“All Tombs Around Are in Its Splendor Lost”

The remarkable gothic revival, self-designed memorial to Victorian teenage paragon Charlotte Canda was a much-visited tourist attraction during the Victorian age.

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Monument to Charlotte Canda, Green-Wood Cemetery, Brooklyn, New York. One half of a stereoscopic card, circa 1880. “Published by E. & H. T. Anthony & Co., Emporium of American and Foreign Stereoscopic views, chromos, albums, Magic Lanterns, and slides, 591 Broadway, opposite Metropolitan Hotel, New York.” Ann Longmore-Etheridge Collection.

Charlotte Canda (3 Feb., 1828-3 Feb., 1845) was the daughter of Frenchman Charles Francis A. Canda (1792-1866), of Amiens, Somme, Picardie, and Adele Louisa Theriott (1804-1871), whom he wed 10 May, 1824.

Charlotte’s mother’s ancestors were early French settlers of New York. Adele was the daughter of Gabriel L. Theriott and sister of Augustus B. Theriott (1808 – 1866), who inherited their father’s dry-goods business circa 1823 when he was still a teenager.

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New York Times, February 11, 1886.

It has been put forth that Charlotte’s father was an officer in Napoleon’s army and that he was a veteran of the Battle of Waterloo, after which he sailed for America. However, this is likely untrue. There was a Canda in the Battle of Waterloo, which occurred in June 1815, but that man was Charles’s brother, Louis-Joseph-Florimond Canda, who served many years as an officer in the French army, married Angeline, daughter of the Marquis De Balbi-Piovera from Genoa, emigrated to the United States, was an early settler of Chicago, and died there in 1886. The purported military backstories of both Candas are told almost identically in varying sources, indicating that Charles and Florimond have been conflated.


These portrait miniatures are likely Charlotte Canda’s paternal grandparents. They were offered for sale by Boris Wilnitsky Fine Art, which stated that they carry a reverse inscription identifying them as Charles Canda of Amiens and his wife. The miniatures were likely brought by Florimond Canda to the United States.

Florimond’s younger brother and father’s namesake likely came to America with him in 1818. We know that from 1818 to 1820, Charles was a teacher in the classical department of Brooklyn’s Erasmus Hall High School, according to 1906’s The Chronicles of Erasmus Hall. An entry in the New York Genealogical Records, 1675-1920, notes that Canda was a professor of drawing there. He was also a skilled painter, as is proved by a Canda landscape dating to 1822 that was sold by Sotheby’s New York in May 2000.

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An Italianate landscape with figures at a classical column by a town, painted by Charles Canda in 1822.

After leaving Erasmus Hall, Canda likely taught painting and drawing privately. He was definitely doing so in November 1835, when he advertised in the New York Evening Post that his at-home classroom in Leonard Street was again open after a temporary closure. Later advertisements make clear Canda also instructed drawing at various ladies’ boarding schools in the city.

By 1837, Charles and Adele Canda had opened their own school, first located at 15 Amity Street, near Broadway. Later, they and the school moved to 17 Lafayette Place. It successfully drew both female boarding and day students who were educated and instructed in the attributes befitting a proper lady of the era.

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New York Evening Post, 26 August, 1837.

It has been asserted that Charlotte Canda was not Charles and Adele Canda’s biological child, but an adopted foundling. I can find no evidence to prove this. That she was an only child is true—however, her father had a much younger sister named Clemence (b. 1816), who lived with the family and with whom Charlotte almost certainly had a sisterly relationship, as Clemence was only nine or ten years older than her niece.

No identified painting,  portrait miniature, or daguerreotype of Charlotte appears to exist, but she was reputedly attractive. According to a 6 February, 1845 New York Evening Post article, “Nor had beauty, too, been withheld by the lavish hand of nature, to crown the rare union of charms and qualities which made her the idol of her parents, the delight of her friends, and one of the loveliest ornaments of society.” The only face we can put to Charlotte is that of the statue incorporated into her tomb, which would later please her family and so must capture at least some of her physical presence.

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Charlotte Canda. Photo by James P. Fisher III.

Charlotte grew up in her parents’ school, which developed a fine reputation; intellectually and artistically, she benefited. It is certain that Charlotte was instructed in drawing by her father, an art for which she showed strong natural talent. According to a 6 February, 1845 New York Evening Post article about her funeral, “To a singular brightness and sweetness of character, she united great quickness of mind, and an unusual degree of cultivation…. She was the familiar mistress of six languages [(English, French, Spanish, Italian, German, and Danish)] besides being an accomplished musician and proficient of much … skill in drawing.”

On Saturday, 23 November, 1844, Clemence Canda died at age 26 or 27. Her cause of death is not known, but a reasonable speculation is Consumption (Tuberculosis). She was greatly grieved by the loss of Clemence, and in her sketchbook, Charlotte quietly designed a grand memorial for her young aunt.

Charlotte may have been consoled by the man whom it is said intended to wed her, Charles-Albert Jarret de la Mairie, who was born 2 November, 1818, at Château de Bordes, Pontign, France. Ten years her senior, he was the son of Chevalier Henri-Rene-Louis Jarret, Seignoir de la Mairie (1778-1858), and his wife Augustine-Marie Le Gouz du Plessis (1780-1849). The family was minor French nobility, his paternal grandmother being Philippe-Madeleine de Boisjourdan, Dame de Chânay (1751-1840), and his paternal grandfather Chevalier Henri-Réne-Julien Jarret, Seigneur de la Mairie et de l’Epine (1751-1781). We know little else about Charles-Albert and nothing about his relationship with Charlotte, but we will read more of him later.

As of the day that Clemence Canda died, Charlotte Canda had less than three months to live.

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Charlotte’s 17th birthday fell on Monday, 3 February, 1845. According to the Morning Post of the following day, she had been invited to a small gathering of friends at a house on Eleventh Street, probably partly in her honor, but had followed the wishes of her parents and declined to go. At some point during the evening, at least one of these friends came around to the Canda home and begged her to join them, as the party “was nothing without her.”

Her parents had not wanted her to go out because, the Morning Post reported, “every one of her birthdays had been marked by some cross or mishap, frustrating the ordinary pleasant celebration of the day.” Now, however, Charlotte begged Charles and Adele to reconsider because it had been a good day thus far and “she wished to conclude it an agreeable manner.” Faced with the pleas of their beautiful and adored daughter, the Candas relented—the newspaper noting that, in retrospect, “every circumstance appears to have occurred that could give the keenest poignancy to the agonies of such a blow to the hearts of her parents.”

Reportage from the Evening Post of 5 February provided its readers with full details: After making the decision to let Charlotte go, Charles Canda “engaged a cab at the livery stable of Patrick Rooney, in Fourth Street, to convey him, his daughter … and a young lady residing at no. 29 Waverley Place, to the house of a friend on Eleventh Street. Canda rode with them and returned in the cab at 11 p.m. to escort the two partygoers home. The first stop was Charlotte’s friend’s house, which they reached around 11:30 p.m.

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This daguerreotype, which is the oldest known image of New York City, was taken of the Unitarian Congregational Church of the Messiah on the east side of Broadway (nos. 728-730) near Waverly Place in the fall of 1839 or winter of 1840. Charlotte would be fatally injured in just this area some five years later. The image has been flipped to show the actual view. Courtesy National Museum of American History.

“The driver, Patrick McCormick, alighted to open the carriage door, leaving the reigns of the horses loose on the seat. Mr. Canda got out of the carriage and went into the house … with the lady, leaving Miss Canda in the carriage, and the driver standing in the door awaiting the return of Mr. Canda. After the lapse of a few minutes, the horses suddenly started off and ran to Broadway, then to Fourth Street, and thence to the stable, where they came to a stand, with no other injury to the carriage than the leaves of the steps damaged,” the Post reported.

When the horses at stopped running and the driver caught up to them, Charlotte was no longer in the carriage. She had either jumped or was thrown out and struck her head near the intersection of  Broadway and Waverley Place. Two gentlemen found her unconscious in the snowy street and carried her to the New York Hotel at 715 Broadway, where medical aid was summoned.

After some confusion, Charles Canda deduced what had happened and hurried to the hotel. There he found his daughter insensible. “She had sustained such injuries as caused her death in about a half hour after the occurrence,” noted the Post. It has been put forth that Charlotte died in her parents’ arms, but there is no indication that Mrs. Canda knew her daughter had been mortally injured or that she would have had time to arrive at the hotel before Charlotte expired. It is possible that she did pass away in the arms of her father, but no primary source material I have found indicated this happened.

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The New York Hotel (left) pictured in 1875. Charlotte Canda died there late on the night of 3 February, 1845. Today, it is the site of the Tisch School of the Arts.

The following day, Charlotte was laid out at her parent’s Lafayette Place home-cum-school. While funeral arrangements were being made, a Coroner’s Inquest was held, probably in the family’s parlor where the coffin rested. The Evening Post reported, “The jury rendered the following verdict: that the deceased came to her death in consequence of the injuries received by jumping or being thrown from the carriage, with which the horses in the charge of Patrick McCormick started and ran from No. 29 Waverly Place … the said Patrick McCormick  having carelessly left the reins lying on the seat, instead of holding them, as he should have done, while he was standing at the side of the carriage, whereby he might have prevented the horses from running away.”

The funeral was held on 6 February at the Catholic Church of St. Vincent de Paul on Broadway at Canal Street. The Post described it thusly: “The church was throughout hung with black, and all the light being excluded from without, it was illuminated with tapers within. A grand mass for the dead was performed, and a requiem chaunted, with funeral music of the most impressive character. Notwithstanding the severity of the weather and the encumbrance of the street with snow, the funeral was attended by a great concourse of our most respectable citizens, walking on foot from the residence of Mr. Canda to the church.”

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This 1861 print shows Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral and its graveyard. Charlotte Canda was either buried in the cemetery or within the church itself for several years before being removed to Green-Wood.

Charlotte was interred at the Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Prince and Mott streets in Manhattan and the Candas took what little comfort they could in the familiarity of Charlotte’s possessions around them.

When they explored her portfolio, they found several surprises.

First, in the book Green-Wood: A Directory for Vistors by Nehemiah Cleaveland, the author writes as a friend of the Candas who has been allowed to inspect Charlotte’s belongings: “In the portfolio which contains most of her drawing, there are two which possess a touching interest. They are the last she executed. The first is an attempt to depict Cromwell in the act of looking into the coffin of King Charles.” A few days later, she drew the scene again in more detail and wrote beneath it in French, ‘Death! I must learn to look thee in the face!'”

Second, her parents found Charlotte’s designs for Clemence’s tomb. Her father added to the plans some personal symbols representative of his daughter and commissioned sculptor Robert Launitz, who worked with another sculptor, John Franzee, to create a tomb at Brooklyn’s Green-Wood. Canda was said to have paid for the memorial with the dowery he had put aside for Charlotte’s marriage, but this may be another heartrending embellishment to her story.

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The tomb of Charlotte Canda in Green-Wood Cemetery. The rest of her family, including her young aunt, Clemence, are buried or entombed there as well. Photo by James P. Fisher III.

Charlotte—and presumably Clemence—was reinterred or entombed (it is unclear to me whether the Canda memorial is comprised of burial plots or is a family tomb) at Green-Wood on 29 April, 1848, and tomb construction finished. The cemetery describes the resulting Gothic Revival structure as “in the form of a tabernacle, standing at a prominent intersection of avenues in the Cemetery. An open, arched canopy flanked by two slender spires containing a portrait statue of the young woman wearing a garland of seventeen rose buds representing the years of her life. Above her head, a star symbolizes her immortality and a stylized butterfly with extended wings in the interior of the arch denotes her liberated spirit. An ornamental parapet encloses the sarcophagus set before the tabernacle…. The exquisite carving of the tomb preserves the love, devotion, and grief of the parents for their beloved daughter, taken from them at such a special time in her life.”

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By 3 March, Charles Canda had risen in spirit enough to place an ad in the Evening Post:

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The Candas’ school kept the fire of youth around them and their pupils brought them solace, purpose, and hope. Charlotte’s fiance, Charles-Albert Jarret de la Mairie, did not fare so well, however. After Charlotte’s death, he traveled to Rome, where he met and fell in love with a married woman. Having apparently acted on this passion, he was mortified by the social disgrace that followed. Jarret fled Rome for New York in September 1847.

On 18 October, at around noon, Jarret turned up at the home of his one-time prospective father-in-law, Charles Canda. He seemed, Canda later told a Coroner’s Inquest, “under great mental excitement. During the conversation he asked me if I had the same opinion of him as my sister—he fancied that my sister despised him. I tried to ascertain the cause of his strange conduct and asked him if he had committed any crime.”

The young man denied this but “asked a great many strange questions and said he intended to destroy himself…. I told him that he had friends and that I would like him to come back later” when a Catholic priest could minister to him. “He left me at half-past four o’clock,” Canda recalled, adding, “While at my house he showed us a pistol and alarmed my family very much.” (Source: New York Municipal Archives; NY County Coroner’s Inquests, Roll No. 35 Sept-Dec 1847.)

Jarret returned to a hotel at Broadway and Reade Street run by Frenchman Antoine Vignes, who was also deposed by the Coroner. “I asked him if he would have some dinner. He replied, ‘No,’ then went to his room, and soon after this he came downstairs and asked for a carriage to return to France.”

Thus began a series of frenetic goings and comings throughout the evening…. Jarret returned for the last time around 10 p.m. and went to his guest chamber. Vignes stated that, at one point, he entered Jarret’s room and found him holding a loaded barrel revolver. “I asked him what he was going to do,” Vignes recalled. “He said he was going to blow his brains out so that he did not disgrace his family.” (Source: Ibid.)

Within mere minutes, Jarret did just that.

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Buffalo Commercial, 19 October, 1847.

The 28-year-old left three suicide notes. To his brother, Louis-Marin-Augustin Jarret de la Maire (1816-1882), he wrote, “Farewell my good Louis. Farewell forever. Farewell, likewise my good Agatha. I dare no longer write to my father or mother, neither to Henry or his wife.”

To Augustine-Marie Le Gouz du Plessis: “To my Mother: There are two pistols that I have fired without being able to kill myself. Farewell, forgive me.”

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The grave of Charles-Albert Jarret de la Mairie. Photo by Tim Milk.

Finally, to no one, or everyone: “Before dying, I ask for forgiveness of those I have rendered so unhappy, and particularly to the person who brought me here.”

As a Catholic who’d killed himself, Jarret could not be buried on consecrated ground, but Charles Canda would still have him near the family that might once have been his own. He rests in Green-Wood just outside their plot.

Charlotte’s parents appeared on the 1850 census at the helm of their still-prosperous school. There were about 20 girls in residence, as well as a number of teachers and servants. The state of New York conducted another census in 1855, in which the Candas were again enumerated at their school, which then was comprised of about 30 female students and more than a dozen teachers and domestics.

Charles Canda was naturalized as a U.S. citizen on 5 June, 1849, at the Marine Court of the City of New York. His intent to do so had been registered by the city on 13 July, 1839.

In June 1855, Charles Canda applied for a passport. In the application, it was noted that he was 5’7″ in height with a medium forehead, gray eyes, a Roman nose, a medium mouth, a round chin, dark brown hair, a dark complexion, and an oval face. In the application, he attested, “I, Charles F. A. Canda, do solemnly, sincerely, and truly swear that I am a citizen of the United States, having been naturalized in the city of New York.” Scrawled on the side of the application is a note reading, “To be accompanied by his wife, Adele Canda, age 50 years.” The assumption is that the Candas traveled to France.

On 10 September, 1858, the New York Times mentioned the Candas as professional references in an ad for a young ladies school run by Madam K. F. Canchois.

Five years later, in July 1860, Canda again applied for a passport to undertake more travel accompanied by Adele. His physical description remained the same, save that his hair was no longer dark brown, but gray. Earlier that year, the Candas had been enumerated on the 1860 U.S. Census of New York City. Their school was closed and Charles and Adele lived in retirement with two servants.

Charles Canda died, aged 74, on 27 September, 1866. He was buried at Green-Wood on 29 September. Charlotte’s mother lived until 1871, dying in France.

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A drawing of Charlotte’s tomb from 1850’s Greenwood Cemetery Visitors Directory.

For many years after Charlotte’s death, her magnificent tomb was a well-known tourist attraction—one of the official highlights of a visit to Green-Wood. Generations learned the sad story of her tragic end and shed a tear for the beautiful teen as they stood before her statue.

In 1899, more than 50 years after she died in the New York Hotel, poet Daniel Pelton rhapsodized after a visit to the park-like cemetery:

“Turn’d to the left, I seek the intricate round,
Where Charlotte Canda decorates the ground,
Like Sirius, fairest of the starry line.
Yet death seems setting on that heavenly shrine;
All tombs around are in its splendor lost,
And all must bow before its mighty cost.
Yet who would envy, who would take her place,
Though not possessed of any wealth or grace.
The dread of pain, tenacity of life,
Increase with woe, and feed on mortal strife;
In vain the roses round her bloom,
Vain may the polished marble shine,
In vain the sculptured image show
Charlotte in life almost divine.
Still, all is night beneath the gorgeous tomb,
And the black grave wears the same dismal gloom.
Thou lovely flower, too delicate for Earth,
‘Tis only strange such beauty here had birth;
Supine it fell before the autumnal blast
To rise to Heaven when wintry storms have passed.” Ω

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Stereoview of the statue of Charlotte Canda, circa 1880. Courtesy Library of Congress.

“Young Hickory of the Granite Hills”

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Ann Longmore-Etheridge Collection

I own a stereoview card, one half which is seen above, that may portray mourners of President Franklin Pierce. To accompany this image, I am reblogging an excellent look at Pierce’s life and burial place by Gravely Speaking.

Gravely Speaking

A sign outside the gates of the Old North Cemetery announces the burial of the most New Hampshire native son within its fencing.  The sign outlines the major accomplishments of Franklin Pierce:

FRANKLIN PIERCE

1804 – 1869

Fourteenth President of the United States

(1853 -1857)

Lies buried in nearby Minot enclosure.

Native son of New Hampshire,

Graduate of Bowdoin College,

Lawyer, effective political leader,

Congressman and U.S. Senator,

Mexican War veteran, courageous

Advocate of States’ rights,

He was popularly known as

“Young Hickory of the Granite Hills.”

While the sign outlines Pierce’s political accomplishments, there is nothing about his personal life.  Franklin Pierce was born in Hillsborough, New Hampshire.  He married Jane Appleton, the daughter of a Congregational minister.  Jane and Franklin were nearly polar opposites.  Franklin was outgoing and gregarious.  Jane was shy and suffered from depression.  Jane was pro-temperance and devoutly religious.  Jane was from a family that…

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Funeral Fragments

“When old Francis died in 1913, Dad sent him off in a hearse pulled by four black horses followed by mutes carrying ostrich feather wands and a procession of friends and family in the deepest mourning possible.”—Barbara Nadel

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An invitation to the funeral of Ruth Evelyn Cooper, who died of pneumonia in the aftermath of influenza. She was one of upwards of 50 million people whose deaths were associated with the 1918 influenza pandemic. Ruth was born 21 June, 1898; she was the daughter of mail carrier George F. and Clara Good Cooper of Murrell, Ephrata Township, Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.
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This glass slide captures one moment in the lengthy funeral proceedings of Queen Victoria, as her coffin wended its way through London, 2 February, 1901. The slide is unmarked save for the handwritten inscription, “The Queen’s Coffin.” It does not appear to be part of a commercial set and may be a personal remembrance of the day taken by someone in the crowd. (Note the two boys looking down on the passing procession from the high wall on the right.)
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This photo shows ephemera from the funeral of Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington (1 May 1769–14 Sept., 1852). It resides in the museum of Carisbrooke Castle, Isle of Wight, England. The duke was beloved for leading the defeat of Napoleon’s forces at Waterloo, 18 June, 1818. He went on to become a prime minister and is still considered to be one of Great Britain’s chiefest politicians. The handwritten note reads: “Relics of the Funeral of the late Duke of Wellington. No.1 Silver lace from the car. 2. Cloth from the Hall. 3. Silver Tissue from the Canopy. 4. Tape from the Canopy, Chelsea Hospital. 5. Autograph of the late Duke, Nov. 1852.”
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This circa-1905 albumen print captures a wintertime military funeral procession in Newport News, Virginia. It’s possible that it was headed to Hampton National Cemetery for a veteran’s burial. Behind the hearse bearing an American flag-draped casket are mourners on foot, as well as a long procession of carriages and early automobiles.
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On 11 October, 1918, a public funeral was held in Belfast, Ireland, for twelve American soldiers, victims of the Otranto disaster, and men who died from pneumonia after being landed in Ireland from a troop ship. During the march through the city from the Victoria Barracks to the City Cemetery, the coffins rode on open hearses, with a guard of honor composed of British soldiers. Glass plate image courtesy Library of Congress.
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This is one-half of a stereoview card labeled, “The cortage leaving the White House, President McKinley’s funeral, Sept. 17, 1901, Washington, DC. Underwood & Underwood, Publisher, New York, London, Toronto, Canada, Ottawa, Kansas.” William McKinley was the 25th president of the United States, serving from 4 March, 1897, until his assassination on 14 September, 1901, six months into his second term.
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Even when I was a child in the 1960s, it was still considered important to photograph the funeral floral arrangements sent by loved ones. In this albumen cabinet card, circa 1885, we see flowers and a sheaf of wheat in tribute to “Our Friend” Celia. The sheaf indicates that Celia died in old age.
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My father, James Arthur Longmore, took this black-and-white photograph at Arlington National Cemetery in the aftermath of the funeral of John F. Kennedy, 25 November, 1963. My parents were among the thousands who lined the procession’s route. I was with them in my pram, aged five months. My father held me up as the caisson carrying the president’s coffin passed so that I “could see history occurring,” he said. This picture is from later in day, after the grave had been covered and the site was open to grieving citizens.
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The bill for the 1949 funeral and burial of Mrs. Roush. The total fee was $234.75, including $150 for embalming, $12.95 for a burial dress, and $12 for an ambulance that presumably transported the body from the family home to the embalmer.
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In the wake of the funeral, this memorial shadow box may have been filled with cloth flowers to symbolize the floral tributes at this unknown decedent’s grave, as well as the hope of her eternal youth in Heaven. Courtesy Jack and Beverly Wilgus Collection.

Ω


Unless otherwise noted, all images from the Ann Longmore-Etheridge Collection.

You’re A Grand Old Flag

Early images of the Stars and Stripes from the Jack and Beverly Wilgus Collection.

By Beverly Wilgus

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The earliest flag image in our collection is this ambrotype of a young Civil War soldier standing before a painted military backdrop of tents and an American flag. By necessity, it dates from the years of the conflict, between 1861 and 1864. He wears an enlisted man’s trousers, a blue-tinted cape coat, and a regulation enlisted man’s dress Hardee hat bearing the insignia “H” and “81” inside a brass infantry bugle. Five states had an 81st Infantry: Indiana, Illinois, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and New York. This fierce and determined Union soldier joined up from one of them. 
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This albumen stereoview card is from the 1871 “Kitty At Play” series by John P. Soule of Boston.
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Two girls stand before a large American Flag with a circular pattern of stars in this 19th Century albumen cabinet card. The girl on the left wears a flag dress and touches another flag held by her companion. There is no photographer’s imprint or location on the card. I speculate, but cannot be certain, that this dates from the Centennial celebration of 1876.
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The negative of this 1880s-era cabinet card by Swords Brothers of York, Pennsylvania, is marked “Baby Sutton.” The adorable little girl wears a dress that appears made from actual American flags. She may be a member of a theatrical family, but I have so far uncovered no performers of that name from this period.
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This tintype may portray an elderly couple and their middle-aged daughter at Baerena Park, which operated on an island in the Hudson River, 12 miles south of Albany. The number of stars suggest the image was made circa 1912. Tintypes were made at public entertainment and tourism venues of this type many decades after being supplanted by other photographic technologies.
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This undated tintype captures a little blond girl and an American flag draped over the back of a bench. It is most likely from an amusement park photo arcade during the 1910s.
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This real photo postcard of E. L. Orr shows the young man in uniform standing in front of a large American Flag. The postcard was mailed in November 1918 after the end of World War I. Orr writes on the reverse that he intends to stay in the army until spring to help in the demobilization.
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Rosemary Yacmett, the daughter of the Ohio photographer Fred Yacmett, is pictured in this real photo postcard in front of a large flag. Public records show that Rosemary was born in 1911, so it seems likely that this image celebrates the end of World War I in 1918.

A Long-Ago Sky

How Instantaneous Views changed photography and let us travel to a fixed point in time.

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One-half stereoview, “Winder’s Instantaneous Views, No. 355 Central Avenue, opp. Court St., Cincinnati, O.”

This is genuine time travel: You are looking at a sky in a southern clime taken on the early afternoon of 12 July, 1865. A handwritten paper glued to the reverse provides the exact date. When this fraction of a day was preserved, the Civil War was over but for a few months; this part of the sky was again above the United States, not the Confederacy.

There was a house amongst the trees—its triangular roof and chimney visible mid-left. The sky was bright blue and the clouds were gentle fluffs that, nonetheless, hinted rain. By them the great hot orb of the sun was obscured enough to safely see and photograph. The revolutionary iodized collodion process used by the photographer allowed images to be taken in as little as a few seconds, depending on the light, and this picture probably would have required the briefest of exposures.

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The entire stereoview.

According to an article by Colin Harding at the Science and Media Museum’s blog, “The earliest photographic processes normally required exposures of many seconds, or even minutes, rendering the photography of movement impossible. However, with the right combination of lighting, subject, lens and plate size, exposures of a fraction of a second, whilst still very difficult to achieve, were possible. The taking of such photographs became known as ‘instantaneous photography’. Whilst the term was in common usage during the 19th century, there was surprisingly little discussion or agreement as to precisely what it meant. In practice, it was applied to any photograph which contained an element of movement or which was taken with an exposure of less than one second.”

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One-half stereoview of a horse and buggy crossing Goat Island Bridge to Prospect Point above the rapids on the American side of Niagra Falls, circa 1878.

Because of the need for exposures of draconian length with the earliest forms of photography, objects in motion had never been successfully captured, and this made Instantaneous Views wildly popular. As the British Journal of Photography enthused in October 1862, “Omnibuses, carts, cabs, wagons, and foot-passengers in shoals in active movement, are all ‘arrested’… In the immediate foreground is a man, without his coat, wheeling a barrow, his left leg poised in mid-air, in the act of stepping…. One individual in a black suit, with his hands in his pockets, and looking on excellent terms with himself, is sauntering towards the spectator. The whole scene is full of life, and the photography leaves nothing to be desired.”

What was true of crowded city streets was also true of nature. Stereo images such as the one below allowed the world to be recorded in its majesty, both in 2-D and arrested motion. To viewers who had never seen an actual ocean—and there were many of them—an image like this one would have been awe-inspiring. Ω

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A Stereoview of the rocky shore of Cape Ann, Massachusetts, probably dating to the late 1880s.

All images from the Ann Longmore-Etheridge Collection.

I’m also pleased to announce that I will be bringing you photographs from the Jesse Cress Collection—many of which are daguerreotypes elderly men and women who were born in the mid- to late 1700s. Here is one to whet your appetites.

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Pink-cheeked elders, 1/6th-plate ambrotype, circa 1858. Courtesy Jesse Cress Collection.

Remembering the Fairy Wedding

The wedding of Tom Thumb and Lavinia Warren was so popular that children in wedding attire began to reenact the marriage ceremony.

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A carte de visite of the Thumb-Warren “Fairy Wedding” published by E. & H. T. Anthony, 1863. Original image by Mathew Brady.

By Beverly Wilgus

The highlight of the 1863 New York City social season was the February 10 “Fairy Wedding” at Grace Episcopal Church of two of P. T. Barnum’s “little people,” Charles Sherwood Stratton and Mercy Lavinia Warren Bump. In the theatrical world, they were known as General Tom Thumb and Lavinia Warren—he stood 2’10”; she, 2’6″. There were 2,000 invited guests and Barnum also sold tickets to the reception after the wedding for $75 each. Although 15,000 ticket requests came in, only 5,000 were available. One newspaper, the Cleveland Daily Leader, noted that after the particulars were announced by Barnum, “then followed such a universal toadyism…all for the sake of begging, buying, or stealing invitations to the wedding.”

In spite of the event’s commercial nature, Tom and Lavinia’s marriage was a true love match. (Barnum, however, thought Lavinia was too tall for Tom and that her smaller sister Minnie would have been a better choice of a bride.) Lavinia had also been romantically pursued by Thumb’s rival performer, George Washington Morrison Nutt, whose stage name was Commodore Nutt, but Lavinia’s heart belonged to the Little General from the start. After their marriage, the couple lived in domestic harmony for twenty years until Tom’s death on July 15, 1883.

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A stereoview published by E. & H. T. Anthony of a reenactment of the “Fairy Wedding” in a photographer’s studio. Left to right: Best Man Commodore Nutt; Groom General Tom Thumb; Bride Lavinia Warren; and Bridesmaid Minnie Bump, Lavinia’s sister, who was also known as Minnie Warren. The minister behind them was either Reverend Mr. Wiley, who read the service, or the Reverend Dr. Taylor, who read the benediction, or possibly a costumed stand-in.

The Leader, which was only one of scores of newspapers around the world that covered Tom and Lavinia’s nuptials, explained to its readers, “Tom Thumb was born in Bridgeport, Connecticut, in 1838. He weighed nine pounds and a-half when born, but stopped growing at eighteen months old. Barnum took him in at ten years old and he has been a public character ever since. Miss Lavinia Bump was born in Middleboro, Mass., in 1842. She grew until one year old and then stopped… She and the General met a few months ago at Boston and a ‘mutual understanding’ developed.”

On the day of the wedding, the bride wore “plain white satin, the skirt en traine, being decorated with a flounce of costly point lace, headed by tulle puffings; the berthe to match. Her…hair, slightly waved, was rolled a la Eugenie…. Natural orange blossoms breathed their perfume above her brow and mingled their fragrance with soft sighs of her gentle bosom,” all-but moaned the Leader. Thumb was resplendent in a black dress coat and a vest of white silk, “his appearance that of a little old man in whom the juices of life were yet rich and whose jolly days were not done.”

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Another E. & H. T. Anthony stereoview of the “Fairy Wedding Party,” from an original by Mathew Brady. The Anthonys were advertising their exclusive arrangement to sell card photographs from the Fairy Wedding as early as February 25, 1863.

After the wedding, the couple greeted reception guests from atop a piano amidst a mountain of gifts. At the end of the evening, Thumb ardently and grandiloquently thanked their guests and he and his wife withdrew, shortly thereafter to begin a European honeymoon. From start to finish, stated the Irish Meath People and Cavan and Westmeath Chronicle, Barnum had arranged the Fairy Wedding “with a true eye to business.”

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A circa 1880 stereoview by J. W. & J. S. Moulton, New Series, American Groups, titled “Tom Thumb Wedding.”

Following the wild popularity of the wedding, a rather strange practice developed and has continued until today. Plays based on the event became popular, with children in wedding attire reenacting the marriage ceremony. My husband and I collect photographs of the original couple but also have a collection of photographs of children engaged in this activity from the 19th Century through 1950. The weddings were indeed so popular during the century after the actual event that there were professional Fairy Wedding planners who advised on the faux nuptials and rented out costumes.

Many Fairy Weddings were staged as fundraisers by churches and schools. For example, Pennsylvania’s Harrisburg Telegraph of November 30, 1888, noted that a Tom Thumb Wedding was held on Thanksgiving evening at Wesley Union Church. It included the mock bride and groom, maids of honor and groomsmen, and the bride and groom’s family. “The couples were appropriately and beautifully attired and of such costly material, fitting splendidly the little bodies and producing much excitement even among the men and women,” the newspaper stated. The children performed with “great propriety and dignity, and won high praise.”

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An early 20th Century, 5’x7′ card-mounted photograph taken on the steps of a church showing a large Tom Thumb wedding party and guests.

In 1893, the Mount Carmel, Pennsylvania, Daily News, reported a Tom Thumb Wedding held at the G. A. R. Opera House on May 12. “The youthful participants enacted their parts well and the quaint costumes created no end of amusement for the audience.” And the North Carolina Wilmington Messenger of February 28, 1894, published that “all the little boys and girls who took part in the ‘Tom Thumb Wedding’ at the Grace Church entertainment last night are requested to meet at city hall this afternoon [in their costumes] to be photographed.”

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This real photo postcard, circa 1920, shows how long the mock weddings continued to take place as well as how to misspell thumb.
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A mounted, real photo postcard of a Fairy Wedding bride and groom taken during the second decade of the 20th Century.

We possess a clipping from 1950 of my husband, Jack, acting as best man in a Tom Thumb Wedding at his family’s church. And if the term “Tom Thumb Wedding” is entered into Google,  one will find many posts about churches, schools, and private birthday parties performing these weddings as late as just a few years ago. Ω

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All images courtesy of the Jack and Beverly Wilgus Collection.

The World Before

“What makes photography a strange invention is that its primary raw materials are light and time.”—John Berger

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Photo courtesy James Morley Collection.

James Morley writes of this ambrotype of Channon Post Office & Stationers, Brompton Road, London, circa 1877: “I have found historical records including newspapers, electoral rolls, and street directories that give Thomas Samuel Channon at a few addresses around Brompton Road, most notably 96 and 100 Brompton Road. These date from 1855 until early into the 20th century. These addresses would appear to have been immediately opposite Harrods department store.”

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Ann Longmore-Etheridge Collection.

The limited research I have done on this image, which is a stereoview card marked “State Block, New Hampshire, W.G.C. Kimball, Photographer,” leads me to believe it shows mourners of Concord, New Hampshire native Franklin Pierce (November 23, 1804–October 8, 1869), 14th President of the United States (1853–1857).

The banners affixed to the carriage read “We miss him most who knew him best” and “We mourn his loss,” as well as another phrase that ends in the word “forget.” The image also features an upside down American flag with thirteen stars.

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Photo courtesy James Morley Collection.

This dry-plate glass negative shows a group of locals gathered at the smithy, Manafon, Wales, during the Montgomeryshire by-election of 1894. You can read more about this image at James Morley’s site, What’s That Picture?

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Photo courtesy Jack and Beverly Wilgus Collection.

Beverly Wilgus writes of this 1850s image, “The overwhelming majority of daguerreotypes made were portraits. It was the ability to capture and preserve likenesses of loved ones for an affordable cost that made the daguerreotype such an immediate success. From the beginning there were daguerreotypes of houses, cityscapes, and landscapes. We do not know the ratio of portrait to non-portrait but do know that over the years of searching we have seen thousands of portraits for every one non-portrait. We have three antique and three modern outdoor examples in our collection of over 150 daguerreotypes.

“This 1/2 plate daguerreotype is of a white house behind a picket fence. There are eleven people in the yard, on the porch, or in a window. The man in shirt sleeves at the center of the picture holds a baby and the three figures on the right appear to be children. Is it a new house or was there a traveling daguerreotypist in the neighborhood? Is it an extended family or neighbors who dropped in for the day? We will never know since there is no information or identification with it.”

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Photo courtesy Price and Zimmer Collection.

This stereoview street scene shows a busy day in downtown St. Louis, Missouri, facing north up Broadway from the corner of Chestnut. It was published by Underwood & Underwood in 1908. Ω