CHAPTER XL.
The O. P. Riots—Causes of—Madame Catalani—Kemble’s refutation of charges—Opening of the theatre, and commencement of the riots—O. P. medals, &c.—“The house that Jack built”—A committee of examination—Their report—A reconciliation dinner—Acceptation of a compromise—“We are satisfied”—Theatre re-opens—Re-commencement of riots—The proprietors yield, and the riots end.
WE NOW come to the celebrated O. P. Riots, which find no parallel in our theatrical history, and which would require at least two thick volumes to exhaust. Never was there anything so senseless; never could people have been more persistently foolish; they would listen to no reason; they denied, or pooh-poohed, every fact.
O. P. represents “Old Prices,” and, as the management of the new theatre had raised the price of their entertainment, as they had a perfect right to do, these people demanded that only the old prices should be charged for admission. It was in vain that it was pointed out that very early notice was given of the intended rise, as indeed it was, directly after the destruction of the fire—vide Morning Post, September 24, 1808: “The Managers, we understand, intend to raise the price of admission, when they open at the Opera to 7s. for the boxes, and to 4s. for the pit. The admission for the galleries to remain as before. Much clamour has already been excited against this innovation, but we think unjustly.”
MADAME CATALANI.
Had this been the only grumble, probably no more would have been heard of it, but all sorts of rumours got about—That the proprietors, of whom Kemble was one (and, except on the stage, he was not popular), would make a handsome profit out of the insurance, and sale of old materials; that the increased number of private boxes, with their ante-rooms, were built for the special purpose of serving as places of assignation for a debauched aristocracy; and, therefore, a virtuous public ought to rise in its wrath against them. And last, but not least, they tried to enlist patriotic feelings into the question, and appealed to the passions of the mob—(remember we were at war with the French, and the ignorant public could not discriminate much between the nationality of foreigners) as to whether it was fair to pay such enormous nightly sums to a foreigner—which sums were partly the cause of the rise in price—when native talent was going unappreciated.
This foreigner was Madame Angelica Catalani, a lady who was born at Sinigaglia, in 1779. At the early age of twelve, when at the convent of St. Lucia, at Gubbio, her beautiful voice was remarkable, and when she left the convent, at the age of fifteen, she was compelled to get a living on the stage, owing to her father’s ruin.
At sixteen, she made her début at Venice, in an opera by Nasolini; and she afterwards sang at Florence, at La Scala in Milan, at Trieste, Rome, and Naples. Her fame got her an engagement at Lisbon, where she married M. Valabrègue, a French officer attached to the Portuguese Embassy; but she still kept to her name of Catalani—at all events, on the stage. From Lisbon she went to Madrid, thence to Paris, where she only sang at concerts; and, finally, in October, 1806, she came to London, where she speedily became the rage. According to one biographer (Fétis), she gained immense sums here; but I much doubt his accuracy. He says: “In a single theatrical season which did not last more than four months, she gained about 180,000 francs (£7,200), which included her benefit. Besides that, she gained, in the same time, about 60,000 francs (£2,400) by soirées and private concerts. They gave her as much as 200 guineas for singing at Drury Lane, or Covent Garden—‘God save the King,’ and ‘Rule, Britannia,’ and £2,000 sterling were paid her for a single musical fête.”
CATALANI.
This, according to the scale paid her at Covent Garden, said by her opponents to be £75 per night, must be excessive; but the mob had neither sense, nor reason, in the matter; she was a foreigner, and native talent was neglected. Her name suggested a subject to the caricaturist, of which he speedily availed himself.
These were the principal indictments against Kemble (for he, as manager, had to bear the brunt of the riot) and the proprietors replied to them categorically—vide Morning Post, September 18, 1809:
There was good sound sense in this refutation, yet something is wanting to explain more fully the riot which was to come, and which, at all events, was popularly supposed to relate to the structure of the building, and to the rise in prices. The following is much condensed from a contemporary account of the theatre:
“The Pit of this Theatre is very spacious.... The two Galleries are comparatively small, there not being accommodation in the upper, for more than 150 or 200 persons! The Upper Gallery is divided into five compartments, and may thus be considered a tier of five boxes, with a separate door at the back of each. These doors open into a spacious lobby, one side of which is the back of the gallery, and the other the exterior wall of the Theatre, with the windows into the street. The lobby to the middle gallery beneath is similarly situated. Under the gallery is a row of private boxes, constituting the whole third tier! They consist of 26 in number, with a private room behind each. The Carpeting was laid down in these boxes on Saturday last; but the furniture of each, and also of the adjoining room, will be according to the taste of the several occupants, among whom are some of the Royal Dukes.”
And now I have to chronicle one of the most senseless phases of public opinion that ever made a page, or a paragraph, of history. The Theatre opened on September 18, 1809, with “Macbeth” and “The Quaker,” but not one word that was delivered on the stage could be heard by the audience.
When the curtain drew up, Kemble delivered an address, which was extremely classical—all about Æschylus, Thespis, and Sophocles, of which the people present knew nothing, until they saw the next morning’s papers. Instead of listening, they sang “God save the King” with all the power of their lungs, and in good order; but that once over, then, with one consent, they began to yell “No Kembles—no theatrical tyrants—no domineering Napoleons!—What! will you fight, will you faint, will you die, for a Shilling?—No imposition!—no extortion!—English charity.—Charity begins at home.—No foreigners—No Catalanis.”
Somebody in the boxes addressed the frantic mob, but nothing was heard of his speech, and a magistrate named Read, attended by several Bow Street officers, came on the stage, and produced the Riot Act; it was no good—he could not be heard, and yet, among the audience, were many men of position, and even some of the Royal Dukes.
The second night the row was as bad, and it now was becoming organized. People brought placards, which began mildly with “The Old Prices,” and afterwards developed into all sorts of curious things. One was displayed in the first circle of the boxes, and “Townsend,[58] heading a posse of constables, rushed into the pit to seize this standard of sedition, together with the standard bearers. A contest ensued of the hottest kind, staffs and sticks were brandished in all directions; and, after repeated onsets and retreats, Townsend bore away a few of the standards, but failed in capturing the standard bearers. He retired with these imperfect trophies. But, as the oppositionists kept the field of battle, they claimed the victory, which they announced to the boxes and galleries with three cheers. The standard bearers in the boxes were not equally successful. They were but few in number, and not formed into a compact body, and had, besides, their rear and flanks open to the attack of the enemy. Some of them we saw seized from behind, and dragged most rudely out of the boxes, and treated, in every respect, with a rigour certainly beyond the law. One of them, who had all the appearance of a gentleman, was accompanied by a lady, who screamed at seeing the rudeness he suffered, and then flew out of the box to follow him. This vigorous activity on the part of the constables made the placards disappear for a time; but they were soon after hoisted again in the pit, and hailed with acclamations every time they were observed.”
On the third night the uproar was as great, many of the lights had been blown out, and the place was a perfect pandemonium; when Kemble, in dress suit of black, and chapeau bras, appeared, and obtained a momentary hearing. “Ladies and gentlemen,” said he, “permit me to assure you that the proprietors are most desirous to consult your wishes (loud and continued applause). I stand here, to know what you want.” If the noise and uproar could have been greater than before, it was after this brusque, and unfortunate, speech. “You know what we want—the question is insulting—Off! off! off!” For five minutes did the great man face his foes, and then he retired. Then some one in the boxes addressed the audience in a speech calculated to inflame, and augment, the riot; and Kemble once more came forward with a most sensible exposition as to the sum spent on the theatre, its appointments, and company. He might as well have spoken to the wind.
Night after night this scene of riot continued, varied only by the different noises—of bugle and tin horns, rattles, clubs, yelling, &c.—and the manifold placards, which differed each night, and were now not disturbed. There were O. P. medals struck—how many I know not—but there are three of them in the British Museum. One, which is struck both in white metal and bronze, has obv. John Bull riding an Ass (Kemble), and flogging him with two whips—Old and New Prices. Leg. FROM N TO O JACK YOU MUST GO; in exergue—
john bull’s advice to you, is go.
’tis but a step from N to O.
Rev. a P within an O, surrounded by laurel, and musical emblems. Leg. GOD SAVE THE KING; in exergue, May our rights and privileges remain unchanged. Another has obv. Kemble’s head with asses’ ears; and the third, which was struck when Mr. Clifford was being prosecuted for riot, has obv. Kemble’s head with a fool’s cap on; leg. OH! MY HEAD AITCHES; in exergue, OBSTINACY.
Then, too, the Caricaturists took up the tale and worked their wicked will upon the theme. I only reproduce one—by Isaac Cruikshank (father to George) which was published 28th September, 1809.
This is the house that Jack[59] built.
These are the Boxes painted so neat, with snug room and sofa all complete,
Where assignations are made by the Great that visit the House that Jack built.
These are the Pigeon Holes over the Boxes, painted so neat, &c.
This is the Cat engaged to squall, to the poor in the Pigeon Holes, &c.
This is John Bull with his Bugle Horn Who hissed the Cat engaged to squall, &c.
This is the Thieftaker[60] shaven and shorn That took up John Bull with his Bugle Horn, &c.
This is the Manager, full of scorn, who Raised the Price to the People forlorn. And directed the Thieftaker shaven and shorn to take up John Bull, &c.
On the 22nd of September Kemble came forward and said, inter alia, that the proprietors, anxious that their conduct should be fully looked into, were desirous of submitting their books, and their accounts, to a committee of gentlemen of unimpeachable integrity and honour, by whose decision they would abide. Meanwhile the theatre would be closed, and Madame Catalani, cancelling her engagement, went to Ireland.
“THE DEPARTURE FOR IRELAND.
“When Grimalkin[61] the Spy, took a peep at the house,
And saw such confusion and strife,
He stole to the Green-room as soft as a Mouse,
And thus he address’d his dear wife:
‘Mon Dieu! don’t sit purring, as if all was right,
Our measure of meanness is full,
We cannot stay here to be bark’d at all night,
I’d rather be toss’d by a Bull.’”
The committee of gentlemen (of whom the well-known John Julius Angerstein was one), published their report, and balance sheet, which was publicly advertised on the 4th of October, and they agreed that the profit to the shareholders on the capital, employed during the six years, was 6⅜ per cent. per annum, and that during that time they had paid £307,912. This, of course, would not satisfy the mob, and on the re-opening of the theatre on the 4th of October there was the same riot with its concomitant din of cat calls, rattles, horns, trumpets, bells, &c. For a few days the riot was not so bad, although it still continued; but, on the 9th of October, it broke out again, and the proprietors were compelled to take proceedings at Bow Street against some of the worst offenders. This had the effect, for a time, of stopping the horns, rattles, bells, bugles, &c., but the rioters only exchanged one noise for another, for now they imitated all the savage howlings of wild beasts, and it seemed as if Pidcock’s Menagerie had been turned into the theatre.
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.[62] 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.
