, influencing government policy and being a decisive factor in the national economy. Above all, following the British victories in India during the Seven Years War (1756-63), and the Treaty of Allahabad of 1765, by which the Mughal Emperor granted it the right of diwani, or the collection of land tax in Bihar and Bengal, the Company became a territorial power in India rather than just a maritime commercial organisation, and established its base at Calcutta, the centre of what would rapidly become British India.

This marked the start of the massive expansion of British settlement in India, from the late eighteenth and throughout the nineteenth centuries, culminating with India coming under formal crown control from 1858, following the Indian Rebellion. Prior to this date, colonial administration was undertaken through the East India Company, which assumed a complex and controversial dual role, as a commercial company answerable to its shareholders and Board of Directors, and also as the arm of British government across the subcontinent.

One of the most remarkable features of the Company’s meteoric rise is that this trading organisation, which would develop into ‘the corporation that changed the world’, as one historian has described it, operated in its early days out of relatively humble premises only a short walk from Spitalfields, in Leadenhall St, where it remained until it was wound up, thus placing the City of London for the first time at the centre of a global, commercial and imperial network. In return, its global enterprise permeated all corners of London and City life: the leading brewery Truman, Hanbury & Buxton, for example, was the supplier to the Company in the nineteenth century.

The increase of British settlement of India from around 1770 with a population of Company employees and associates, who were enabled to make huge fortunes very rapidly, opened up other commercial opportunities, not least to the growing profession of artists in Britain. Artists both saw the chance to exploit the Company in India as a source of patronage, but were also used by the Company and its individual officers as a means of representing its changing public image, and its encounters and relations with Indian rulers and culture.

With the establishment of the Royal Academy in 1768, there was a notable parallel between the growth of the Company and the expansion of British art. Yet making this parallel has significant implications, as it opens up a shift of focus away from the RA’s dominance of British art history, towards the City and its commercial imperatives. It reminds us as well that the precursors of the RA, the Society of Artists, Free Society of Artists, even the Foundling Hospital, were City-based institutions, set up and run by commercially-minded individuals, with a significant philanthropic intent. Artists in these early years often had City connections, through family or patronage, and were also among the first to take up the commercial and artistic opportunities offered by the rise of the East India Company.

Tilly Kettle, for example, left for India in the late 1760s and quickly developed a reputation as a clever and resourceful portrait painter, producing images of Company officials in India and local nawabs that negotiated the tricky and delicate relations between established Mughal rule and Company claims to power, presenting it as one of mutual commercial benefit, and depicting figures such as the Nawab of Arcot as both independent ruler and also as ally of the British, on whose credit he was dependent.

Muhammad Ali Khan, Nawab of Arcot by Tilly Kettle 1772-6

Similarly, Johan Zoffany, who worked in India in the 1780s, developed a novel adaptation of the genre of the conversation-piece, to depict the particular character of Anglo-Indian society, and the social relations between British and Indian culture: so that a painting such as Colonel Mordaunt’s Cock Match becomes a complex allegory of the colonial encounter in the cultural melting-pot of Lucknow.

Other artists focussed less on the people in British India, and more on the landscape coming increasingly under British control. William Hodges was the first professional European landscape painter in India, and under the patronage of the first Governor-General, Warren Hastings, made several tours in the 1780s through north-east India, making records of the landscape and monuments of Hindu, Muslim and British India. More than simply topographical records of the landscape, his views provide commentaries on the history of the country through its architectural heritage, so that his view of the tomb of the great sixteenth-century Mughal Emperor Akbar is seen both as witness to the passing of a once great empire, and also as a homage to Hastings’ own governance, which was partly modelled on Akbar’s own imperial administration.

A View of the Gate of the Tomb of the Emperor Akbar at Secundra by William Hodges, engraved by John Browne 1786

Hodges’s example was quickly followed by Thomas and William Daniell, who made a career from their travels through India, producing albums of prints after drawings made on the spot with the camera obscura, and published both in India and Britain. These represented the expanding territories coming under British control throughout the 1790s for a domestic audience, and also painted a positive image of Company commercial growth, through images of its factories and warehouses at Canton, the focus of the Company’s ambitions to penetrate the China market.

The European Factories at Canton by Thomas Daniell 1806

The Company’s territorial expansion was achieved through military conquest which was commemorated in sensational, triumphalist imagery, most notably in the ongoing battles with Tipu Sultan of Mysore throughout the 1790s, including sentimental images of Tipu’s sons being taken as hostages by the British.

Lord Cornwallis receiving the Sons of Tipu Sultan as Hostages by Robert Home 1793-4

Tipu was finally defeated at the Battle of Seringapatam in 1798 and the trophies from his looted palace brought back to London, such as his notorious mechanical model, Tipu’s Tiger, which was exhibited in London in the Company’s own India Museum.

Tipu’s Tiger, c.1793

The Company’s maritime interests also opened up opportunities for marine artists, such as Thomas Luny, producing celebratory images of East Indiamen of growing size and tonnage as the Company’s transport of goods and merchandise increased. It also provided opportunities for amateur artists, such as Thomas Forrest, who combined his expertise in navigation with his interest in natural history, to produce accounts of South-East Asian geography with a view to expanding Company bases and shipping routes throughout Indonesia as far south as Papua New Guinea.

View of Dory Harbour on New Guinea by Thomas Forrest 1779

Meanwhile, the rapidly changing and complex character of the Company was represented at home in London through a public profile centred on its commercial headquarters in Leadenhall Street, rebuilt in the 1730s as a modern, efficient, commercial organisation of national significance, and representing its activities allegorically through sculpture and paintings epitomised by Rysbrack’s chimney-piece depicting the Company as the means to British prosperity.

Britannia receiving the Riches of the East by John Michael Rysbrack c.1730

Artists were involved in a variety of ways with the East India Company over the course of more than a century at the height of the development of British art. They represented the cultural encounter with India as British settlement there expanded and portrayed the Company as it would have like to be seen, offering a positive image of overseas colonial commerce that was in direct contrast to the controversial reputation of Company practice – whether through its adverse impact on the Indian population, or its central involvement in the opium trade, or in its constant financial scandals, which required regular bailing out by the British government, like the banks in 2008, as a commercial organisation too big to fail.

We need to ask why the Company is still largely peripheral to the understanding of British art. Given its centrality to the expansion of the British empire, this is surely has to do with the uncomfortable truths presented by our colonial past and the larger dissociation of the history of art from the history of empire. However, the current surge of interest in – and urgent debates around – the links between colonialism and heritage, and the place of empire in British identity, invites a rethinking of the place of the East India Company in British cultural history and its roots in the City of London.

East India House, Leadenhall St, attributed to John Michael Rysbrack, 1711