PIGEON-HOLE.
February 20, 1811. [Pigeon Hole], a Covent Garden Contrivance to Coop the Gods. Published by T. Tegg (57).—The miseries consequent on heat and crowding in a restricted space, as displayed in the Pigeon Hole Galleries of John Kemble's newly-constructed Drury Lane Theatre, gave rise to the present caricature, which is further explained under the head of This is the House that Jack Built (Sept. 27, 1809), and The Boxes (Dec. 12, 1809). General dissatisfaction was expressed by all but the privileged subscribers; the lessee's treatment of the humble supporters of the drama, the frequenters of the gallery, gave special offence; and the illiberality of the management which provided such disgraceful accommodation for its patrons was resented by the unruly proceedings known as the O. P. Riots, which marked the public sense of the transaction.
February 26, 1811. A French Dentist Showing a Specimen of his Artificial Teeth and False Palates. Published by T. Tegg (58).—It is not easy to determine whether this caricature was intended solely as a satire or as an advertisement for some dental professor who was established here at the time. In Rowlandson's day, however, false teeth were sufficient novelties to be welcome subjects for ridicule. An overgrown and exuberantly corpulent female is serving as a sample of the Frenchman's skill; her widely distended mouth is liberally displaying a wonderful set of masticators. The professor is the typical foreigner of the period, wearing hair-powder, a bag-wig, and earrings. An old beau, looking through a quizzing-glass, is admiring the prospect of securing a decent set of teeth, his own gums exhibiting a very ragged and defective regiment. An advertisement in the rear sets forth: 'Mineral Teeth.—Monsieur De Charmant, from Paris, engages to affix from one tooth to a whole set, without pain. Monsieur D. can also affix an artificial palate or a glass eye in a manner peculiar to himself; he also distils, &c., &c.'
March, 1811. Bacon-faced Fellows of Brazen-Nose Broke Loose. Published by T. Tegg (59).—The persons of learned members of the Universities were not treated with a sparing hand by the satirist. Rowlandson has introduced various incidents of college life into his caricatures; but, throughout the series, the waggishly-inclined artist does not, we are afraid, exhibit any particular respect for Alma Mater. The Fellows of Brasenose are drawn, with unusual unction, issuing from their Hall and through the archways of the Colleges, dressed in their academic guise, and pouring forth like a sable stream of erudition. The various expressions and attitudes of the 'big-wigs' are vastly well hit off; their diversified peculiarities of face or motion are full of comicality. These grave sons of the Church are not free from gallant considerations—a buxom wench, with a basket of fruit slung round her shapely neck, is the centre of attraction; the 'Bacon-faced Fellows' are crowded around, bargaining for her ware and leering at the seller with undisguised and clumsy admiration. A reflection is cast on the Vice-Chancellor, who is vainly endeavouring to steal into his apartments without being detected by the rest of the sly grinning Fellows, with a weighty folio under his arm, and followed by an engaging young fruiteress, a lump of rustic innocence, bearing her baskets, for better selection from the contents, to the seclusion of the Vice's study.
March 10, 1811. She Stoops to Conquer. Published by T. Tegg (61).—The central room of a prison. Various strong doors and iron-grated windows open on the chamber. Bolts, padlocks, and strings of fetters indicate the nature of the security. Behind a grating is seen a prisoner, on whose behalf a buxom damsel is supposed to 'stoop to conquer,' since by dint of a plentiful repast, renewed strong potations, and those tender cajoleries which are believed to be the special weapons of the fair, the lady is evidently endeavouring to gain possession of the precious keys which will enable her to set her imprisoned swain at liberty.
March 12, 1811. The Anatomist. Published by T. Tegg (60).—The meaning of this print is not very obvious. It may be assumed that Dr. Sawbones has secured a new subject; but whether an admirer of the anatomist's lady has had himself conveyed into her presence by simulating death, or changing places with the 'subject,' does not appear. However, the critical situation of the lively gentleman on trestles does not seem conducive to a tranquil frame of mind; the operator is deliberately getting out his saws, knives, scissors, and other repellent anatomical instruments in a business-like spirit, for he has, according to an announcement, to deliver A Course of Anatomical Lectures, accompanied with Dissections, and he is in want of a subject for demonstration. The lady, filled with the direst apprehensions, is trying to impress on the anatomist the remarkable and unusual fact that the dead man has returned to life.
March 16, 1811. Sailors on Horseback. Published by T. Tegg (62).—This print is one of the numerous instances of subjects designed by amateurs and given to Rowlandson to engrave, and, in most respects, to put into shape. According to the humours of this print four sailors, mounted on horseback, are going off on an equestrian cruise by the seashore. The British Tar most at his ease has been lashed with strong cables to the back of his steed beyond a chance of drifting loose: 'Here I come, my hearties, right and tight—smart sailing; but never mind that—I can't be cast away, for my commander, Heavens bless him, has lashed me to the deck with some tough old cables!' His neighbour, who has a restive horse, requests, 'Keep more to the starboard, and be d—— to you; don't you see how you make my vessel run ahead!' A third, riding behind, is mounted on an animal who is taking into his head to launch out in the rear: 'D—— me, how she heaves; why, this is worse than a jolly-boat in the Bay of Biscay!' A comrade, having had a spill, has been left on the road, and is in danger of being run over: 'Mind what you are at, messmates, for I am upset, and the frigate I came on board of has been under way without me this half-hour.'
March 28, 1811. Kitty Careless in Quod, or Waiting for Jew Bail. Published by T. Tegg (65).—A dashing young lady of fashion, who has evidently been running ahead of the constable, is 'laid by the heels' in a spunging-house; the apartment in which she is lodged belongs, it appears from a printed notice on the wall, to MacNab, Sheriff's Officer for the County of Middlesex—genteel accommodation for ladies and gentlemen. Heavy locks and bolts to the door, and massive bars to the window, indicate the security of Kitty's keeping. The fair captive does not seem depressed by her confinement: seated before a glowing fire, her legs crossed in easy indifference, the prisoner is drinking bumpers of port wine with her captors; a spectacle by no means unusual in the days of this publication, when the extravagances of people of fashion were constantly leading them to the confinement of a spunging-house.
April 1, 1811. Pastime in Portugal, or a Visit to the Nunneries. Published by T. Tegg (64).—The principal figure in this picture is that of a young officer belonging to the British army opposed to the French legions on the Peninsula; in company with a Portuguese don he has come to visit one of the nunneries which were sufficiently abundant in the country; three well-favoured members of the sisterhood and a sour-looking old harridan, by way of duenna, have come to the 'grill,' or large grated window, which was employed to cut off the 'cloistered ones' from the rest of the world. We are able to gather from the illustrations of the period that travellers were accustomed to make visits to nunneries, where they purchased objects manufactured by the inmates, who were regarded by our countrymen as a kind of show; the visitors, however, were always restricted to the outside of the grating which separated the sisterhood from more intimate association with a wicked world. In Rowlandson's sketch the pretty nuns are offering silk purses, of their own knitting, to their dashing visitor, whose attention is more exclusively occupied by the very decided personal attractions of the fair recluses.
April 5, 1811. The Last Drop. Published by T. Rowlandson, 1 James Street, Adelphi.—A short and corpulent bon-vivant, not unlike a balloon in figure, whose waistband has been abnormally distended by the bibulous propensities of the owner, is standing on tiptoe tilting up to his eager lips a huge punchbowl, too well filled to be lifted bodily; he is transferring the contents to his own inside with much gusto. While the veteran and inordinate toper is greedily engulfing his last bumping measure he is too busily engaged in the important work in hand to notice that Death, in his bony personality as a ghastly skeleton, is helping to raise the finishing bowl, while the fatal dart is poised over his head, ready for the stroke which will follow this last potation before the tippler has time to recover his breath. The stout gentleman has evidently enjoyed a lengthy innings, and, from the instances scattered about him, he has made the most of his opportunities; he is surrounded by the remnants of the good and bad things with which he has made away—barrels of stout, bottles of port, puncheons of usquebaugh, and spirits of all sorts; in fact, a very cellar of the strong drinks which in his day have fallen to the share of the departing toper.