Paddington' Pollaky, Private Detective
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He wonders what they are looking out for there and goes on to denigrate the petty matters that Pollaky and private detective agencies in general must be investigating, and gives a number of amusing scenarios which have a ring of possibility about them.
The fact that Pollaky’s name was the one chosen to lead this article, and not another’s might be laid to a number of factors. Pollaky had the most memorable name, Pollaky was already known for his extraordinary advertisements and coded messages, Pollaky was a foreigner, and Dickens was not known for being shy in making digs at foreigners – think of American Notes, Martin Chuzzelwit, and of the characterisation of Fagin in Oliver Twist. To his gallery of unusual characters we might add among other lesser known people written about by Charles Dickens not only Joseph Grimaldi, the actor and clown whose memoirs Dickens wrote, but also Ignatius Pollaky; their names seem to have as much to recommend them as Mr Micawber, Miss Haversham, Mr Bumble, and Jarndyce and Jarndyce. Finally, although Field’s name is also mentioned in the article, it is Pollaky who gets the brunt of the criticism – after all, Field was a friend, and Dickens had already written about him favourably. Dickens mentions Charles Frederick Field as another private investigator in this piece, but only in passing.
In 1851, as mentioned in Chapter 3, Dickens had written a piece entitled ‘On Duty with Inspector Field’, which appeared in his weekly journal Household Words. It appeared in the edition of Saturday, June 14. Charles Frederick Field was still a member of the Metropolitan Police, and Dickens describes in this article in some detail the acute powers of observation of his subject:
Inspector Field is, to-night, the guardian genius of the British Museum. He is bringing his shrewd eye to bear on every corner of its solitary galleries, before he reports ‘all right’. Suspicious of the Elgin marbles, and not to be done by cat-faced Egyptian giants with their hands upon their knees, Inspector Field, sagacious, vigilant, lamp in hand, throwing monstrous shadows on the walls and ceilings, passes through the spacious rooms. If a mummy trembled in an atom of its dusty covering, Inspector Field would say, ‘Come out of that, Tom Green. I know you!’
Such a contrast there is between Dickens’s glowing account of Inspector Field and his methods, and his account of Pollaky and his, that one cannot help but see a partiality in Dickens’s eyes for the former gentleman; and though by the time he wrote of Pollaky, Field was lumped in with private investigators, it is Pollaky’s bureau which takes the criticism, not that of his former employer. Had Pollaky’s departure caused some rancour? Did Dickens know of this and taken sides with a friend? Dickens’s previous description of Field in ‘A Detective Police Party’ (1850) was as, ‘a middle-aged man of a portly presence, with a large, moist, knowing eye, a husky voice, and a habit of emphasizing his conversation by the aid of a corpulent fore-finger, which is constantly in juxtaposition with his eyes or nose’. And, of course, Field as mentioned before is generally accepted as having been Dickens’s model for Inspector Bucket in Bleak House.
It has been said that all publicity is good. Pollaky, presumably, would not have been displeased by being written about by the most famous author in the world, and, critical though the article is (in a gentle way, mind you,) the piece does imply a thoroughness about the ‘Pollaky System’ which would not have done him any harm.
On 25 January 1866, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, better known to most as Lewis Carroll, wrote a letter to dramatist Tom Taylor, later to become editor of Punch. Taylor, whose play Our American Cousin was being watched by Abraham Lincoln when Lincoln was assassinated in 1865, had introduced his colleague, Punch artist John Tenniel, to Dodgson. Tenniel went on to illustrate Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) and Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (1871). Interestingly Pollaky was Tenniel’s neighbour as mentioned in Chapter 7; during that time Tenniel illustrated both books. Dodgson’s letter to Tom Taylor is a discussion of a synopsis of a play which in the event was never written, but he does make the following suggestion: ‘As a comic element for the piece, it occurs to me you might make a good deal of fun of a “Private Enquiry Office”, à la Pollaky’.
Pollaky makes a more interesting appearance in another of Dodgson’s letters some three years later, dated Saturday (possibly 22 May 1869). This letter purports to be from actress Kate (Terry) Lewis (grandmother of actor John Gielgud), but was in fact penned by Dodgson himself and sent to 17-year-old Lilia MacDonald, (daughter of his friend George MacDonald, author of The Princess and the Goblin). He had taken Lilia to meet Kate Lewis, but the actress had been caught in the rain when out, and had not yet managed to get home. Lewis sent a letter of apology, and Dodgson substituted the letter he had fabricated in order to tease his friend’s daughter. The letter is particularly interesting in that it contains a mini-story about Pollaky by Lewis Carroll:
Moray Lodge [Campden Hill Road, London]
Saturday [22 May 1869]
My Dear Dodgson,
I think I had better tell you candidly my reasons for being absent when you called with Miss Lily MacDonald. Before making her acquaintance, I felt it right to make a few enquiries, in order to be sure whether or not it would be desirable to meet her. With this object, I put the matter into the hands of an experienced detective officer, Inspector Pollaky, who kindly undertook to make out all about her ‘in less than no time’, as he forcibly expressed it. I grieve to tell you that he has discovered her to be mean, vindictive, and barbarous to a degree you will hardly credit.
But I will give you the painful particulars, as Mr Pollaky has just been here: his head and shoulders were covered with earth, and he was altogether so shaken and confused that I had some little difficulty in making out his story, which was as follows:
It appears that he got into the garden behind the “Retreat” (your friend’s house) disguised as a clothes-horse (I asked him how this was done, but could not understand his explanation, beyond the fact that he had a blue apron over his head). He then proceeded to make observations through the dining-room window, where Miss L.M.D. was superintending the meal of the younger children. He declares that after watching a minute or two, he saw her seize an unoffending chicken, plunge a fork into the poor thing, and with a sharp knife cut off its wings and legs! He was so horrified at this piece of barbarity that he fainted, and fell headlong into a flower-bed, where he was found, half buried, by Mr M.D., who however let him go, on his explaining that he was trying to find his way to the Underground Railway. He then hastened to me with the dreadful news. I asked him if he was sure the chicken was alive, to which he replied, with tears in his eyes “If it hadn’t been, do you think I should have fell that sudden?” which convinced me.
I trust that you will take warning by this, and have no more to do with such a wretch (it is strong language, but no stronger than she deserves), in which case you will be grateful to me for having shown you her true character. Believe me
Sincerely yours,
Kate Lewis
(Reprinted by kind permission of United Agents on behalf of Morton Cohen, The Trustees of the C.L. Dodgson Estate and Scirard Lancelyn Green.)
Both letters appear in The Letters of Lewis Carroll Volume 1 by Morton M. Cohen (Macmillan, London 1979), the first is part of the Henry W. and Albert Berg Collection, New York Public Library, and the second is held by the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, where it is part of the George MacDonald Collection.
From The Triumph of Baby by George Augustus Sala
In Belgravia, A London Magazine – June 1871
I am in the habit of smoking over the second column of the Times. That section, as you are aware, used to be called the ‘Agony Column’ […] descriptions of stolen dogs have long since supplanted ‘Agony’ in the second column. […] They have even elbowed out the occult notifications in which Mr Pollaky, erst of Paddington-green, instils vague ideas into the public mind of his dealings with foreign potentates, and his readiness to make “private inquiries” in the interests of wronged husban
ds and outraged wives. I should like to talk with this wondrous Pollaky. What an immense deal he must know about people! Perhaps he is privately aware of something about me.
On 28 January 1874 a picture of Pollaky appeared in Figaro’s London Sketch Book of Celebrities (see plate No.1). Drawn by French artist Jean Faustin Betbeder (1847–1914), whose most famous illustration for the series was of Charles Darwin. The fact of Pollaky’s inclusion is a measure of how well known he already was. The motto underneath the picture reads, ‘Pollaky. A snapper up of unconsidered trifles. Winter’s Tale, act 4 sc. 2.’ (It actually comes from act 4 scene 3.) Pollaky, dressed in evening clothes, is seen carrying some documents in his left hand while listening at a keyhole. The shadow of a bearded policeman with truncheon is seen emanating from his highly-polished dainty shoes. What that shadow really represents is open to speculation. The picture is signed ‘Faustin’. This series of chromo-lithographs was published by the London Figaro in conjunction with The London Sketch Book, however the Pollaky image seems only to have appeared with the Figaro and not with The London Sketch Book. (Most of the images appeared in both.) From May to October 1875 The London Sketch Book ran an advertisement stating:
A few copies of almost the entire series of Chromographs, in four colors, which have recently appeared in connection with the FIGARO and the LONDON SKETCH BOOK, may be obtained on application to the publisher.
The image of Pollaky is not included in the list.
In June 1875, the same journal ran another advertisement:
The Figaro volumes for 1874 containing all the Chromographs and Photographs issued with the paper during the year 1874 are now ready. As only a limited number is published, to prevent disappointment orders should be given at once.
This volume is now extremely rare. The British Newspaper Library has one. Aside from that, only the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum at the Ohio State University seems to have a readily available copy of Faustin Betbeder’s Pollaky cartoon in its archive. Aside from Darwin and Pollaky, other personalities in the series included Queen Victoria, Disraeli, the Tichborne Claimant, Gladstone, the Prince of Wales, Henry Irving, Richard D’Oyly Carte, and Alfred Lord Tennyson.
The text which goes with the image was as follows:
THE LONDON FIGARO
JAMES MORTIMER, EDITOR AND SOLE PROPRIETOR
LONDON: WEDNESDAY. JAN. 28, 1874
HE SEES AND HEARS THROUGH BRICK WALLS
A GREAT detective, like a true poet, is born, not made. When the battle has been fought and won, everyone feels confident that, with such a clue, he could have run down the game as certainly and as speedily as the eminent detective. That is very doubtful; for it needs tact and skill to walk in the dark, even when you have a clue. If you swerve a little to the left or to the right, the thin thread is broken, and the clue is clean gone. We admit, however, that any man of fair ability may learn how to course the hare if he is put on the scent. But the prime difficulty is discovering the clue. That, we say, is an art that no man can acquire. The gifted detective rejects the apparent clues that would be adopted by the non-detective mind, and he sees and seizes upon a clue that the non-detective would pooh-pooh if it were pointed out to him. This is illustrated by what people call the blundering of the police. There is no reason to doubt the zeal and general ability of the members of the force who are selected for detective work, but they are not born detectives, and, not being able to perceive the true clue to the solution of the problem, their time and energy are wasted.
Mr Pollaky is a very distinguished detective. Curious stories are told of his successes. He has elucidated mysteries when those who employed his agency could not, as they thought, give any clue whatever. Success is often achieved by the aid of an elaborate network of agencies; but it is frequently and entirely due to the personal prescience of Mr Pollaky. He is indeed a formidable foe to criminals of all sorts.
The art of detection is not fairly appreciated. No one does more for the protection of society than the gifted and skilled detective. It is not the fear of punishment, but the fear of detection that mainly checks the criminal and wicked desires. Those who commit crimes or offences against morality, do so in the hope of not being found out; and it follows that the more certain the detection, the less crime and wickedness.
Willmer A. Hoerr in an article entitled, ‘The Case of the Archetypical Agent’, published in the Baker Street Journal (Vol. 18, No. 1, March 1968) says of the London Figaro’s article, ‘Belying the snoopiness implied in the drawing, and more in line with the prestigious association with Shakespeare, an inside page carries a tribute that should delight all Sherlockians, especially since it was probably written by the editor, one James Mortimer!’
In December 1874, an article about Pollaky appeared in a short-lived journal called The World: a Journal for Men and Women (No. 23). The issue was advertised in the Pall Mall Gazette, but this author has not found a copy of that article.
In 1876 Benjamin D His Little Dinner by an anonymous author was published. This magazine ran to 114 pages including the covers, and largely made fun of Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli. Two images from that publication appear here – firstly a caricature of Pollaky, and secondly the back cover of the book.
In the first image, which appears together with a poem entitled ‘The Lord of Intrigue’, Pollaky is seen sitting at his desk wearing a loud check suit, surrounded by advertisements for rewards for the discovery of various missing young ladies. The picture appears not to be so well drawn as that produced by Faustin Betbeder, but though there are some similarities such as hairline and moustache, for example, one might wonder which is the more like the real man. Should we imagine him to be like the dapper handsome fellow of the picture by Betbeder in 1874, or could he have been more like the rather more stolid man in the check suit as pictured by ‘Whew’. The images were drawn only two years apart.
Finally, can we be certain that either Betbeder or ‘Whew’ really knew what Pollaky looked like? No photographs of him from that time have yet been identified. This does not mean that there are none. Hopefully someone will, on reading this, come forward with more information:
From Benjamin D His Little Dinner (by an anonymous author) 1876
Published by Weldon & Co., Wine Office Court, Fleet Street, London
Advertised as Weldon & Co.’s Annual – Price One Shilling
One of a series of anonymous publications, satirising contemporary personalities.
‘Heard at the club last night,’ says Sir Verdant, as soon as Hard Hunt has finished his story, ‘that our mutual friend the confidential adviser of deceived husbands and neglected and abandoned wives, the great genius of intrigue and the pet confidante and acknowledged detective-general of the aristocracy, has got his hands fearfully full just now.’
‘I’m awfully sorry to hear it,’ says Cross. ‘If the aristocracy of this world isn’t speeding to perdition with the haste of an express, then I’m not the Home Secretary and Benjamin isn’t Prime Minister. Now it’s a ballet-girl, now it’s a row about a yacht race, now a dispute about the precedence of three princesses, now a titled lady left to die in an obscure lodging-house – it’s fearful, it really is.’
‘Talking about the great detective-general of the aristocracy,’ says Icano’er Power, ‘I’ve got an MS. poem of Swinburne’s about me in my pocket, called “The Lord of Intrigue”. I haven’t read it yet. Shall I read it to you?’
Having nothing else to do, and feeling ourselves at the same time growing very languid under the influence of the smoky clouds which fill the room from our Havanas, and the fumes which ascend into our brains from rather free libations of ’34, we acquiesce with a general feeling of great helplessness.
The Lord of Intrigue
Pollaky sat in his oaken chair.
Carte de visite and letter lay there,
Princely coronet, lordly crest.
Many a mystery, many a quest,
With missive and billet of lesser degree,
&
nbsp; In sooth an extraordinary company;
And they seemed to ask, oh, unravel me;
Never, I ween,
Was a subtler seen,
Concerned in divorce, or elopement, or league.
Than love’s autocrat, Pollaky, lord of intrigue.
In and out
Through the motley rout,
The Lord of Intrigue goes hunting about,
Here and there.
Like a dog in a fair,
Through flights and divorces,
Elopements and curses.
Through a lady’s love and a husband’s grudge,
Proud as a Cardinal, sharp as a Judge;
And he smiles in the face
Of the scrawl of his Grace,
With a satisfied look, as if he would say,
“Oh, the duchess must fall in our trap to-day.”
While his clients with awe
As such schemes they saw.
Said, “Pollaky’s sharper than Hades, you know.”
Never, I ween,
Was a subtler seen,
Concerned in divorce, or elopement, or league.
Than love’s autocrat, Pollaky, lord of intrigue.
‘I hear it rumoured,’ says Sir Verdant, ‘that Sir James Hannen’s Court promises to be the scene this season of an unusually plentiful crop of causes celebres. A lot of exceedingly ugly rumours, I hear, are going the round of the clubs with, of course, the usual club exaggerations. The army, I understand, true to its ancient traditions, figures very prominently, and I also hear something far from savoury about a remarkably clever man in Her Majesty’s navy. But, nous verrons, eh, Benjamin?’