Maskelyne and Cooke at the Egyptian Hall

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The Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, circa 1896.

The Egyptian Hall, the front of which forms one of the most noticeable features on the southern side of Piccadilly, nearly opposite to Bond Street, was erected in the year 1812, from the designs of Mr. G. F. Robinson, at a cost of £16,000, for a museum of natural history, the objects of which were in part collected by William Bullock, F.L.S., during his thirty years’ travel in Central America. The edifice was so named from its being in the Egyptian style of architecture and ornament, the inclined pilasters and sides being covered with hieroglyphics; and the hall is now used principally for popular entertainments, lectures, and exhibitions. Bullock’s Museum was at one time one of the most popular exhibitions in the metropolis. It comprised curiosities from the South Sea, Africa, and North and South America; works of art; armoury, and the travelling carriage of Bonaparte. The collection, which was made up to a very great extent out of the Lichfield Museum and that of Sir Ashton Lever, was sold off by auction, and dispersed in lots, in 1819.

Here, in 1825, was exhibited a curious phenomenon, known as “the Living Skeleton,” or ‘the Anatomic Vivante,” of whom a short account will be found in Hone’s “Every-Day Book.” His name was Claude Amboise Seurat, and he was born in Champagne, in April, 1798. His height was 5 feet 7½ inches, and as he consisted literally of nothing but skin and bone, he weighed only 77¾ Ibs. He (or another living skeleton) was shown subsequently—in 1830, we believe—at “ Bartlemy Fair,” but died shortly afterwards. There is extant a portrait of M. Seurat, published by John Williams, of 13, Paternoster Row, which quite enables us to identify in him the perfect French native.

Of the various entertainments and exhibitions that have found a home here, it would, perhaps, be needless to attempt to give a complete catalogue; but we may, at least, mention a few of the most successful. In 1829, the Siamese Twins made their first appearance here, and were described at the time as “two youths of eighteen, natives of Siam, united by a short band at the pit of the stomach—two perfect bodies, bound together by an inseparable link.” They died in America in the early part of the year 1874. The American dwarf, Charles S. Stratton, “Tom Thumb,” was exhibited here in 1844; and subsequently, Mr. Albert Smith gave the narrative of his ascent of Mont Blanc, his lecture being illustrated by some cleverly-painted dioramic views of the perils and sublimities of the Alpine regions. Latterly, the Egyptian Hall has been almost continually used for the exhibition of feats of legerdemain, the most successful of these—if one may judge from the “run” which the entertainment has enjoyed—being the extraordinary performances of Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke.

From Old and New London: A Narrative of its History, its People and its Places, Vol. 4 (1887) by Walter Thornbury

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Previously on { feuilleton }
Martinka & Co. catalogue, 1899
Learned Pigs and other moveables of wonder
Magicians
Hodgson versus Houdini

Three alphabets

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E is for Elefante.

Last week I was trying without success to find the origin of a calligraphic alphabet I have in a book about ornamental typography. A failed quest but the search did turn up a couple of those illustrated alphabets that were popular in the 17th and 18th centuries, including this first one which I have as poor reproductions in another book. Alfabeto in Sogno (“Dream Alphabet”), a book of etchings by Giuseppe Maria Mitelli, dates from 1683, and shows the letters of the alphabet constructed by posing human figures, some of which require props to create their letters. A common feature of the abecedary is an attempt to match one or more details in the picture to the letter in question, something which Mitelli does with a small illustration of an animal. Each of his plates also includes a few lines of verse and the less common addition of details intended to help students of drawing.

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E is for Endymion.

A’ dilettanti delle bell’ arti (“To the Amateurs of the Fine Arts”, 1785) by Giovanni Battista Betti opts for an easier method of depicting human-sized letterforms with a series of tableau-style caprices in which the shapes of the letters are formed by baroque curlicues or lengths of fabric arcing around the figures. Not all of these figures are human. Where Mitelli matches animals with each letter, Betti chooses characters from mythology—Bacchus, Endymion, Faunus, Ganymede and so on—or fills the space with the putti that are ubiquitous fixtures of the art of this period. You can take this as a quiz without an immediate solution: I couldn’t decipher the identities of all the non-putti characters but then my knowledge of Classical mythology isn’t very thorough.

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B is for Babylon.

The third alphabet is one that’s appeared here before, the Alfabeto Pittorico (1839) of Antonio Basoli, but the copies I linked to ten years ago were hosted on a dubious Russian site which is now defunct. No matter, all the plates may now be seen at Gallica where they should have a more permanent home. Basoli’s abecedary is my favourite of the three, being a collection of very plausible architectural designs that pastiche the building styles of different countries or eras. Once again the viewer is challenged to try and match the letter with the view in which the letter-building is situated. Some of these are very easy (the identity of H with “harem” is revealed by a sign above the door) while others are complicated by Basoli’s loose interpretation of ancient architecture. As for assignation of the ampersand below, that’s anybody’s guess.

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Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
The etching and engraving archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
Liber Artificiosus Alphabeti Maioris
Abeceda
The Royal Picture Alphabet
Giovanni Battista Pian’s Pictorial Alphabet
Antonio Basoli’s Pictorial Alphabet
Grand capitals
Paulini’s mythological alphabet

Another view over Yuggoth

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The original Yuggoth collage, 1994.

Three years ago I resurrected my panorama of R’lyeh from The Call of Cthulhu, a process that took five months from start to finish as I redrew a large and very detailed picture. Last month I spent a much shorter time doing the same for one of the other pieces of art that went missing after being printed in 1994, the Haeckel collage that I titled Yuggoth. I don’t think I’ve mentioned before that this was originally created as a potential cover for the first edition of the Starry Wisdom collection published by Creation Books. My Cthulhu strip had already been accepted for the book when I was asked to create something for the cover. The painting I eventually submitted was rather mediocre, not terrible but I’d only been painting with acrylics for a year or so and was still getting used to the medium. By the time Creation rejected the cover the print deadline was approaching so I had little time to create anything new. Having recently bought a copy of the Dover edition of Ernst Haeckel’s Art Forms in Nature I decided to try and make a suitably Lovecraftian collage using Haeckel’s prints.

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The original collage as it appeared on the cover of HP Lovecraft: Tales of Horror in 2022. Cover design by Jo Obaroswki.

Yuggoth was the result, created in a day or so after I’d rushed to the local copy shop and returned with a large quantity of paper which I chopped up then tried to assemble into a coherent form. I duly posted the result to Creation unaware that they’d already decided to use some of Peter Smith’s Lovecraft art on the cover. I was okay with this, I liked Smith’s drawings and Yuggoth ended up appearing inside the book. Despite the hasty production process I’d taken the precaution of photocopying the collage before it went into the post, something I did with the rest of the artwork, so even though the original Yuggoth was lost (or stolen or whatever actually happened to all that artwork) I’ve still had something which was usable years later. It was this photocopied version that appeared a few years later in my Haunter of the Dark book, as well as on the cover of the Fall River Lovecraft collection, Tales of Horror, in 2022.

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The reworked Yuggoth collage, 2024.

The photocopied version was usable, then, but not ideal. The original collage had been made with photocopies produced by a machine which didn’t deal very well with the halftones in Haeckel’s plates. This gave the final piece a rough, posterised quality, the roughness being intensified once the whole thing was copied again. The resurrected version has been pieced together from scans of the original Haeckel book with everything in the same size and (almost) the same placement as before, only now all of the hafltones and other fine detail are intact. And while I was going to all this trouble I decided to change the architectural details in the original to something more in keeping with the rest of the picture. The planet Yuggoth (or Pluto as human beings know it) is more alluded to than actually described in Lovecraft’s fiction, but we do know that the place is inhabited by a race of fungoid aliens. I’ve always thought of Yuggoth as being architecturally rich as well as inhabited, rather like the alien worlds that Frank R. Paul used to paint for the back covers of Fantastic Adventures magazine, but in my haste to create the collage I’d resorted to copying Cambodian and Thai temples from a book of architectural engravings. These have now been replaced by structures that are more in keeping with the other elements. Using Haeckel for architectural inspiration has a minor history, as I’ve noted before. The French architect and designer René Binet had been looking at Haeckel’s plates in 1900 when he designed the arched gateway for the Exposition Universelle in Paris. Binet later expanded on this design with Esquisses Décoratives, a book of proposals for more Haeckel-derived architecture produced in collaboration with Gustave Geffroy.

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The tinted version you see here is now available as prints and other products at Redbubble. My shop there is still a little understocked but I intend to keep adding to it in the coming months. As before, I’ll mainly be doing prints at Redbubble, all my T-shirt sales are now being handled by Skull Print. The latter emailed their final dates for pre-Xmas orders today: 6th December for overseas and 18th December for the UK. Skull Print will also be taking a break at the beginning of January so they won’t be dealing with any new orders until the 15th of that month. Thanks.

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The Lovecraft archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Ghost Box and The Infinity Box

Weekend links 750

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Cover art by Edward Gorey, 1964.

• Plenty of Halloween fallout as usual this week, but then Halloween here is a state of mind rather than a single day’s celebration. Leading off with an article by Smoky Man for Italian readers (and for auto-translators) at (Quasi), the first in what will be a series of reviews of each section of the Moon and Serpent Bumper Book of Magic. I’ve been helping with this, answering questions about the book’s production. I may post my answers here at a later date but for the moment I’m happy to keep them exclusive. In other Moon and Serpent news, the Bumper Book was reviewed by Sam Thielman in the New York Times last weekend, and also subjected to a deeper exploration by Joe McCullough for The Comics Journal.

Michael Atkinson explores the psychosocial dread at the heart of Japanese horror. One of the films I watched for Halloween was Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s brilliantly unnerving Pulse, a film which turns up again in Anne Billson’s evolution of horror in ten revolutionary films.

• Among the new titles at Standard Ebooks, the home of free, high-quality, public-domain texts: Short Fiction by Frank Belknap Long, a collection of science fiction and horror stories which opens with Long’s contribution to the Cthulhu Mythos, The Hounds of Tindalos.

Paracelsus’ quasi-scientific, quasi-magical worldview would profoundly influence scientists for centuries to follow. As historian Violet Moller puts it in her new book Inside the Stargazer’s Palace, “To our rational, orderly, 21st-century minds the 16th-century map of knowledge appears messy, a paradoxical and confusing place where magic was studied alongside geometry, people searched obsessively for the philosopher’s stone and astrology was fundamental to many areas of life.” But in this mixed-up cauldron of magic and nature, real science was forged.

Dale Markowitz on how the occult gave birth to science

• New music: Of Nature & Electricity by Teleplasmiste, and Tristitiam Et Metus Tradam Portare Ventis by Philippe Blache (Day Before Us).

Adam Scovell dares to look inside Dario Argento’s dungeon-like museum of horror memorabilia, Profondo Rosso.

• At Little White Lies: Tyler Thier on Stan Brakhage’s autopsy film, The Act of Seeing With One’s Own Eyes.

• At Spoon & Tamago: Keisuke Oka’s Arimaston Building in Tokyo, made entirely by hand.

• At Bandcamp: George Grella on the pioneers of musique concrète.

• At Unquiet Things: Marci Washington’s midnight revelations.

Typo 8: The International Journal of Prototypes.

• RIP Teri Garr.

Pulse (1972) by Agitation Free | Pulse State (1991) by The Future Sound Of London | Pulse Detected (2021) by The Grid/Fripp

In the footsteps of The Soul

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Adeline Carr, aka “The Soul”, wandering through the streets of Holborn while worrying about her future. Her dress is an Erté creation with curiously complicated sleeves.

After checking out of my Bloomsbury hotel on Saturday morning I decided to walk over to the nearby Atlantis Bookshop, London’s oldest occult bookseller, which is located in Museum Street close to the British Museum. I know the shop well but this visit was different since the route would take me past a number of locations mentioned in the fiction serial which runs throughout the Moon and Serpent Bumper Book of Magic.

The Dweller in the Abyss is a story about “The Soul”, a young woman in the 1920s who was originally going to be a kind of occult investigator for a comic series Alan Moore and I were planning for ABC in the late 1990s. This didn’t work out for a variety of reasons but The Soul has been reborn in the new book, with her character reinvented in order to demonstrate the personal evolution of a neophyte entering the world of magic. Adeline Carr, “The Soul”, is an artist’s model who lives in the first-floor flat above the Atlantis shop. I won’t go into detail about the story, the whole thing needs to be read with the complementary material surrounding it, but Adeline’s wanderings around this quarter of the city take her to a number of well-known locations which you can visit today, and which I illustrated to a greater or lesser degree.


1: Russell Square

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The first location I encountered—although my drawing of it appears near the end of the story—is the park in Russell Square, one of two such parks in the Bloomsbury area. It was raining on the morning I was there but Adeline’s walk through the park takes place on a sunny spring afternoon. The real place is rather more wooded than I showed it (there are more trees on the page which faces this one) but artistic licence is in operation here, and the park has been reorganised once or twice since the 1920s.

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2: The British Museum

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The next location is one I didn’t photograph, the British Museum. If it hadn’t been raining I might have walked through the gates to get a corresponding shot of the portico but the rain was heavier at this point and a large mass of umbrella-wielding tourists were crowding the entrance.


3: Museum Street

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Into Museum Street and the Atlantis shop where the Bumper Book of Magic is visible in the window! This view shows the windows above the shop where Adeline lives. (Adeline’s windows aren’t a precise match but artistic licence again… Also, windows get replaced, especially after the wartime bombing that London endured.) The shop hadn’t opened yet so I walked round the corner into Bloomsbury Way to face the imposing bulk of Nicholas Hawksmoor’s church.

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4: St George’s, Bloomsbury

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To date, this building and Christ Church, Spitalfields, are the only Hawksmoor churches I’ve visited in person. The church is an important location in Adeline Carr’s journey into magic, being the place where her spiritual revelations begin and reach their eventual climax. The pyramid-capped tower looks slightly different to the one I was drawing. The steeple, which is based on Pliny’s description of the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus, was originally decorated at its base with statues of lions and unicorns but these were removed during a restoration of the building in the 1870s. Like many London buildings, the church suffered from the ravages of neglect, wartime bombing and air pollution during the 20th century (Hawksmoor’s St John, Horsleydown, was destroyed entirely during the Blitz). Restoration of St George’s began in the late 1990s, a process which included the return to the steeple of the missing lions and unicorns. (See this website.) Visiting the place this time I was hoping to get a view of the tower from the passage that runs along the side but the gate to this was locked. You can, however, see the church from the rear via a narrow road where the steeple rises over the dingy back rooms which fill out the plot.

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5: The Atlantis Bookshop

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And so to the Atlantis shop again. It was a genuinely magical moment seeing the book in the window after spending so much time thinking about this very location and the events that take place in the flat above. By coincidence (or is it? etc), the book sitting next to it is by Gary Lachman who I’d been with the previous evening for the book launch. After the shop had opened I talked for a while with the proprietors, showing them the place on page 39 of the Bumper Book where their establishment is mentioned. The Atlantis isn’t the only occult bookshop in London (or even the only one in Bloomsbury…Treadwell’s is nearby) but if you’re in London it should be your first port of call if you’re looking for a copy of the Bumper Book.

The Atlantis Bookshop

Previously on { feuilleton }
Moon and Serpent Rising
Serious houses: The Lud Heat Tapes, 1979
London churches of the XVIIth and XVIIIth centuries
The Cardinal and the Corpse
Terror and Magnificence