“He takes the honey, but preserves the bees”

As discussed yesterday, in the early 1770s there were two men named Wildman exhibiting bees in London.

The uncle, Thomas Wildman (1734–1781) of Plymouth, appears to have been an apiarist who discovered a way to impress people with his bees. One witness wrote:

He walked about with six swarms about him, which covered his head, breast, and shoulders, leaving only his nostrils and his mouth clear. These he shook off upon a table, and then drove them into their hive.

That seems to have been the limit of Thomas’s exhibitions; his heart was in the hive.

The nephew, Daniel Wildman (d. 1812), brought a bunch of circus and conjuring skills: standing upright on a galloping horse, doing tricks with cards, seemingly cutting the head off a live chicken and restoring it, and so on. He then added his uncle’s bees to his repertoire.

In 1772 the Mirror praised the Wildman beekeeping method, presumably developed by Thomas:

HE with uncommon art and matchless skill,
Commands those insects, who obey his will;
With bees others cruel means employ,
They take the honey and the bees destroy;
Wildman humanely, with ingenious ease,
He takes the honey, but preserves the bees.

But of course Daniel’s tricks commanded more attention. In 1774 the younger man took his performances, including the bees, to the Colysée in Paris.

Over time, however, Daniel also became a bee man. In 1775 he published a much-condensed version of his uncle Thomas’s compendium on beekeeping, which he titled A Complete Guide for the Management of Bees, Throughout the Year, and kept that in print for the rest of the century.

By the 1780s Daniel was running a shop: “Wildman’s Honey and Wax-Candle Warehouse, No. 326, Holborn, almost opposite Gray’s-Inn-Gate.” His stock included “a great VARIETY of the New-invented Mahogany, Glass and Straw Bee-Hives, (Both for CHAMBER and GARDEN,) so much approved of by the Nobility, Gentry, and Others.”

Curiously, Wildman’s shop also manufactured and sold archery equipment. Was this another of his skills, or did arrows just seem to offer good synergy with bees?

When Daniel died in 1812, he was still a listed as a “Honey-Merchant” from Holborn. I wonder if he ever cut the head off a live chicken for old times’ sake.

The King of Bees and His Heir Apparent

After reading the description of the feats of conjuring and bee-training by “Mr. Wildman” in London quoted yesterday, I went looking for more about that man.

It turns out:

• There were two men named Wildman attracting attention in London at this time, and many books mix them up.
• I never found a British source for that particular description of Wildman’s act, but found enough overlapping descriptions to be confident about who performed it.
• Those other descriptions are even more wild!

One of my sources is an Eighteenth-Century Life article by Deirdre Coleman of the University of Sydney titled “Entertaining Entomology: Insects and Insect Performers in the Eighteenth Century.” Others are books on public entertainers in London published over the decades, including Ricky Jay’s Extraordinary Exhibitions. However, I might sort out the two Wildmans differently from those references.

So let’s meet the Wildman family.

In 1754 some British gentlemen founded the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce in Great Britain, eventually known as the Royal Society of Arts. In the summer of 1766 a man from Plymouth in western England named Thomas Wildman (1734–1781) demonstrated various tricks with bees to this group. A newspaper described one of his visits to the society’s secretary:

About five o’clock Mr. Wildman came, brought through the city in a chair, his head and face almost covered with bees, and a most venerable beard of them hanging down from his chin. The gentlemen and ladies were soon convinced that they need not be afraid of the bees, and therefore went up familiarly to Mr. Wildman, and conversed with him. After having staid a considerable time, he gave orders to the bees to retire to their hive that was brought for them, which they immediately obeyed with the greatest precipitation.

That was so impressive that the society granted Wildman £105 (a hundred guineas) to publish his secrets for the benefit of the public.

Over the next two years Wildman appeared publicly with his bees several times, not revealing secrets. Coleman’s article states:

Attired in his “bee dress,” Wildman would usually perform with up to three different swarms of bees “which he made fly in and out of their hives at pleasure.” At the conclusion of one act, he grabbed handfuls of bees and “tossed them up and down like so many peas” before making them “go into their hive at the word of command.”

Wildman accepted the title of “king of bees.” Ironically, he probably controlled the swarms by moving around their queens.

In 1768 Wildman published A Treatise on the Management of Bees; wherein is Contained the Natural History of those Insects; with the Various Methods of Cultivating Them. This book was a digest of old lore and recent European writing about beekeeping translated by the Society of Arts secretary. It included fold-out copper-plate engravings of bees and hives, as shown above. Among the men subscribing for an early copy was Benjamin Franklin. A second edition was printed in 1770.

By 1772, Thomas Wildman was joined in the capital by his nephew Daniel Wildman (d. 1812). The younger Wildman had an even wilder approach to showing off bees. In June of that year he performed at the Jubilee Gardens, and in July at Richard Astley’s Riding-School in London. The name of the latter establishment is the tip-off that Daniel Wildman’s act included not just bees but horses.

Specifically, a June 1772 announcement said:

The celebrated Daniel Wildman will exhibit several new and amazing experiments, never attempted by any man in this or any other kingdom before, the rider standing upright, one foot on the saddle, and one on the neck, with a mask of bees on his head and face.

He also rides, standing upright on the saddle, with the bridle in his mouth, and by firing a pistol makes one part of the bees march over the table, and the other swarm in the air and return to their hive again, with other performances too tedious to insert.

And that wasn’t all. As shown by the advertisement quoted in the Boston Evening-Post 250 years ago this week and others, Daniel Wildman performed conjuring tricks with coins, cards, watches, “his Oriental caskets,” and live birds. (At least he promised that one “Fowl shall be alive and perfectly well as before the” performance.)

It’s striking that the Evening-Post item said nothing about Wildman as a trick rider even though someone sent it to the newspaper in response to the equestrian exhibitions of Jacob Bates. Evidently Daniel Wildman had so many talents that he could tailor his act to the venue, small and intimate or big and brash.

TOMORROW: Settling down with the bees.

“For the further amusement of the Town”

On 11 Oct 1773, 250 years ago today, Jacob Bates ran his last advertisement in the Boston newspapers.

It appeared in the Boston Post-Boy, repeating his announcement in the 7 October Boston News-Letter that his performance at 2:00 P.M. on the 12th would be his last in town. Unless it rained. In which case, he’d perform “the first fair Day after.” But that would be “Positively the last Time here.”

That same day, Thomas and John Fleet at the Boston Evening-Post ran this item sent in by a reader (and set in small type to fit it all in):

Messi’rs FLEETS,

AS the extraordinary feats of Horsemanship now performing here by Mr. Bates, has much engrossed the attention of the Town; please to insert, for the further amusement of the Town, the substance of an Advertisement to be seen in the London Ledger of last July, relative to the more astonishing Performances of the famous Mr. Wildman,

“who lets any Person in company cut off the Head of a living Cock, Hen, or other Fowl, and he will immediately join the Head to the Body again in the presence of the company, and the Fowl shall be alive and perfectly well as before the operation—

He will likewise exhibit many astonishing Performances with his Oriental Caskets, and several Pieces of new invented Machinery—

He tells the Ladies and Gentlemen Thoughts by several methods never attempted by any other Person—

He puts a Piece of Money into a Lady or Gentleman’s hand, and takes it away without their knowledge, let them hold it ever so fast—

And fifty other different astonishing Deceptions with Cards, Money & Watches, that cannot possibly be inserted in his Bill.—

He concludes with his much admired exhibition of Bees, when he will command them the leave the Hive, and settle on any Gentleman’s Handkerchief, Sword, Cane, or any other part the Company shall request; from thence he will order them to settle on his naked arm, representing a swarm of Bees on the Boughs of a Tree; he will then remove them from his Arm to his naked Head and Face in a most extraordinary manner; and afterwards makes them march over the Table at the word of Command:—

He likewise offers to give One Hundred Guineas if his Performances can be equalled by any Person in the Kingdom.”——

The Connecticut Journal of New Haven had run a similar item from the London press back on 20 August. Similar but not identical—that announcement about the feats of “Mr. Wildman” included cutting off the head of a cock and card tricks, but it said nothing about bees.

The Connecticut newspaper didn’t add any editorial comment. The Boston Evening-Post’s correspondent tied the material to public interest in Jacob Bates. But what point was he (or she) trying to make?

Was this correspondent criticizing the Boston public for its fascination with a showman? The apparently admonitory “Bates and his Horses” pamphlet would be advertised in the Post-Boy another week, though since no copies survive it’s not certain it was ever printed.

But perhaps this Evening-Post reader simply wanted to share another curious glimpse of London-based entertainment. If you think Bates’s horsemanship is impressive, you ain’t seen nothin’!

If we lived in that society, the implications of reprinting the description of Wildman’s act for the Boston public might be clearer. Or perhaps people had just as much trouble discerning tone and irony in print then as now.

TOMORROW: Wildman and his horses.

(The playing card above comes from this set, courtesy of Harvard, showing people caught up in the South Sea Bubble early in the 1700s.)