The Dawn of the XIXth Century in England

This soon got too tame, and on the 20th of October they began fighting among themselves, and stripping the baize off the seats. On the 24th, the proprietors issued a very proper address to the people, showing that they were not getting exorbitant profits, and, consequently, the prices were not too high; but it had no effect until the Grand Jury found true bills against some of the rioters, when there was a lull for a time, which might have been permanent, had not Brandon, the boxkeeper, charged a Mr. Clifford with having created a commotion in the pit. After examination, however, at Bow Street, he was released – and then the mob had another grievance. Brandon must be dismissed; nor only so – on the 5th of November a mob went to Bloomsbury Square, and broke the windows in Kemble’s house, after which, there was another lull; then on the 25th the turbulent spirits broke out again, because it was the fiftieth night, or jubilee, of the riots. A few of them were charged at Bow Street, but that did not stop the riot till nearly the middle of December, when there was another lull in the storm.

Both sides were getting weary of the strife; and, on the 14th of December, a dinner was held at the Crown and Anchor Tavern, Covent Garden, at which Kemble met the Opposition, and a compromise was entered into, and agreed upon, that the boxes were to remain the same price – 7s. – the pit was to revert to the old price of 3s. 6d.; and the galleries to remain as they were; the private boxes, at the end of the season, were to be again restored, and appropriated to the accommodation of the public. The rioters wanted Brandon to be discharged, and at night, when he had to appear before his sweet masters, they saluted him with volleys of oranges, and walking-sticks; and, the next night, it was announced that Brandon had been sacrificed to public opinion, and had been dismissed.59 One or two more apologies for small lâches, and King Mob produced a placard, “WE ARE SATISFIED.”

But they were not; they wanted the boxes reduced to 6s.; and, having so long had license, the ferment was not subdued at once. Take the 19th of December, for instance; Kemble was hissed, on his appearance on the stage, and when he spoke the lines —

“The times are out of joint – Oh, cursed spite!That ever I was born to set them right!” —

there was an universal shout of derision.

For the remainder of that season there was peace; but, when the new season opened, on September 10, 1810, with “The Beggar’s Opera,” and “Raising the Wind,” it was found that part of the treaty had not been carried out; as, although the centre portion of the first tier, had been converted into public boxes; yet, on either side, were still the objectionable private boxes, which, last year, had so excited the prudishly virtuous indignation of a howling mob. “No foreign sofas! No Italian private boxes.” In vain did Kemble point out that, since the conclusion of the treaty, an Act of Parliament had been passed for the rebuilding of Drury Lane Theatre, which allowed the proprietors to have as many private boxes as they might find convenient; and, consequently, would place Covent Garden at a decided disadvantage; therefore, his proprietary had hoped the public would condone the fact of their still retaining a few private boxes. Oh, no! The O. P. dance and the O. P. song, were immediately revived in all their glory, and the remainder of the evening was spent in the old manner, minus the accompaniment of horns, rattles, or placards; but a quart bottle was thrown from the gallery into the pit, and the management offered a reward of fifty guineas for the conviction of the offender.

Next night there were two placards exposed: “O. P. We have been imposed on!” “O. P. The Treaty is broken; open War!” The night after, the row got worse. On the 14th of September it was as bad as last year – watchmen’s rattles were freely used, and mewing, barking, groaning, braying, and whistling, made a hideous chorus. The O. P. dance was changed to the “Contract” dance, but still was danced to the tune of the O. P. hornpipe.

The proprietors, after their bitter experience of the previous year, felt that, however right they might be, they could not contend against the force majeure of the mob; and, on the 16th of September, they pledged themselves “that next season (when they will again have returned into their possession) the eight annual boxes shall be given up, and let to the public, at large, as nightly boxes.” It was no use; that night the row was as bad as ever; and, after that performance, the theatre was closed to make the alterations in the boxes, which were thrown open to the public. The theatre was re-opened on the 24th of September, and the performances passed off without interruption. And so ended the eventful O. P. Riots.

CHAPTER XLI

“The Pic-nic Club” – Its supporters – Its entertainment – Its short life – Automata and wool pictures – Almack’s – Pidcock’s Menagerie – “The Invisible Girl” – Vauxhall – Sir Roger de Coverley – Price of admission, &c. – Ranelagh Gardens.

THE THEATRE, although the main source of amusement, was not the only one. There were masquerades at the Pantheon, and a private theatrical club, called the “Pic-nic Club,” of which a Captain Caulfield was the manager. Lady Buckinghamshire – foremost in this, as in gaming – was one of its chief supporters; and it took its name from every one drawing lots, as to what should be his, or her, share of the entertainment. This club consisted of the leaders of fashion – the Prince of Wales, Lords Cholmondeley, Valletort, Carlisle, Spooner, Kirkcudbright, and Derby; and, of course, “old Q,” the Duke of Queensberry. Sir Lumley Skeffington, also, was an ornament to the society; whilst the lady members besides Lady Albina Buckinghamshire, numbered in their ranks, Lady Salisbury, Lady Jersey, and Mrs. Fitzherbert. It was crême de la crême, and I find them chronicled in the Morning Herald of March 16, 1802, thus: “The Pic-nic Club met last night for the first time, in the Tottenham Street Rooms.60 The Entertainment commenced with a Prologue by Colonel Greville, which was followed by a French Proverb. An Act of the Bedlamites, a piece translated from the French, for the occasion, was then performed. A French Proverb, and an Epilogue, succeeded; and the whole succeeded with a Pic-nic Supper, provided from a tavern.61 The company was not numerous, though 300 cards of invitation were issued. Madame Parisot,62 disapproving of the dilettanti project, refused to take any part in the performance. It being apprehended that the public peace might be disturbed by this irregular assemblage, the Bow Street officers held themselves in readiness to act, during the whole of the evening, but happily there was no occasion for their services.”

The society afterwards moved to the Argyle Rooms, then most highly proper, and fashionable. There were several caricatures of this society from Gillray’s pencil, one of which (the next illustration) I reproduce.

Here Gillray has given, as a contrast, Lord Valletort “the neatest of little beaux,” and the smallest man in the Club, and Lord Cholmondeley, who was very tall and stout. Lady Buckinghamshire, whose embonpoint Gillray never spared, plays the piano, and Lady Salisbury, who from her love of hunting, was frequently satirized under the name of Diana, performs on a hunting horn. The fashionable papers of the day were, during the season, seldom without a paragraph of this society, but it did not last long, and its death is recorded in the Times, February 28, 1803: “The Pic-nic Society is at an end. Many of its members, at a late meeting, wished to continue the Theatrical amusements, but no person would undertake the management of them.”

In 1801, there were to be seen in Spring Gardens, Maillardet’s Automata, where a wooden lady performed on the piano; also Miss Linwood’s Exhibition of Needlework, first at the Hanover Square Rooms, and afterwards at Saville House, Leicester Square, where were exhibited marvels of crewel work. There are one or two of her pictures in the South Kensington Museum; but her “Salvator Mundi,” after Carlo Dolci, for which she refused 3,000 guineas, she bequeathed to the Queen. She had a rival, whose name, however, has not been so well perpetuated —vide the Morning Post, June 4, 1800: “The wool pictures, so much talked of among the connoisseurs, are certainly executed with very great taste. Miss Thompson has brought her art to very great perfection,” &c. These were shown in Old Bond Street.

Then, for the extremely select, during the season, was Almack’s63 which, then, was not quite so exclusive as afterwards. Morning Herald, April 27, 1802: “Almack’s, King Street, St. James’ Square. James and William Willis most respectfully inform the Nobility and Gentry, the first Subscription Ball will be on Thursday, the 29th instant, under the patronage of her Grace the Duchess of Devonshire, the Marchioness of Townshend, and the Countess of Westmoreland. Tickets One Guinea each.” The same newspaper has also an advertisement of a new Panorama of Paris. This was by a M. de Maria; and there was also another, “Barker’s Panorama,” in Leicester Square.

Those who liked such exhibitions could see the Phantasmagoria, at the Lyceum Theatre, where the Magic Lantern was exhibited with novel effects, such as moving eyes and limbs, but they had not yet attained the height of “dissolving views.” Pidcock’s Menagerie64 was the only substitute they then had for our “Zoo,” and was situate in Exeter ‘Change. It is thus described in a guide to London, 1802: “A collection of divers beasts and birds, only exceeded in rarity by those of the Royal Menagerie, in the Tower.”

The “Invisible Girl” was exhibited in Leicester Square, and was “a globe of glass suspended by a ribbon, under which four tubes are adapted, but they do not communicate therewith, and are likewise insulated; by these, conversation is carried on with an invisible lady, who answers every question, breathes on you, and tells every visitor whatever they hold in their hands, in an instant. This exhibition is open from ten o’clock until six. Price of admittance, two shillings and sixpence.”

There were two famous out-door places of amusement, now no more, namely, Vauxhall, and Ranelagh. Vauxhall, was formerly called Foxhall, or Spring Garden, and is thus described in No. 383 of the Spectator: “We were now arrived at Spring Garden, which is excellently pleasant at this time of the year. When I considered the fragrancy of the walks and bowers, with the choir of birds that sung upon the trees, and the loose tribe of people that walked under their shades, I could not but look upon the place as a kind of Mahometan paradise. Sir Roger told me it put him in mind of a little coppice by his house in the country, which his chaplain used to call an aviary of nightingales. ‘You must understand,’ says the knight, ‘that there is nothing in the world that pleases a man in love, so much as your nightingale. Ah, Mr. Spectator, the many moonlight nights that I have walked by myself, and thought on the widow by the music of the nightingale!’ He, here, fetched a deep sigh, and was falling into a fit of musing, when a mask, who came behind him, gave him a gentle tap upon the shoulder, and asked him if he would drink a bottle of mead with her? But the knight being startled at so unexpected a familiarity, and displeased to be interrupted in his thoughts of the widow, told her, ‘she was a wanton baggage;’ and bid her go about her business.”

These gardens opened about the middle of May, and closed about the end of August; they were only open three days a week – Monday, Wednesday, and Friday; and the price of admission was 3s. 6d., the concert commencing at eight, the attendance averaging from 5,000 to 15,000. At the end of the first part of the concert, about 10 p.m., a curtain was drawn up, and disclosed “a view of a bridge, a water mill, and a cascade; while coaches, waggons, soldiers, and other figures were exhibited as crossing that bridge.” The orchestra, which I reproduce, was a blaze of light, and, altogether, in the gardens, at that time, were 37,000 lamps. Occasionally, a display of fireworks took place; whilst, to add to the attractions of the gardens, there were recesses, and alcoves, provided, where suppers, and refreshment, could be procured.

Ranelagh Gardens were in Chelsea, about where the Barracks now stand. The amusements provided were almost identical with Vauxhall, but, although considered a place of summer resort, its season commenced in February, and closed at the end of May, or the middle of June. The general price of admission was half a crown; but, on a masquerade night, it rose to 10s. 6d. or £1 1s., but that included supper and wine. There were particular fête nights, notably of the Pic-nic Society, when the price of admission varied from 5s. to 7s. 6d.

CHAPTER XLII

Music – Composers of the time – Mrs. Billington – Her salaries – Mdlle. Mara – Mrs. Crouch – Incledon – Braham – Chamber music – Musical societies – Commemoration of Dr. Arne – Competition of pipers – Dancing – The Valse.

THESE open-air concerts showed that there was a natural taste for music in the English character, and when we look at the composers who then flourished, and at the singers who expounded their works, we must own that the dawn of the century could fairly hold its own with its latter days. Dr. Arnold, Dr. Callcott (whose glees are still sung in many a home), Shield, Stevens, and Clementi, were among the composers; and, for singers – was there not Mrs. Billington, with her extraordinarily sweet voice, her forcible expression, and flexible execution?

Gillray here has kept an excellent likeness of our prima donna, and, probably, did not much exaggerate her proportions. She was paid remarkably well, as most divas are, and, if the satirical prints, and newspaper reports of the time, do not belie her, she was as voracious after “Refreshers” as a modern Queen’s Counsel, or she could not appear.

Here we see Mrs. Billington utterly prostrate, until revived by golden pills, of which Sheridan is bringing a good supply. We can see what she earned from a newspaper cutting, or two.

Morning Post, June 12, 1800: “Mrs. Billington is engaged for the King’s Theatre next season, and she is to have two thousand guineas.”

Morning Post, July 15, 1801: “Mrs. Billington after humming all the Theatres, has, at last, fixed on the hive in Covent Garden, where she will, no doubt, make much buzz and honey next season. Articles were signed between her and Mr. Harris yesterday. This we can state as a positive fact. It is with much pleasure we find she has resolved to return to the English stage; she will revive our Operas, of late fallen into disrepute, and bring music again into fashion. The terms are very liberal, but not more so than we expected so extraordinary, so charming a singer, to obtain. She is to have three thousand guineas, and a free benefit, besides fifty guineas per night at the oratorios; this altogether will amount to upwards of four thousand pounds for the season, and this season is not to extend beyond half a year.”

[Gillray, 15th May, 1801.

Morning Herald, April 2, 1802: “Mrs. Billington will net this single season, by her professional abilities, no less than eleven thousand pounds!”

Mdlle. Mara, too, whose rich, sweet voice was so often heard in oratorio, got her fifty guineas a night at Drury Lane, in the year 1800, so that we see that in those old days “singing women” were well paid. Mrs. Crouch, that sweet songstress, and rival of the Billington, although she had quitted the stage through an unfortunate accident, which injured her voice, died in this decade, on the 2nd of October, 1805. There were many more of respectable calibre, but none with the exception of Storace, to compare with the three named.

Among male voices Incledon, and Braham, were pre-eminent. Incledon had a beautifully rich voice, the successful cultivation of which was doubtless owing to his early training, under the celebrated William Jackson, at Exeter Cathedral.

Many of us now living can remember having heard John Braham sing, although, of course, only in his decadence. His was a wonderfully successful musical career, not only here, but on the Continent; but then he had a most rare voice, and one of such extensive range, that he could sing airs written for Mdlle. Mara.

No other male singers of this period are worthy of note, nor do we find many good, or lasting, names among the instrumentalists. Wesley on the organ, Clementi and Cramer on the pianoforte, F. Cramer on the violin, about exhaust the list. But the people were musical at heart and there is no greater fallacy than to think the English were ever otherwise. Small and select parties would meet of an evening, and perform concerted chamber music. The illustration by Gillray is slightly caricatured, but it gives a very fair view of such a domestic scene.

Or, we might take another drawing-room scene, in which only two are actors, and are executing a duet to a harp accompaniment.

That good, and what we term severe, music was then appreciated, we have evidence in the existence of the “Academy of Ancient Music,” which was held at the Crown and Anchor Tavern, Covent Garden – an institution which began in Queen Anne’s reign, under the conduct of the celebrated musician, Dr. John Christopher Pepsuch; and, till 1737, no ladies were admitted in the audience. In another twenty years it assumed more of the form of a public concert; and, in 1786, the society migrated to Freemason’s Hall, where, in 1788, it was resolved to admit ladies as subscribers. The subscription, which, at its commencement, was only half a guinea, rose, by degrees, to five guineas, and then settled down to four, which covered a season of six, or eight, concerts.

There was a split in the musical camp, and a branch of the parent society seceded, and established themselves at the Opera House, in the Haymarket, under the title of “The Concert of Ancient Music,” or “King’s Concerts.” They afterwards moved to the Hanover Square Rooms. The concerts commenced in February, and continued till the end of May. Six directors, chosen from the nobility, selected, in turn, the pieces for each concert – at which all modern music was utterly excluded, and nothing could be played unless twenty-five years old. So strictly was this carried out, that if the director for the night introduced anything more modern, he was (and it was done more than once) fined in a very considerable sum. There were also popular concerts held at the Hanover Square rooms, during the season, to which the admission was generally half a guinea.

And yet, with all this reverence for old music, it was found impossible to make a success of a “Commemoration of Dr. Arne,” which took place at Ranelagh on June 10, 1802; the expenses being £100, and the actual receipts for the night only £26! Well may the newspaper editor end the paragraph with “Poor Thomas Arne!”

In contradistinction to this, a Competition of Pipers, which was annual, seems to have been a great success. The Highland Society of London gave the prizes, three in number: 1st, a handsome set of pipes with a silver plate, and forty merks Scots; 2nd and 3rd, thirty merks, and it was decided at the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, before an enthusiastic audience.

The principal dance of this period was the country dance; but the valse had already been introduced, and rapidly came into favour, although it was held to be fast, and rather indecent, and was danced in a somewhat different style to what it is nowadays.

CHAPTER XLIII

Painting – “The Royal Academy of Art” – The principal private Picture Galleries – Benjamin West – James Barry – Fuseli – Opie – Minor artists – Turner – Sir Thomas Laurence – Morland – Sale of his pictures – Sculptors – Engravers – Boydell – “The Exhibition of Paintings in Water Colours” – Its members-”The Associated Artists in Water Colours” – Literature – List of literary persons of the decade – Five-volume novels – Decyphering papyri – Major Ouseley’s Oriental Library – The Pope and the Lord’s Prayer – The Alfred Club.

PAINTING was not at its highest at this time, and yet there were many buyers, even for the pictures then painted. The Royal Academy of Art (founded in 1765, when it received its Charter, on the 26th of January, as the Incorporated Society of British Artists, a name afterwards changed in 1768) was then located at Somerset House, where life classes were held, and instruction given, as shown in the illustration on the next page.

But, as yet, there was no National Gallery of Paintings, that was reserved till a latter period, when Government bought the collection of John Julius Angerstein, Esq., in 1824. This formed the nucleus of our magnificent collection. His gallery, at his house in Pall Mall, had long held high rank among the private picture collectors, he having two Murillos, for which he paid 3,500 guineas. The Duke of Bridgewater’s, the Marquis of Lansdowne’s, the two, or rather three, Hopes’, Lord Radstock’s, the Duke of Northumberland’s, the Duke of Devonshire’s, and the Miniatures at Strawberry Hill, were all magnificent collections; whilst Mr. Charles Townley, at his residence in Park Lane, had the finest collection of antique statues and busts, &c., in the world. These are now in the British Museum.

The principal painters of this decade, although numerous, do not represent a school likely to be perpetuated, although, as we read them, they are well known; many are respectable, two or three are famous. First must come Benjamin West, President of the Royal Academy, who then lived in Newman Street: and, indeed, if we look at the addresses of these old painters, we find them very humble compared with the palatial habitations of some of our modern painters. As a Master, West will never live, he was a respectable painter, but even in his own time, was not over belauded.

There was James Barry, who was once professor of painting to the Academy, but was deposed, en plein cours, because he could, or would, not confine his lectures to their proper subjects, besides being coarse and libellous. This made him hypochondriac, and he, besides, became poor – a position somewhat alleviated by an annuity which was subscribed for him. He died in 1806. His dwelling was in Castle Street, Oxford Street.

Henry Fuseli lived in Queen Anne Street, East. His pictures were noted for the extravagance of their conception, and their anatomy; he delighted in painting the horrible, and supernatural, and was, perhaps, seen at his best in his Milton Gallery, which was opened in 1798, and closed July 19, 1800.

John Opie made a name, which still lives among collectors, but he never will rank as an Art Master. He owed much of his celebrity to Dr. Wolcott (Peter Pindar), who, an artist himself, tried to bring his protégé into notoriety. He lived in Berner’s Street, Oxford Street, and died in 1807.

De Loutherbourg and his imitator, Sir Francis Bourgeois, are hardly worthy of a notice. The latter, certainly, left a collection of pictures to Dulwich Gallery, with £10,000 to keep them in preservation; £2,000 for the repair of the gallery, and a complimentary bequest of £1,000 to the Masters and Fellows of Dulwich College.

The genius of the age was, undoubtedly, Joseph Mallord William Turner, who ranks as one of our greatest landscape painters. Like all other artists, he had his periods of excellence; but, when at his best, he was unapproachable. Thoroughly appreciated in this decade, he died not so long ago, December 19, 1851.

From Turner to James Northcote is a long step, but they were on the same footing as Royal Academicians. He tried to be, as some of our modern R.A.’s do, an universal genius; but the verdict of posterity has not endorsed his pretensions. He lived then in Argyll Street, and did not die until July 13, 1831.

Another Academician, Thomas Stothard, deserves notice, and will be most remembered for his “Canterbury Pilgrims;” but his style was mannered, and did he paint now, he, probably, would not get a living.

Sir Thomas Lawrence did not then occupy the position he afterwards filled, of President of the Royal Academy; but he had the rare honour of being made a “Supplemental Associate;” a rank conferred, because his youth would not entitle him to ask for the ordinary Associateship. He was then living modestly in Greek Street, Soho, and did not charge much for his pictures. In 1802 he only got thirty guineas for a three-quarter size, and sixty guineas for a half-length portrait. In 1806, he obtained fifty guineas for three-quarter, and whole length, two hundred guineas. 1808 saw his prices still go higher, similar sizes eighty and three hundred guineas; and in 1810, he charged one hundred guineas for a head, and four hundred guineas for a full length. Handsome prices, yet poor pay compared to what our pet artists now get.