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Back in November 2007 I recorded a conversation with Dr. Walter Edgar about my new book, Votaries of Apollo. That interview was first broadcast on Walter Edgar’s Journal on South Carolina ETV Radio in January 2008, and I have been flattered by compliments from folks who heard the show. In case you missed it, however, that conversation about Votaries of Apollo and concert music in early Charleston will be re-broadcast on Friday, July 25th, at noon. Tune in to you your local SCETV Radio station, or listen to the podcast version of the conversation in iTunes.

Nic Butler digging at South Adger\'s Wharf in Charleston in January 2008At noon this Friday, May 9th 2008, Dr. Nic Butler will be the featured guest on Walter Edgar’s Journal, a weekly radio program broadcast on South Carolina ETV Radio. Dr. Butler is Special Collections Manager at the Charleston County Public Library and historian for the Mayor’s Walled City Task Force. The topic of Friday’s conversation, recorded on February 18th, is the recent archaeology at South Adger’s Wharf and Charleston’s colonial fortifications in general. We’ll hear some insight into the formation of the Mayor’s Walled City Task Force and the planning and research that preceded the dig, as well as a summary of our findings and some discussion of the prospects for future archaeology of Charleston’s colonial walls. In short, it will be an inspiring conversation about one of the most unique and exciting aspects of this city’s history.

If you miss Friday’s broadcast, don’t panic! After a delay of about a week you’ll be able to download the free podcast version of the program from Dr. Edgar’s web page or from iTunes. Enjoy!

Rossignol Duo Concert

rossignol_duo_1.jpgLast night I attended a concert of the Rossignol Duo, the premiere lute duet in the southeast, at Hungry Monk Music in Charleston, South Carolina. The duo is composed of lutanist Christopher Berg and lutanist and soprano Hazel Ketchum, who have been performing together since 1997. It was an excellent concert, filled with expressive moments ranging from subtle nuance to dazzling virtuosity. During the evening I took a lot of photographs, some of which turned out reasonably well. The ambient lighting was low, of course, and I dared not use a flash for fear of blinding the performers. I’ll post some of the images on my Flickr account soon, but in the meantime I’ve assembled a brief Quicktime movie the evening, called the Rossignol Duo Montage. Enjoy!

Dock Street, Part 2

In the earliest known map of modern city of Charleston—the so-called Boyd Map of 1686—the northern edge of the town terminates next to an inlet or creek where Queen Street runs today. Although the original survey of the town, the “Grand Model” from the 1670s, did lay out a street at this watery location, and homes began to appear along its banks in the 1690s, the course of modern Queen Street remained poorly defined for the first several decades of the town’s history. And while modern Queen Street stretches for approximately seven-tenths of a mile between East Bay Street and Rutledge Avenue, we must remember that from early 1704 through at least 1730 the settled portion of this street was confined to a length of only two blocks within the bounds of the town’s defensive walls. 

On several occasions in the legislative records of the early 1700s, this street was referred to as simply “the north street,” or “the street at the northern end of the bay,” indicating that it effectively formed the northern limit of the town. By the 1720s, however, the term “Dock Street” was commonly used to describe this site in the extant records of Charleston. The origin of this name can be traced to the spring of 1706, when Captain Edward Loughton, a joiner or carpenter by trade, petitioned the South Carolina General Assembly for permission to submit a bill “ffor makeing a Dock out of the marsh or swamp between the said Loughton and Coll. Robt. Daniell.” Loughton’s bill “to make a Wharfe” was read three times by the legislature and ratified on 9 April 1706. At that time the title of the act was recorded in the legislative records as “An Act to enable Capt. Edward Loughton to make a public dock in Charles-Town for the lying up of boats and canoes,” but unfortunately the full text of the act has not survived.

Without the text of this 1706 act, and without illustrative maps or plats from that era, the precise location of Loughton’s dock has long since faded from memory. Extant records of the property of Loughton and his neighbor, Robert Daniel, can facilitate the formation of a good educated guess, however, and in the next installment of this thread I’ll discuss the possible location of the dock from which the name Dock Street was derived.

It may surprise some to learn that during the first 180 years of Charleston’s existence, the rules of the road required travelers to keep to the left side of the street. Considering our city’s British parentage, however, this fact can be more easily grasped as one of the many cultural practices borrowed from the “Mother Country.”

Charleston’s narrow, unpaved streets, most of which were laid out at the end of the seventeenth century, may have been amply commodious during the colony’s early years, but by the end of the eighteenth century urban traffic had increased dramatically. As the congestion of wagons, carts, carriages, and horses grew, tempers flared into an early form of “road rage.” Local newspapers offered a solution by reminding citizens of “The Road Paradox,” an English verse meant to advise drivers and riders of the proper etiquette:

The laws of the road are a paradox quite,
For when you are trav’ling along,
If you keep to the left you’ll be sure to be right,
If you keep to the right you’ll be wrong. 

By the turn of the nineteenth century this traditional British practice had been the unwritten rule of the road in Charleston for many generations, but it was not codified by law until 1805, when City Council passed an ordinance requiring that “all drivers of carts, drays, wagons, and other carriages whatsoever, shall pass each other on their right hands, and shall always drive as close [to] the foot-way, with their left hand next [to] the same, as they conveniently can.”

This law remained in effect until the middle of the nineteenth century, by which time customary traffic practices had evolved into the more familiar pattern of driving on the right side of the road. Whether this change was a gradual process or a sudden shift is not known, but in November 1849 the stage was set for an official change. Alderman Edward North introduced to City Council a bill for altering the local rules of the road, and after the customary public readings, the new ordnance went into effect on January 1st 1850, requiring that from henceforth all drivers “pass each other on their left hand” and “drive as close [to] the footway, with their right hand next [to] the same, as they conveniently can.”

These laws were meant to create order out of the occasionally chaotic flow of traffic in Charleston’s narrow streets, but as anyone attempting to navigate the city’s thoroughfares during peak tourist times can attest, harmony does not always prevail. It may help to remember that our early Charleston predecessors who once plied these streets would be as confused by our present rules of the road as those visiting today “from off.”

One of the fun parts of talking about my new book, Votaries of Apollo, is telling people about the musical repertoire that was heard in Charleston between 1766 and 1820. During my public presentations on this topic, I usually play a few excerpts from recent recordings of some of this music. Many of the composers whose words were once heard in Charleston—such as Vaclav Pichl, Leopold Kozeluch, and Joseph Myslivececk—have been overlooked by musicologists and audiences for nearly two centuries. Fortunately, a number of historically-informed performers and orchestras have turned their attention to these obscure artists that once enjoyed some celebrity in their day and are now producing some excellent recordings. Many audiences have never heard these talented composers, whose music holds up well in comparison to that of their contemporaries, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Franz Joseph Haydn. On a number of occasions I have been asked how to find these recordings, so in response I’ve put together a list of recommended recordings of music that would have been heard in Charleston during its “golden age” of concert life. If you’re interested, feel free to download the list here: Nic Butler’s Recommended Listening.doc.

Dock Street, Part 1

Anyone who’s been to Charleston will recognize the name “Dock Street,” even though there is no such street in the city today. The present Dock Street Theatre at 135 Church Street opened in November 1937, and has become famous in recent years for the chamber music concerts held there during the annual Spoleto USA festivals. The theater, actually a renovated antebellum hotel, claims to have been built on the site of the original Dock Street Theatre that opened in February 1736. That earlier venue was a much smaller structure, however, and was actually situated a few paces to the northwest, on Queen Street. Charleston residents, tour guides, and history books will explain this confusing nomenclature by telling you that Queen Street was called Dock Street when the first theater opened, but the street’s name was changed shortly thereafter. Dock Street, they will add, was so named because the street was once an inlet that led from the Cooper River into the heart of the early Charles Town, at the end of which was a dock for boats entering from the bay.

For most people, that explanation provides a sufficient clarification of the issue, and satisfies their historical curiosity as well. For this history nerd, however, it merely stimulates me to dig deeper into the past for confirmation of its veracity and to search for illuminating details. When did Dock Street acquire that name, for example, and when was it officially changed to Queen Street? Was it really an inlet used by boats, and if so, where was the dock that inspired the name? When was the dock built, and who was responsible for its construction? When was the inlet filled to create the street? I’m hot on the trail of the answers to these questions, and in near future I’ll post the results of my attempt to get to the bottom of this matter.

Divine Cecilia

Among the exciting discoveries I made during the writing of Votaries of Apollowas a long-forgotten piece of music composed by Peter Valton titled Divine Cecilia. Valton (ca. 1740-1784) was an English-trained musician whose formative years were spent as a child scholar at the King’s Chapel, also called the Chapel Royal. After leaving that institution in 1760, he published a few songs and catches (a type of round) in London. He arrived in Charleston in October of 1764 to serve as organist at St. Philip’s Church, and held that position until his death twenty years later. In 1766 Valton was among the earliest-known members of Charleston’s St. Cecilia Society, and no doubt performed in its annual concert series.Besides formal concerts, the St. Cecilia Society also held quarterly business meetings at which the members would socialize, drink, and perform music for each others entertainment. Chief among the music performed at such occasions would have been catches, cannons, and glees—species of gentleman’s vocal music made popular in England by such groups as the Noblemen and Gentlemen’s Catch Club of London. A few vocal works by Peter Valton were included in the Noblemen and Gentlemen’s annual publications while he resided in London, but at least one appears to have been published by that organization after his move to Charleston. The Noblemen and Gentlemen’s ninth collection of catches, cannons, and glees, edited by Thomas Warren and published in 1770, includes a short three-part catch by Valton titled Divine Cecilia. This piece, intended to be sung as a round by three or more male voices, must have been composed while Valton was in Charleston and then sent back friends in London for publication. In fact, it seems very likely that Valton wrote the piece for the St. Cecilia Society of Charleston, in which he was definitely an active member.

Divine Cecilia Goddess heav’nly Maid
Bless us thy humble Vot’ries with thy Aid
That we to Nations yet unborn may prove
That Music only is the food of Love
Then shall this day for ever sacred be to Thee
Bright Saint to Love and Harmony

I don’t have copyright permission to reproduce a facsimile of the piece here, but an image of the 1770 publication appears in Votaries of Apollo, page 35. In preparation for a performance, however, I have recently made a transcription of this short piece (with a written-out repeat) which I am happy to make available here as a PDF file: divine_cecilia.pdf.

I used an application called Finale PrintMusic to make the transcription. Using my computer’s built-in audio capabilities, PrintMusic also allows me to export an mp3 audio file of this music. Here the like to download the synthesized audio file: divine_cecilia.mp3

The first three words in the title of my book about the music of Charleston’s St. Cecilia Society—Votaries of Apollo—are as familiar to me now as my own name. I’ve been living with them for about six years, since I found them buried in the papers of Henry Laurens at the South Carolina Historical Society. Immersed in the topic, the resources, and the language of the eighteenth century, I had an instantaneous connection with the words, and felt as if Laurens was winking at me across the centuries. It was too rich of a phrase to ignore, so I immediately latched on to it as a potential title for my project. Now that the book has finally been completed and I’m actively promoting it, however, I’m discovering that the title is a bit too esoteric, and inevitably I am asked to explain its origins and meaning. So, in case you were wondering, here’s a brief explanation.

henry_laurens_1782.jpgThe phrase “Votaries of Apollo” can be found in works of several eighteenth- and nineteenth-century writers and poets to describe the devoted followers of Apollo, or, more plainly, gentlemen amateurs of art and learning. In the specific case of my book, however, I found the phrase “Votaries of Apollo” among the writing of South Carolina merchant-statesman Henry Laurens (1724-1792), who used the phrase to identify himself as an amateur of music and a member of Charleston’s St. Cecilia Society. In late 1768 and early 1769, Laurens was engaged in a very public argument with Sir Egerton Leigh, Master of the South Carolina Court of Vice-Admiralty, over the unlawful seizure of several of Laurens’s ships. Each man published pamphlets condemning the other’s actions, and they also used the local newspapers to promote their arguments. In an April 1769 advertisement for his latest pamphlet, Laurens quoted a few lines from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice to argue that you can’t trust a man who doesn’t appreciate fine music. In contrast to Leigh’s alleged lack of musical taste, Laurens countered “I am one of the Votaries of Apollo, and have my name inscribed on St. Cecilia’s roll.”

For me, the phrase immediately resonated with my conception of the early days of Charleston’s St. Cecilia Society—a group of proud, even pretentious New World men who refused to be bullied by an arrogant, self-righteous, Old World fop. The fact that this phrase was employed by one of the St. Cecilia Society’s earliest members—and one of South Carolina’s most famous sons—to describe himself and his relation to the society makes it even more meaningful to me, and I hope other readers will also find it interesting. For more about this story, you’ll have to read Chapter Two of my book, Votaries of Apollo!

Hollywood has succeeded in convincing most of the world that there is a single, unified “Southern” accent, but anyone who was raised in or lived in “the South,” or even been a frequent visitor, knows that this isn’t accurate. A multitude of speech patterns or accents can be found throughout this geographic region, and each has distinctive characteristics particular to the demographic groups in its locale. In twenty-first century Charleston, the debates about the character of the local accents—used by both black and white Charlestonians—typically invoke the influence of African, West Indian, and British speech patterns. Immigrants from those locales certainly left their mark on traditional accents in the South Carolina lowcountry, but this isn’t new information at all. Looking back at the written record of early Charleston, there are many clues—such as common misspellings, runaway slave advertisements, and parodies—that can help us re-imagine the sound of conversations long past. Here’s just one fun example that I found while perusing the Charleston City Gazette and Daily Advertiser, 27 June 1800, transcribed faithfully with all of its purposeful mistakes intact:

The following notes were sent [to] us for publication, by an unknown hand; we give each a place for their whimsical contents.

Mr. To noah Wabster

Sur,

by rading all ovur the nushpaper I find you are after meaking a nue Merrykin Dikshunary; your rite, Sur; for ofter look in all over the anglish Books, you wont find a bit of Shillaly big enuf to beat a dog wid. so I hope you’ll take a hint, and put enuff of rem in yours, for Och ’tis a nate little bit of furniture for any Man’s house so it ’tis—Pat. O’Dogerty.

As I find der ish no Donder and Blicksum in de English Dikshonere I hope youl put both in yours to oblige a Subscrybur—Hans Bubbleblower.

Massa Webser plese put sum Hommany and sum good Possum Fat and sum two tree good Banjoe in your new what-you-call-um Book for your fello Cytzen—Cuffee.

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