Philomena Farnsby, 1843

Philomena Farnsby, 1843

In a review of Carmen, Philomena Farnsby was described as, "an illuminated performance never matched before...as Carmen, Miss Farnsby conquered the stage and captivated the entire theatre with her angelic voice."

Not only did Miss Farnsby find herself a star of the London stage, she also posed for a number of Godey's fashion plates, helping the catalogue sell the dresses she modeled at an unprecedented rate.

Wyatt Windemere, 1860

Wyatt Windemere, 1880

A staunch conservative, Wyatt was a constant presence in the House of Commons, always lobbying to get various texts and artworks banned from bookshops, libraries and museums. His greatest battle occurred when he decided to raise quite the stink about Charles Darwin's Origin of the Species.

He might have gotten backing from other detractors of the book if he hadn't decided to attack not Darwin's evolutionary theory, but the name of his boat. Wyatt maintained that a man who would allow a boat named The Beagle to carry him on a serious research mission had to be deficient in his scientific method.

Not surprisingly, Wyatt was laughed out of the House, going on to become a street preacher and organ grinder.

Arnold 'Skins' Barkin, 18??

Not much is known about 'Skins' except that he worked for the post office and once spent three years in prison for reading a certain lady's mail.

Stag, Round Two

Don't want to get stuck in a rut, but his antlers have me all doe-eyed.



(Plus I'm working on a book-type thing and one of the characters is a stag, so I call this practice.)

OCTOPUS WILDE

Oscar Wilde's cephalopod counterpart. He wrote such scintillating plays as An Ideal Squid and The Importance of Being Invertebrate.

Crowley Harthington, 1888

Crowley Harthington, 1888

Born in Paris to a pair of British ex-pats, Crowley often cursed his parents for giving him such a distinctly English name, as it made his integration into the Bohemian artist's quarter of Paris all the more difficult. Luckily, he was blessed with a gift for words, and was able to spout passable poems even when entirely drunk off of absinthe.

He published only one official book, but managed to get a number of poems into Parisian newspapers and periodicals, thus becoming a minor celebrity in the city. One of his poems, 'Musings Upon a Honey Bee Lost in Paris' was a sensation throughout Europe for its subtle sexual overtones, though Crowley himself always denied any sensual slant to the piece.

The most contested stanza was printed as follows:

"When the furry honey bee
Did flitter down upon my hairy knee,
All a-sudden my leg did shake

But the little creature did not flee
Instead she peeked coyly up at me
And wondered how much honey I did make

-- O! And I was shy, you see,
For I could not fathom how that bee
Had any thought for a bear like me."

Calvin Sanderlen, 1868

Calvin Sanderlen, 1868

Known mainly for being a daring and dapper dresser, Calvin lived a life of luxury and indulgence, traipsing around London with his perfectly groomed greyhound or spending quality time in one of the many upscale pubs downtown. Calvin never worked a day in his life, but spent many hours each week working on a volume of poetry he claimed would change the world. The book was unfinished when a light carriage ran him over in the street, claiming his young life, and the manuscript was later lost when his parents moved from the city to their country estate, so the world will never know what effect the poems may have had.

Connie Ackerman, Bearded Lady (1875)

Connie Ackerman, 1875

Born in the small German village of Hegensdorf in 1845, Connie appeared to be an entirely normal infant. It wasn't until her 13th birthday that her mother noticed a small patch of hair on her chin, a patch that in the next few years grew into a lush beard that was the envy of many of the village men. She was not treated badly once her beard grew in, but Connie was nevertheless a discontented teenager.

When she was 18, an English showman named Walter "Grins" Manchester who had heard of her through the grapevine during his stay in Berlin came to call, offering Connie a life of fame and fortune in the great city of London. She accepted the job and traveled with Walter to her new home in England.

From 1863-1877 Connie was on display at S. Watson's American Museum of Curiosities on Oxford Street in London, which also boasted 'The Two-Headed Marvel' and 'The Stoutest Woman in the World'. Many came to marvel at her hirsuteness, but after 14 years with S. Watson. she became fed up with never being featured on the poster and quit.

Her life post-freakshow is not well documented, but it is known that she moved back to her hometown and was thought to have married and had at least two (non-bearded) children.


Pictured: Poster from Watson's museum

Tardy Gents

These three dapper fellows showed up around Christmastime, but are only now making their way onto the blog. Please welcome...


Sir Archibald Farnsley


Alexander Marchester


Frederick Zimmerstein

Mythology I

My take on the myth of Daphne and Apollo (in bear-vision):

Shoebills, Savage and Otherwise

In the African wilds, Shoebills once roamed in nomadic tribes, hunting and gathering with great skill. The following illustration shows one of the remaining 'savage' Shoebills and is from a portfolio brought to England in 1860.



This drawing is from the collection of one Herbert S. Millivine, known for his extensive library that contained many rare artifacts relating to the ancient Shoebills' society. He added it to his collection in 1867 after finding it languishing in a London antique market, and often referred to the image as 'my dear ancestor'.

Herbert is pictured below in a photo taken sometime between 1867 and 1869.

Seal-Folk

Stephan DeSotto, 1899

Known best for his rapier wit, which he developed in his teenage years to distract from his rapier teeth, Stephan was popular in the artist's cafés of Paris as he always had a clever insult ready for any newcomers who dared to show off their attempts at art. He tried desperately to overcome the existing prejudices that regarded leopard seals as nothing but bloodthirsty killers (of defenseless penguins, even), and managed to make great headway until the day he was discovered with the pocket watch of a penguin artist named Pierre who had recently gone missing.

It later turned out that Pierre had merely drunk too much absinthe and fallen into the river (and that Stephan had found the watch by the riverside), but by then the poor seal had left Paris in disgrace and it is reported that he spent the rest of his days drinking in smoky taverns in the South of France.



Clarence Warlington, 1822

Not nearly as famous as William Orpheus Harrington, Clarence was still considered one of the foremost opera singers in Europe. His rich tenor graced many a stage, and his first performance in London (where he played Alfredo Germont in La Traviata) drew one of the biggest crowds ever recorded.

Orville Ainsworth - 1888

Orville Ainsworth was a quiet badger who enjoyed the countryside and spent the majority of his time in the Lake District, wandering through meadows and commenting on the slant of the daffodils when a breeze appeared. He was fond of saying he'd been friends with Wordsworth during the poet's twilight years, but few believed his claims, even when he retrieved a signed copy of Poems in Two Volumes.


(P.S: Look! I actually put in a background on this one! Exciting!)

William Orpheus Harrington, 1820

A highly respected opera singer, William - known to the public as The Bariboon (on account of his deep voice) - traveled all over the European continent performing for nobility and packed houses in all the major cities (and a few minor ones as well). His rich baritone was unrivaled, and he shone onstage in such roles as Marcello in La Bohème and Papageno in The Magic Flute.

After retirement, William purchased a villa in Tuscany and lived there with a bevy of beautiful women, who he claimed to be training in the art of singing.

Uriah & Eudora

Elephant shrews may not be true shrews, but, like their shrewish cousins, are known for being hot tempered and quite flighty. It is a wonder, then, that this pair ever got together in the first place. Uriah met Eudora while working in a general store in northern New York State, and began to court her with ribbons, trinkets and flowers not long afterward.

Eudora was coquettish and feigned shyness for a few months, but was eventually won over by Uriah's gifts and his promises of a bright future to the west. Records show that the pair left New York in 1802, but after that no trace of them is to be found.

Olive & Charles Chevreuil, 1850

Charles Chevreuil

Descended from French nobility, Charles' ancestors escaped to England during the French Revolution, establishing a modest 200-acre estate just outside of Bath. Charles lived in England until the age of 18, when he decided to reject his father's wishes for his enrollment in law school and travel to Paris to live in drafty garrets and be a starving artist (something his father blamed on Henri Murger's Scènes de la Vie de Bohème, a book Charles had received from an eccentric aunt).

Once in Paris, Charles realized that most of the drafty garrets were already taken, so he ended up staying at a luxury hotel near Pont Neuf, where he met Olive Dupont and fell in love. The pair enjoyed a short courtship amongst the musicians and absinthe drinkers of Montmartre, then returned to England for their marriage.


Olive Chevreuil

These portraits were taken in 1850 to mark the occasion of their fifth anniversary. By this time Charles' father had died, leaving him the Bath estate and a large fortune. He and Olive were known for throwing grand parties, to which Henrietta and Constance Daugney were often invited (though Olive would put her foot down every time they suggested guests put on a little play).

Henrietta & Constance Daugney, 1859

A Photo of Henrietta and Constance Daugney, 1859

Seldom have two otherwise nondescript sisters made such a mark on history. Henrietta and Constance shocked Victorian England by writing a series of adaptations of the texts of the Marquis de Sade for the London stage, which caused an uproar that lasted for nearly one year (1856-57). The pair was firm in declaring their playwriting efforts art, and attempted to secure one of the biggest theatres in London for their lavish production of Volume I of Aline et Valcour (arguably one of de Sade's tamer texts). The play never reached its opening night, being shut down by the authorities on grounds of morality, and the sisters retreated to the countryside, where they threw regular parties and had guests act out scenes from their censored opus.

Obediah Jones & Captain Wilfred, 1853

A Photo of Obediah Jones & Captain Wilfred, 1853

Taken in 1853 at Barnum's American Museum, this is a souvenir portrait of Obediah Jones, giant, and Captain Wilfred (a.k.a. Wilfred R. Snooder), midget.

The pair was one of the most popular exhibits in Barnum's museum, and thousands would attend their (thrice daily) demonstrations, mostly to ogle the shocking difference in size (but also to marvel at Wilfred's iridescent plumage).

Wilfred remained with Barnum's troupe until his untimely death in 1860 at the age of 40. Obediah quit not long after and moved out of New York City to live out the rest of his days in an exceptionally large house in the countryside.

Leander Whittington, 1839

A Photo of Leander Whittington, 1839

Leander Whittington, of the Dover Whittingtons, is best known as the first anteater to publish a volume of poetry in South East England (Edwina Ferley being the first in all the British Isles - her book, Reflections Upon Ants and Claws sold very well in London).

Titled Meditations on an Anthill by the Sea, Whittington's poetry collection is now found only on the shelves of the most dedicated collectors of anteater literature, and stands as a glorious proof of the golden age of English poetry.

The following is a small excerpt of the title poem:

O! Anthill by the sea!
How thy sandy sides glimmer
sitting in the wind's lee
and the ants that scurry
moving towards a form on the shore - a dead bee!

In The Meantime...

There will be a few more Victorian portraits coming (stories included), but in the meantime, here are a couple sketches I did while supposedly listening in a lecture (it's a bad habit, I know).

Here we have a slightly creepy elephant shrew...



...and a quizzical monkey-dude!

Josiah Nettlering, 1848

A Photo of Josiah Nettlering, 1848

Always a dour child, Mr. Nettlering matured into a serious and business-minded Narwhal. He worked as head teller at the biggest bank in New York City and enjoyed the honour of 'least money unaccounted for' seventeen years in a row. Patrons of the bank became used to his stern attitude, and many found his steely glare and silk waistcoats oddly comforting. Mr. Nettlering died peacefully while counting money and a plaque, which can still be seen today, was erected in his honour.

Zebulon Rowatt, 1878

A Photo of Zebulon Rowatt, 1878

Mr. Rowatt is the only kookaburra to have run for office in England, and the first to fly solo to Australia. A great adventurer, Zebulon traveled most of Europe (enabled by his indulgent grandparents), and after his defeat in Cornwall, decided to leave the continent altogether. In news stories of the time, Zebulon is shown wearing his jaunty flying goggles, training for the exhausting journey that was to make him a celebrity in both England and Australia. This photo was taken one year before the historic flight and shows Zebulon wearing his favourite silk vest.

Bernard M. Cruickshank, 1860

A Photo of Bernard M. Cruickshank, 1860

A contemporary of Oscar Wilde, Bernard sadly never gained the fame or noteriaty of his rival. Never fully accepted in London society due to his flamboyant suits and intimidating tusks, the walrus would spend months on a play, only to have it be panned by critics as, "heavy-flippered," and, "broader than its creator." The cruelty of the critics finally drove Bernard out of London, and he spent the rest of his life touring the continent. It is reported that he visited Wilde on his deathbed, and that Wilde's famous last words were actually, "either this walrus goes or I do." (But sources remain wholly unreliable on that fact.)

And because everyone likes getting two walruses for the price of one:



Sir Cruickshank, 1810 - Bernard's disapproving father

Edwin Farthingale, 1845

A Photo of Edwin Farthingale, 1845

From what we gather from letters and a number of literary mentions, Edwin was an ape of many talents, most of them on the dastardly side. He is quoted in a popular novel of the time as saying to a lady, "frankly my dear, those gloves should be on my bedroom floor," which scandalized her to the point of swooning. This account cannot be verified, as the novel in question (The Trampled Lace Glove) is quite florid in style and takes liberties with most aspects of Victorian culture. We do know that Mr. Farthingale was thoroughly disowned by his grandfather for an unnamed deed and lived his life on gambling winnings (Edwin appears to have had quite the knack for cards, though he may have cheated with equal skill). This is one of the only existing portraits of an ape whose name was known throughout Victorian London.