The Dawn of the XIXth Century in England

“The goose driver stepped the ground, and Billy took aim for above ten minutes, when, shutting both his eyes lest the pan might flash in his sight, he snapped, and missed fire. He took aim a second time, snapped and missed again. Borrowed Bob Tape’s scissars, and hammered the flint – snapped, and missed fire a third time – thought the Devil had got hold of the gun, examined her, found she was neither loaded nor primed. The goose driver refused to let Billy try again, so we gave him another sixpence, and he sold us a lame gander, which we placed at about six yards, and, taking a shot apiece at him, killed him, and put him in Ned Thimble’s cabbage net.

“Passed over Clapham Common, where we saw several parties, but would not interfere with their sport.

“In our way to Stockwell, Ned Simple fired at a pigeon, which was perched on the top of a tree, and shot a man’s hat and wig off, who stood underneath it. As we thought he might be killed, we set off as hard as we could run, but were pursued and overtaken by two gardeners, who insisted upon being paid two shillings for destroying a scarecrow. We paid the money very readily, and kept our counsel.

“When we came in sight of the Swan, at Stockwell, we all ran as hard as we could to see who should get in first as we had settled to breakfast there. Unfortunately, our gun being cock’d, I made a stumble, and the trigger being touched by something, off went the piece, and lodged the contents in the body of a sucking pig that was crossing the road. The squeaking of the poor little animal roused the maternal affections of the sow, and set the fox dog, the terrier, the Newfoundland bitch, and the mastiff, a barking. The noise of the sow, the pig, and the dog, with the report of the gun, brought the people of the house, and, indeed, of the neighbourhood; and, being threatened by one, and laughed at by another, we thought it best to buy the pig at four shillings, which we did, and put it into Bob Tape’s game bag, which, by the bye, was nothing but half a bolster tick.

“We now beat every bush with the muzzle of our guns, set the dogs on the pigs, and found but one chaffinch, which was rather wild, not letting us come within eight yards, so that we could not make sure of our bird. We hunted him from spray to spray for above an hour, without being able to get in a parallel line, so as to take sure aim when, at last, he was killed by a little boy, who knocked him down with a stone. Bought him, and put him into the net with the goose.

“Hunted a weazle for above an hour, and lost him. The terrier was remarkably staunch.

“Crossing a field near Camberwell, we thought we saw a covey of partridges at the side of a ditch; so we all made up to them with our guns cock’d, tying the dogs to our legs, that they might not run in, and spring the game.

“What we thought to be a covey of partridges, proved to be a gang of gypsies, who were squatted under the hedge, peeling turnips and paring potatoes for dinner. It was the mercy of God we did not fire on them, as all our pieces were up to our shoulders, and we had but one eye open, apiece, when that, which we took to be the old cock, rose up, and said in a loud voice, ‘What the devil are ye about?’

“After much difficulties, and but little sport, got, by the direction of the gypsies, into the Greenwich road, where, being rather fatigued, we stopped at the Halfway house, until a coach came by, when, mounting the roof, and the box, we were conveyed near Blackheath, to our unspeakable joy.

“Never saw the Heath before – amazed at the number of furze bushes, and the wide extent there is for game. Had an excellent chase after a jackass, when the mastiff tore his leg. Kept close together for fear of losing each other.

“Got down near a large round house, shot at a flock of sparrows, and killed one, which we think is a cock, his head being rather black.

“Saw several brother sportsmen out, who had killed nothing but a hedge hog and a tame jack daw, which belonged to the public house at New Cross Turnpike.

“Got up to the main road, fired at a yellow hammer, and frightened the horses in the Dover stage. The guard threatened to shoot us, and we took to our heels.

“Saw some black game flying very high. They looked for all the world like crows.

“The terrier came to a point at a thick bunch of fern. We were now sure this must be a covey of partridges, and we prepared accordingly. The mastiff ran in, and brought out one of the young ones. It proved to be a nest of grass mice: took every one, and put them into the bolster. Grass mice were better than nothing.

“Much fatigued, and agreed to shoot all the way home, fired off our guns at the foot of Greenwich Hill, and were laughed at by the inhabitants – loaded them again, and fired at a sheet of paper for half an hour without putting a grain in it.

“We went into a cow-house, near Bermondsey Spa, to get some milk for the dogs, and, laying down upon a heap of straw, we all fell fast asleep. We were awakened by the entrance of a cow and her calf, when we found we had been robbed of our dogs and our guns.

“We went into a public house to console ourselves for our loss, where we stayed till it was dark, that we might not be seen returning in such an unsportsmanlike manner.

“Agreed on the way what stories we should tell about the day’s amusement and success: parted at the Monument, and went to our respective homes.”

There was evidently the same tender-hearted sentiment then, as now, with regard to the “tournament of doves” – see the Morning Post, November 19, 1810: “The expert marksmen in pidgeon killing matches are very properly denominated slaughtermen; four of these humane gentlemen shot no less than thirty-six, for mere amusement, the other day on Finchley Common.”

Perhaps the principal out-door game (for football, as a game, was not yet organized, and hockey and golf had but local fame and habitations) was Cricket; and even this friendly sport, and generous rivalry, as we know it, was then contaminated by being played for money. Two or three examples, in one year, will be sufficient to show the motive of the game.

Morning Herald, July 1, 1802: “Cricket. Tuesday was played a grand match of Cricket on Hampstead Heath, between eleven Gentlemen of the Mary le bone Club, and nine Gentlemen of Hampstead and Highgate, with two men given, for 500 guineas, which was won by the latter, by 112 runs.”

Ibid., July 15, 1802: “Cricket. Tuesday was played a grand match of Cricket, at Chigwell, Essex, between eleven Gentlemen of Chigwell and eleven Gentlemen of the Mile End Club, for 500 guineas, which was won by the latter by 23 runs. Even betting at starting.

“Yesterday a grand match of Cricket was played at Camberwell, between eleven Gentlemen of Camberwell and Peckham, and eleven Gentlemen of Clapham, for 500 guineas, which was won by the former by three wickets.”

Ibid., September 3, 1802: “Cricket. Monday last, and two following days, was played a grand match of Cricket, on Ripley Green, Surrey, between eleven Gentlemen of All England, and twenty-two Gentlemen of Surrey, for 1,000 guineas, which was won by the former in one in (? innings), and twenty-five runs.”

Lord, whose Cricket-ground was afterwards bought by the M.C.C., and which still goes by his name, then had the ground now covered by Harewood and Dorset Squares: the date of removal thence to the present ground is noted in an advertisement in the Morning Post, April 21, 1809: “Cricket Ground. Lord begs to inform the Noblemen and Gentlemen, lovers of Cricket, that he has enclosed and levelled a large piece of Ground, at the top of Lisson Grove, a short distance from his old Ground, which, for size and beauty of situation cannot be excelled, which will be ready for playing on by the beginning of May, to be known by the name of Lord’s Saint John’s Wood Cricket Ground.”

Then also was played a game, now practically defunct in this country, but vigorous enough in America, where it is known as Base-ball. Morning Herald, September 22, 1802: “On Monday last was finished, at Haverstock Hill, near Hampstead, a grand Match of Trap and Ball, between twenty-five Gentlemen of the Law, and five of the Gospel, which was won by the former.”

Billiards was an old indoor game, which had somewhat fallen into abeyance, but was reviving, for we read, in the Morning Post, September 28, 1809: “Billiards are becoming very fashionable; it is an amusement of a gentlemanly cast – giving at once activity to the limbs, and grace to the person. A match was played yesterday at Kidman’s.”

From this illustration, which is taken from a little book entitled, “New Instructions for Playing in all its Varieties, the Game of Billiards,” &c., 1801, there seems to have been but little difference either in the play, or in the furniture of the room, between the past and the present times. They must have played a somewhat heavy, and dead game, though, for neither india-rubber cushions, nor slate tables, were known. The rules for the game are similar to our own.

This little book gives a curious biography, which I am tempted, as it is short, to copy.

“Mr. Andrews was born to an easy independent fortune, but, commencing life at a time that he was incapable of judging of the world, or of himself, was led away by a single passion; for he was not actuated by any other. He devoted himself entirely to the blind goddess, and worshipped her incessantly, under the form of two ivory balls. He was remarkably thin, not very tall, though above the middle size: his face was a perfect vacuum with respect to every possible idea except Billiards. So infatuated was he in pursuing this game, to attain the summit of excellence at it, that he sacrificed days, nights, weeks, months, and years to it.

“At length he arrived at such a degree of perfection, as well in the theoretical, as in the practical part of the game, that there was no player in Europe could equal him, except one, who was the celebrated Abraham Carter, who kept the tables at the corner of the Piazzas, Russel Street, Covent Garden. Mr. Andrews was the most devoted adept of this game that ever nature produced; he seemed but to vegetate in a Billiard Room, and, indeed, he did little more in any other place. He was a perfect Billiard Valetudinarian, in the most rigid significance of the expression. He ate, drank, slept, walked, nay, talked but to promote the system of the balls. His regimen was tea, and toast and butter, for breakfast, for dinner, and for supper.

“It might reasonably be imagined, that so regular a professor would obtain all the advantages that could result from the science. He won considerable sums, but knew not the value of money; and when playing for only five or ten pounds, he took no pains, but seemed perfectly indifferent about winning or losing. There was a latent finesse in this, but it did not operate to his advantage: he was laying by for bets, but as they were seldom offered, the strength of his play being very well known, he often lost by repeated small sums, very considerable ones.

“It is generally believed, however, that he has played for more money at billiards than any other person ever did. The following is a remarkable circumstance: he, one night, won of Col. W – e upwards of £1,000, and the Colonel appointed to meet him the next day to go with him to the City, to transfer Stock to him for the amount of the sum lost. Being in a hackney coach, they tossed up who should pay for it. Andrews lost, and upon this small beginning he was excited to continue, till he had lost the whole sum he had won the night before at billiards. When the coachman stopped to get down, he was ordered to get up again, and drive them back, as they had no occasion to get out.

“By these pursuits he lost very large sums which he had won at billiards; and, in a few years, hazard, and other games of chance, stripped him of every shilling he could command. He had still left a small annuity which he endeavoured to dispose of, but it was so securely settled upon himself that he could not sell it; otherwise it is probable that it would soon have been transferred at the gaming table. He very lately lived in a retired manner in Kent, where he declared to an intimate old acquaintance that he never knew contentment when he was rolling in money; but, since he was obliged to live upon a scanty pittance, he thought himself one of the happiest men in the universe.”

CHAPTER XXXVIII

The Theatre – Number of theatres in London – Famous actors and actresses – Disturbances at a theatre – Master Betty, “The Infant Roscius” – His country experience – Puffs preliminary – His first appearance in London – Crowds to see him – Presented to the King and the Prince of Wales – Acts at Drury Lane – His subsequent career.

IN THE Dawn of the Nineteenth Century, the theatre was a favourite amusement for the good folks, probably because there were no other public forms of amusement, if we except an occasional concert or masquerade. The stage supplied this want, and the people took due advantage of it. The audience, through much frequenting, were critically educated, and demanded good acting. This, as a rule, they obtained, partially, as I think, because there were fewer actors, and, consequently, not so many mediocre performers as now, and partly owing to the constant change of performance – there being no “long runs,” as we know them, where an actor mechanically goes through the same part for hundreds of nights, until, like Sothern, he absolutely, and unconsciously, adopts his own mannerisms, and spoils himself for a fresh part.

The richer, and titled classes, were not content with witnessing professional skill, but strove to emulate and surpass the performers at their own amateur entertainments, and the most notable of these private societies was the Pic Nic Society.

There were eight Theatres in London, i. e., when one or other was not burnt down – namely, The King’s, Haymarket; Covent Garden; Drury Lane; Theatre Royal, Haymarket; The Royalty, in Goodman’s Fields; Sadlers Wells; Astley’s; and the Royal Circus, now the Surrey, on the other side the river.

Of course, as would be only natural, the best actors were at the West-end Theatres, and to show their calibre, one has only to mention such names as John Philip Kemble, Munden, Bannister, Dowton, Elliston, Liston, Mrs. Siddons, Fawcett, Mrs. Jordan, Kelly, Johnstone, Young, Cooke, &c. No wonder, that with such actors, the stage was popular. Their names are still a tradition of excellence to the profession, and the performances, with one notable exception, in the O. P. Riots, were listened to with great decorum, and there was a vast improvement upon the rougher manners of the previous century.

I can only find the mention of one fracas in the whole ten years, and the report of that, in the Annual Register, December 26, 1801, shows how very far the audience were from sympathizing with the offender. “At Covent Garden Theatre the holiday folks were inclined to be mischievous. As soon as the curtain drew up to commence the play of ‘Richard the Third,’ a wine glass was thrown on the stage by way of prologue, but without exciting much observation; a few minutes after, determined to attract notice, a quart bottle was thrown from the two-shilling gallery on the stage; it grazed the hat of Mr. Betterton, who was playing Tressel to Murray’s Henry VI., knocked out some of the jewels, and, falling on the stage, rolled down to the lamps unbroken. The audience were thunderstruck, the play stood still, and, for a few seconds, every one gazed with amazement. Satisfied of what had been done, a general burst of indignation broke out over the house, and ‘throw him over!’ ‘turn him out!’ were vociferated from all quarters. The villain was pointed out by his neighbours, sitting in the front row of the two-shilling gallery. He was seized, the people in the pit, and the boxes, rising up, and considerable agitation prevailed. The fellow, who was drunk, held by the iron railing, and refused to retire. This provoked the resentment against him still more, and the cries of vengeance were loud and general. Three or four laid hold of him, and seemed as if they would drag rail and all away; at last, they succeeded in taking him out of the theatre.”

In this decade appeared a theatrical phenomenon – the like of which has never been seen since; in the shape of a boy, who was endowed with a truly marvellous gift of acting – one Master William Henry West Betty, surnamed “The Infant Roscius,” who was born at Shrewsbury, September 13, 1791. His parents were extremely respectable, and in easy circumstances – so that it was not from need, but from pure inclination, that he adopted the stage as a profession. Whilst yet a child, he was fond of declamation with action, and, before he was twelve, he acted the part of Osman in Voltaire’s tragedy of Zara, at the Theatre, Belfast. He was, at that time, residing in Ireland, and the theatres, having been closed for some time previously, owing to the disturbed state of the country, were glad of any attraction when they did open – so Betty took an engagement at the above theatre, for four nights, on the understanding that he was to share the house, after deducting twelve pounds, for the expenses of the house. His first performance was on the 19th of August, 1803, when he was not yet twelve years old. Next day he was the talk of Belfast, and on the other three nights he played Norval, Rolla, and Romeo.

Then he went to Dublin, Cork, Glasgow, Edinburgh, and Birmingham, at which latter place he was heard by Mr. Justice Graham, one of the Board of Management of Drury Lane Theatre. He reported about the infant genius, and proposals were made, which were too low to be acceptable. He was afterwards engaged to play at Covent Garden, and, owing to an informality in the agreement, Drury Lane got hold of him on the intervening nights, at the same salary.

Whoever was his entrepreneur, he did his work well, and the puff preliminary was very delicately administered. The first notice of this kind that I can find, is in the Morning Herald, August 6, 1804. “A very extraordinary phenomenon has lately burst upon the theatrical world. A boy of the name of Beatie, not exceeding twelve years of age, reads and enacts all the principal of Shakespeare’s characters, in a stile of superiority that astonishes the most experienced Actors. He has performed in Ireland, and is now exciting general astonishment at Edinburgh. Off the stage his manners are puerile, as he is often seen playing at marbles in a morning, and Richard the Third in the evening. He is rather short of his age, slight made, but has great expression of countenance. The moment he begins to converse upon stage business, he appears an inspired being. He has a pleasant turn for repartee, which makes his company much sought for. The Edinburgh Manager expressed his fears, at first rehearsal, that his voice would not fill the house. ‘My dear Sir,’ replied the little hero of the buskin, ‘I beg you will be under no apprehensions upon that score, for, if my voice does not fill your house, probably my playing will!’”

Here is an anecdote of him, probably got up to suit the public. Morning Herald, November 16, 1804: “The Young Roscius, who is in all respects play ful, lately hesitated in going on the stage when he was to perform Richard. Young, the chief Liverpool actor, told him the stage was waiting, and urged him to appear. The boy declared, that, unless Young would bend his back, that he might have one jump at leap-frog, he would not appear. After some demur at this whimsical request, and some useless remonstrance, Young was obliged to submit; and the little fellow then went upon the stage, and performed his part with admirable spirit.”

Kept always before the public, in this manner, no wonder curiosity was stimulated to the highest pitch, and that when he did appear, he received an ovation. The mildest contemporary account of his début in London, is in the Morning Herald, of the 3rd of December, 1804, and I extract a portion. “On Saturday evening (December 1st) this prodigy of early excellence, whose merits have been as much extolled in the provinces, as they have been sceptically regarded in the Metropolis, met the fiery ordeal of a London audience. There has not been, within our recollection, any manifestation of public anxiety which can be quoted, as equalling that displayed on this occasion. At one o’clock the doors of the Pit and Gallery were besieged with expectants. At five, the outer doors of the box passages were forced open, and the boxes were occupied by an immense crowd, who forcibly ejected the persons stationed to keep places. The numbers still poured in with such rapidity, and pressure, that some hundreds leaped from the Boxes into the Pit, which was so crowded by this accession, that numbers must have perished, but for the humane attentions of some Ladies in the Boxes, who assisted in raising them, and passing them to the lobbies. The number outside the House and in the passages still continued to increase, though every effort was made to assure them that their exertions must be unavailing. We have not heard of any fatal accident, but the faintings, bruises, and minor contingencies are beyond all enumeration.”

The play was “Barbarossa” (by Dr. Browne), and Master Betty took the part of Selim. In the second scene – “Where he sounds the feelings of Othman, he showed exquisite judgment and sensibility. In the close of the scene when he says:

‘Oh! thou hast rous’d a thought on which revengeMounts with redoubled fire!’

his fine blue eyes lighted up a countenance full of expression – his attitudes were graceful and appropriate, and the strong emotion seemed to pervade every fibre of his frame. The applauses which greeted his entrée were redoubled, and loud huzzas and bravos resounded through the Theatre. In the third act, with his mother, his pathos and his judgment were both transcendent. When to the caution of Othman he replies, … the energy of his delivery was such as to leave all description at a distance: but the closing soliloquy was the very climax of excellence…

“In passing from particulars to generals, we feel ourselves at a loss how to proceed. We cannot try him as a boy, who comes forward with such superior pretensions. We cannot rate him as a man, when so many means of future excellence are as yet unripened and undisclosed. When we mention that his step is firm and manly – his gesticulation free and unembarrassed – and his delivery and emphasis in general most correct, we speak of things which might, possibly, through tuition be acquired. But the intelligence of manner – the eloquence of the eye when speech was denied – the rapid yet judicious transitions from prostrate affliction to dignified resentment – are qualities which a Garrick might display, but which he never could transfuse. We do not mean to hold forth this youth as a model of perfection, but that, at his age, and with so few opportunities, he should approach so nearly to perfection, is the wonder which it is our province to record.”

The great John Kemble was said to have been much put out at the amount of attention this child received, and Rowlandson caricatured the young Roscius leaping over “Black Jack’s” head.

The crowding to see him still continued, and there is an amusing caricature by Ansell of the difficulties to be encountered, in order to obtain a glimpse of the precocious boy. The scene is vividly depicted. “Has any lady lost a flannel dickey?” “Who owns a shoe?” “That Dickey belongs to me, young man,” exclaims a lady whose dress bears palpable tokens of the fray. A plaintive voice is heard bewailing, “I’m a bran new hat out of pocket;” whilst a cripple inquires, “Has any of the good people found a Crutch?”

All sorts of ruses were attempted, in order to see Master Betty without inconvenience. Here is one of them —Morning Herald, December 14, 1804: “A curious trick was last night discovered at Drury Lane Theatre. Some of the Performers in the Orchestra had been induced to yield their places to as many sprigs of fashion, who entered with their violins under their arms, and with greased bows, that they might not interrupt the harmony to which they could not contribute. The fraud was discovered in time, and the falsetto fashionables were civilly ushered back to the outer door!”