Posted by Alice Loxton on March 7th, 2023

Not far from Hatchards Piccadilly is the beautiful St James’ Church, designed and built by Christopher Wren. Visitors often comment on the beauty of the red brick with Portland stone dressings, the magnificent Grinling Gibbons wood carvings or the fact that William Blake was baptised here. But the most important historic feature is often overlooked.

In front of the church is a courtyard, marked by an exterior pulpit and - if you’re lucky - several food stalls. It is amongst the paving of this courtyard that there is a stone, commemorating the life of James Gillray, a caricaturist from the late Georgian period. It is - I think - peculiar that this humble stone is all that we have to remember Gillray. For in his day, he was one of the most influential people in the country.

Image: the stone outside St James' Church on Piccadilly commemorating James Gillray.

Gillray was an expert engraver, and the prints he created were sold in the print shops of central London. But these weren’t the usual visions of classical grandeur and philosophical pontificating. Unlike the paintings of Joshua Reynolds (which were beautifully rendered but highly edited) Gillray’s prints gave us gritty, raw, real life. No filters and no touch-ups. Gillray gave the truth - far more powerful and far more dangerous.

These images were political and social critiques of every level of society. From king to pauper, no one was safe. Combining an acerbic wit, a modern creative vision and unsurpassed artistic skill, cabinet ministers were reduced to piglets, kings to storybook characters and the pretensions of high society pricked.

Most notably, in the heat of the Napoleonic Wars, Gillray and his fellow satirists created a new character for Napoleon, Little Boney. No longer a mighty emperor, Napoleon became a tiny, tantrum-prone toddler. A myth was created that Napoleon was a short man - a myth which endures to this day: the public are more familiar with the fictitious character of Little Boney than Napoleon himself.

Whilst the satires were sold in the print shops to wealthy customers, they were also displayed in the print shop windows. This attracted vast crowds of pushing, screaming people, and caused ‘veritable madness’. Visitors reported ‘you have to make your way in through the crowd with your fists’. This was the Beatlemania of the day.

As well as shaping the politics and society of the Georgian age, Gillray’s legacy has stayed with us over the centuries. He was formative in crystallising British humour, and modern newspaper cartoonists are constantly quoting his work. Indeed, the creators of Spitting Image admitted they probably owed Gillray a royalty payment.

In many ways, we are the children of Gillray. So isn’t it surprising he’s not better known - that he’s not a national treasure, up there with Blake and Turner? The reasons for this are complex and varied, although it basically boils down to him being effectively written out of history by the Victorians. In writing this book I hope to change that. Hopefully this is the start of a Gillray renaissance - complete with a Netflix drama and a position on the £20 note!

So next time you head over to Hatchards to browse the shelves, take a moment to pop next door to the courtyard of St James’ Church. Sit on a bench in the dappled sunlight and enjoy a moment of peace in the centre of a busy city. And as you gaze upon the paving in front of you - where pedestrians walk across the stone, oblivious to where they tread - try to remember one thing. That it was this man who captivated London with his etching burin, and it was this man who sent the city into UPROAR!