A
google search for ‘William Holland undertaker’ serendipitously threw up results
for the totally unrelated print seller William Holland and images from one of
his artists, Richard Newton, who I had never previously heard of. Newton’s
promising career came to an abrupt end in 1798 when at the age of 21 an
infected louse gave him a dose of typhus and he succumbed to a lethal fever. A brief obituary appeared in the Hereford Journal
on Wednesday 12 December:
On
Sunday morning died in the 21st year of his age, Mr. Richard Newton,
Caricaturist and Miniature-Paint of Brydges-street Covent-Garden, London, — a
native of Dormington, in this county. His natural abilities and fertile genius
promised a rapid course to first rate eminence in his profession; and his early
loss will be long regretted by his relations, friends, and numerous
acquaintances.
Not
much is known about Newton’s short life. He is generally held to be a Londoner
born and bred but the Hereford Journal was sure that he was a Herefordshire
man, from the small village of Dormington. With scarcely any time to hone his talent and,
as far as we know, no formal training, he became a brilliant caricaturist and
satirist in the golden age of printmaking in London. Had he lived he would almost
certainly have been the equal of Rowlandson and Gillray. He published his first caricature at the age
of 13 and by the time of his death he had produced over 300 prints. For most of
his too short career Newton worked for the radical printseller William Holland
at his premises at 50 Oxford Street where he charged the public 1 shilling for
admittance to his 'Museum of Graphic Genius'. As well as designing prints for
Holland, Newton also illustrated editions of Laurence Sterne’s ‘A Sentimental
Journey’ and Henry Fielding’s ‘Tom Jones’. In 1793 Holland was prosecuted and
imprisoned for selling a copy of Thomas Paine's ‘Letter Addressed to the
Addressers’. Whilst he was serving his sentence at Newgate, Newton ran Holland’s
shop for him but shortly afterwards, according to Vic Gattrell in ‘City of Laughter’,
he opened his own shop in Brydges Street (now renamed Catherine Street) in
Covent Garden, “opposite the pit door, Drury Lane” as advertised on his later
prints.
Newton’s
satirical targets were the usual late c18th century suspects; clergymen, actors,
the aristocracy, politicians, George III, high fashion, all mocked with ribald
and earthy humour. His sense of humour had a macabre strain, with death and
undertakers being a notable theme. It was these caricatures that caught my eye;
a skeletal death clutching an hour glass and sitting on the shoulder of an undertaker
who is carrying a coffin on his back. “How do you do, my good friend and carcass box,” says death, “looking over my book I find you are next on the list.” The undertaker responds saying that “there are
many of the same name. It’s an old man of eighty on the next street.” On the
same sheet of this dance of death, a spade wielding skeleton makes off with a
naked baby while his plump mother in bonnet cries “Oh, you ugly kidnapping
monster, don’t rob me of my only little one.”
In another of his ‘Dance of Death’ series, a skeletal death lays his bony hands on a wild haired miser to escort him by force if necessary into the next world. The terrified miser clutches one of his money bags tight to his chest and tells death that he doesn’t owe even a penny. On the table is piece of paper on which is written ‘Plans for a hospital’ – perhaps Newton took his inspiration for this image from the story of Thomas Guy, the miser who founded Guy’s Hospital?
In this picture an undertaker touts for business amongst the still living, presenting himself, with empty coffin strapped to his back, to a high living old man, “I am recommended by Dr Griffield,” he says “and shall be proud to inter you.” His prospective client is clearly offended “Inter me!” he shrieks “The devil you will!”
Death interrupts a gout stricken gourmand as he is about to tuck into his dinner of roast sucking pig…
“Giving up the ghost” is one of Newton’s most successful prints, so successful in fact that Rowlandson later produced his own version. A moribund old man lies quietly expiring on his bed while a skeletal death stands by his window and takes aim with his dart. A parson who is supposedly comforting the dying man snoozes in a chair by a his bedside and an undertaker carrying a coffin on his back stands hopefully at the door.
In ‘Undertakers in at the death’ Newton again mocks the men who make their living from the dead. Three undertakers pursue a nightgowned old man in a red cap who is about to be ambushed by a spear wielding, hour glass holding skeleton. One carries the traditional staff of the funeral mute, with a cross fixed to the top hung with black crepe. Another balances a coffin on his back.
