There was formerly a May-pole put up by a “smith” at the north end of
little Drury-lane, to commemorate his daughter’s good fortune, who
being married to general Monk, while a private gentleman, became duchess
of Albemarle, by his being raised to the dukedom after the Restoration.
The May-pole is only mentioned here on account of its origin. It
appears, from a trial at bar on action of trespass, that the name of
this “smith” was John Clarges, that he was a farrier in the Savoy, and
farrier to colonel Monk, and that the farrier’s daughter, Anne, was
first married in the church of St. Laurence Pountney to Thomas Ratford,
son of Thomas Ratford, late a farrier, servant to prince Charles, and
resident in the Mews. She had a daughter, who was born in 1634, and died
in 1638. Her husband and she “lived at the Three Spanish Gipsies in the
New Exchange, and sold wash-balls, powder, gloves, and such things, and
she taught girls plain work. About 1647, she, being a sempstress to
colonel Monk, used to carry him linen.” In 1648, her father and mother
died. In 1649, she and her husband “fell out, and parted.” But no
certificate from any parish register appears reciting his burial. In
1652, she was married in the church of St. George, Southwark, to
“general George Monk;” and, in the following year, was delivered of a
son, Christopher (afterward the second and last duke of Albemarle
abovementioned), who “was suckled by Honour Mills, who sold apples,
herbs, oysters,” &c. One of the plaintiff’s witnesses swore, that “a
little before the sickness, Thomas Ratford demanded and received of him
the sum of twenty shillings; that his wife saw Ratford again after the
sickness, and a second time after the duke and duchess of Albemarle were
dead.” A woman swore, that she saw him on “the day his wife (then called
duchess of Albemarle) was put into her coffin, which was after the death
of the duke,” her second husband, who died Jan. 3, 1669-70. And a third
witness swore, that he saw Ratford about July 1660. In opposition to
this evidence it was alleged, that “all along, during the lives of duke
George and duke Christopher, this matter was never questioned”--that the
latter was universally received as only son of the former--and that
“this matter had been thrice before tried at the bar of the King’s
Bench, and the defendant had had three verdicts.” The verdict on the
trial was in favour of sir Walter Clarges, a grandson of the farrier,
who was knighted when his daughter, from the selling of wash-balls,
became duchess of Albemarle. This sir Walter Clarges was created a
baronet October 30, 1674, and was ancestor to the baronets of this
name.[128]
[Illustration: ~Chimney Sweepers on May-Day.~]
Here they are! The “sweeps” are come! Here is the garland and the lord
and lady! Poor fellows! this is their great festival. Their garland is a
large cone of holly and ivy framed upon hoops, which gradually
diminishes in size to an apex, whereon is sometimes a floral crown,
knots of ribbons, or bunches of flowers; its sides are decorated in like
manner; and within it is a man who walks wholly unseen, and hence the
garland has the semblance of a moving hillock of evergreens. The
chimney-sweepers’ jackets and hats are bedizened with gilt embossed
paper; sometimes they wear coronals of flowers in their heads; their
black faces and legs are grotesquely coloured with Dutch-pink; their
shovels are scored with this crimson pigment, interlaced with white
chalk. Their lord and lady are magnificent indeed; the lord is always
the tallest of the party, and selected from some other profession to
play this distinguished character: he wears a huge cocked hat, fringed
with yellow or red feathers, or laced with gold paper: his coat is
between that of the full court dress, and the laced coat of the footman
of quality; in the breast he carries an immense bunch of flowers; his
waistcoat is embroidered; his frill is enormous; his “shorts” are satin,
with paste knee-buckles; his stockings silk with figured clocks; his
shoes are dancing pumps, with large tawdry buckles; his hair is
powdered, with a bag and rosette; he carries in his right hand a high
cane with a shining metal knob, and in his left a handkerchief held by
one corner, and of a colour once white. His lady is sometimes a
strapping girl, though usually a boy in female attire, indescribably
flaunty and gaudy; her head in full dress; in her right hand a brass
ladle, in her left a handkerchief like to my lord’s. When the garland
stops, my lord and lady exhibit their graces in a minuet _de la cour_,
or some other grave movement; in a minute or two they quicken into a
dance, which enables my lord to picture his conceptions of elegance; the
curvilinear elevation of his arm, with his cane between his finger and
thumb, is a courtly grace, corresponding with the stiff thrown-back
position of his head, and the strait fall of the handkerchief in the
other hand. My lady answers these inviting positions by equal dignity;
they twirl and whirl in sight of each other, though on opposite sides of
the dancing garland, to the continued clatter of the shovel and brush
held by each capering member of the sooty tribe. The dance concluded, my
lord and my lady interchange a bow and a curtsy; my lord flings up his
cane-arm, displaces his magnificent hat with the other hand, and
courteously bends, with imploring looks, to spectators at the adjacent
windows or in the street; the little sootikins hold up their shovels, my
lady with outstretched arm presents the bowl of her ladle, and “the
smallest donations are thankfully received” by all the sable fraternity.
This is the chimney-sweepers’ London pageant on May-day 1825; but for
the first time, there was this year added a clown, a-la-Grimaldi, to one
or two of the sweeping processions; he grimaces with all his might,
walks before Jack-in-the-green on his hands or his feet, as may be most
convenient, and practises every antic and trick that his ingenuity can
devise, to promote the interest of his party.
It is understood, however, that the offerings on the festival are not
exclusively appropriated to the receivers; masters share a certain
portion of their apprentices’ profits from the holiday; others take the
whole of the first two days’ receipts, and leave to the worn-out,
helpless objects, by whom they profit all the year round, no more than
the scanty gleanings of the third day’s performance.