And told in frolic gestures what he meant;
But now the motley coat and sword of wood,
Require a tongue to make them understood."
There is a letter extant, written by Nixon, the treasurer, probably to
some artist, granting permission by the Beef-steak Society "to copy
the original gridiron, and I have wrote on the other side of this
sheet a note to Mr. White, at the Bedford, to introduce you to our
room for the purpose making your drawing. The first spare moment I can
take from my business shall be employed in making a short statement of
the rise and establishment of the Beef-steak Society."
Rich, in 1732, left the Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre for Covent
Garden, the success of the _Beggars' Opera_ having "made Gay rich and
Rich gay." He was accustomed to arrange the comic business and
construct the models of tricks for his pantomimes in his private room
at Covent Garden. Here resorted men of rank and wit, for Rich's
colloquial oddities were much relished. Thither came Mordaunt, Earl of
Peterborough, the friend of Pope, and thus commemorated by Swift:
"Mordanto fills the trump of fame;
The Christian world his death proclaim;
And prints are crowded with his name.
In journeys he outrides the post;
Sits up till midnight with his host;
Talks politics, and gives the toast,
A skeleton in outward figure;
His meagre corpse, though full of vigour,
Would halt behind him, were it bigger,
So wonderful his expedition;
When you have not the least suspicion,
He's with you, like an apparition:
Shines in all climates like a star;
In senates bold, and fierce in war;
A land-commandant, and a tar."
He was then advanced in years, and one afternoon stayed, talking with
Rich about his tricks and transformations, and listening to his
agreeable talk, until Rich's dinner-hour, two o'clock, had arrived. In
all these colloquies with his visitors, whatever their rank, Rich
never neglected his art. Upon one occasion, accident having detained
the Earl's coach later than usual, he found Rich's chat so agreeable,
that he was quite unconscious it was two o'clock in the afternoon;
when he observed Rich spreading a cloth, then coaxing his fire into a
clear cooking flame, and proceeding, with great gravity, to cook his
own beef-steak on his own gridiron. The steak sent up a most inviting
incense, and my Lord could not resist Rich's invitation to partake of
it. A further supply was sent for; and a bottle or two of good wine
from a neighbouring tavern prolonged their enjoyment to a late hour.
But so delighted was the old Peer with the entertainment, that, on
going away, he proposed renewing it at the same place and hour, on the
Saturday following. He was punctual to his engagement, and brought
with him three or four friends, "men of wit and pleasure about town,"
as M. Bouges would call them; and so truly festive was the meeting
that it was proposed a Saturday's club should be held there, whilst
the town remained full. A sumptuary law, even at this early period of
the Society, restricted the bill of fare to beef-steaks, and the
beverage to port-wine and punch.
However, the origin of the Society is related _with a difference_.
Edwards, in his _Anecdotes of Painting_, relates that Lambert, many
years principal scene-painter at Covent Garden Theatre, received, in
his painting-room, persons of rank and talent; where, as he could not
leave for dinner, he frequently was content with a steak, which he
himself broiled upon the fire in his room. Sometimes the visitors
partook of the hasty meal, and out of this practice grew the
Beef-steak Society, and the assembling in the painting-room. The
members were afterwards accommodated with a room in the playhouse; and
when the Theatre was rebuilt, the place of meeting was changed to the
Shakespeare Tavern, where was the portrait of Lambert, painted by
Hudson, Sir Joshua Reynolds's master.
In the _Connoisseur_, June 6th, 1754, we read of the Society,
"composed of the most ingenious artists in the Kingdom," meeting
"every Saturday in a noble room at the top of Covent Garden Theatre,"
and never suffering "any diet except Beef-steaks to appear. These,
indeed, are most glorious examples: but what, alas! are the weak
endeavours of a few to oppose the daily inroads of fricassees and
soup-maigres?"
However, the apartments in the theatre appropriated to the Society
varied. Thus, we read of a painting-room even with the stage over the
kitchen, which was under part of the stage nearest Bow-street. At one
period, the Society dined in a small room over the passage of the
theatre. The steaks were dressed in the same room, and when they found
it too hot, a curtain was drawn between the company and the fire.
We shall now glance at the celebrities who came to the painting-room
in the Lincoln's Inn Fields theatre, and the later locations of the
Club, in Covent Garden. To the former came Hogarth and his
father-in-law, Sir James Thornhill, stimulated by their love of the
painter's art, and the equally potent charm of conviviality.
Churchill was introduced to the Steaks by his friend Wilkes; but his
irregularities were too much for the Society, which was by no means
particular; his desertion of his wife brought a hornets' swarm about
him, so that he soon resigned, to avoid the disgrace of expulsion.
Churchill attributed this flinging of the first stone to Lord
Sandwich; he never forgave the peccant Peer, but put him into the
pillory of his fierce satire, which has outlived most of his other
writings, and here it is:
"From his youth upwards to the present day,
When vices more than years have made him grey;
When riotous excess with wasteful hand
Shakes life's frail glass, and hastes each ebbing sand;
Unmindful from what stock he drew his birth,
Untainted with one deed of real worth--
Lothario, holding honour at no price,
Folly to folly, added vice to vice,
Wrought sin with greediness, and courted shame
With greater zeal than good men seek for fame."
Churchill, in a letter to Wilkes, says, "Your friends at the
Beef-steak inquired after you last Saturday with the greatest zeal,
and it gave me no small pleasure that I was the person of whom the
inquiry was made." Charles Price was allowed to be one of the most
witty of the Society, and it is related that he and Churchill kept the
table in a roar.
Formerly, the members wore a blue coat, with red cape and cuffs;
buttons with the initials B. S.; and behind the President's chair was
placed the Society's halbert, which, with the gridiron, was found
among the rubbish after the Covent Garden fire.
Mr. Justice Welsh was frequently chairman at the Beef-steak dinner.
Mrs. Nollekens, his daughter, acknowledges that she often dressed a
hat for the purpose, with ribbons similar to those worn by the yeomen
of the guard. The Justice was a loyal man, but discontinued his
membership when Wilkes joined the Society; though the latter was _the_
man at the Steaks.
To the Steaks Wilkes sent a copy of his infamous _Essay on Women_,
first printed for private circulation; for which Lord Sandwich--Jemmy
Twitcher--himself, as we have seen, a member of the Society--moved in
the House of the Lords that Wilkes should be taken into custody; a
piece of treason as the act of one brother of the Steaks against
another, fouler than even the trick of "dirty Kidgell," the parson,
who, as a friend of the author, got a copy of the Essay from the
printer, and then felt it his duty to denounce the publication; he had
been encouraged to inform against Wilkes's Essay by the Earl of March,
afterwards Duke of Queensberry. However, Jemmy Twitcher himself was
expelled by the Steaks the same year he assailed Wilkes for the Essay;
the grossness and blasphemy of the poem disgusted the Society; and
Wilkes never dined there after 1763; yet, when he went to France, they
hypocritically made him an honorary member.
Garrick was an honoured member of the Steaks; though he did not affect
Clubs. The Society possess a hat and sword which David wore, probably
on the night when he stayed so long with the Steaks, and had to play
Ranger, at Drury-lane. The pit grew restless, the gallery bawled
"Manager, manager!" Garrick had been sent for to Covent Garden, where
the Steaks then dined. Carriages blocked up Russell-street, and he had
to thread his way between them; as he came panting into the theatre,
"I think, David," said Ford, one of the anxious patentees,
"considering the stake you and I have in this house, you might pay
more attention to the business."--"True, my good friend," returned
Garrick, "but I was thinking of my steak in the other house."
Many a reconciliation of parted friends has taken place at this Club.
Peake, in his _Memoirs of the Colman Family_, thus refers to a
reconciliation between Garrick and Colman the elder, through the
Sublime Society:--
"Whether Mr. Clutterbuck or other friends interfered to reconcile the
two dramatists, or whether the considerations of mutual interest may
not in a great measure have aided in healing the breach between Colman
and Garrick, is not precisely to be determined; but it would appear,
from the subjoined short note from Garrick, that Colman must have made
some overture to him.
"'My dear Colman,--Becket has been with me, and tells me of your
friendly intentions towards me. I should have been beforehand with
you, had I not been ill with the beefsteaks and arrack punch last
Saturday, and was obliged to leave the play-house.
"'He that parts us shall bring a brand from Heav'n,
And fire us hence.'
"'Ever yours, old and new friend,
"'D. GARRICK.'"
The beef-steaks, arrack punch, and Saturday, all savour very strongly
of a visit to the Sublime Society held at that period in Covent Garden
Theatre, where many a clever fellow has had his diaphragm disordered,
before that time and since. Whoever has had the pleasure to join
their convivial board; to witness the never-failing good-humour which
predominates there; to listen to the merry songs, and to the sparkling
repartee; and to experience the hearty welcome and marked attention
paid to visitors, could never have cause to lament, as Garrick has
done, a trifling illness the following day. There must have been
originally a wise and simple code of laws, which could have held
together a convivial meeting for so lengthened a period.
Garrick had no slight tincture of vanity, and was fond of accusing
himself, in the Chesterfield phrase, of the cardinal virtues. Having
remarked at the Steaks that he had so large a mass of manuscript plays
submitted to him, that they were constantly liable to be mislaid, he
observed that, unpleasant as it was to reject an author's piece, it
was an affront to his feelings if it could not be instantly found; and
that for this reason he made a point of ticketing and labelling the
play that was to be returned, that it might be forthcoming at a
moment. "A fig for your hypocrisy," exclaimed Murphy across the table;
"you know, Davy, you mislaid my tragedy two months ago, and I make no
doubt you have lost it."--"Yes," replied Garrick; "but you forgot, you
ungrateful dog, that I offered you more than its value, for you might
have had two manuscript farces in its stead." This is the right
paternity of an anecdote often told of other parties.
Jack Richards, a well-known presbyter of the Society, unless when the
"fell serjeant," the gout, had arrested him, never absented himself
from its board. He was recorder, and there is nothing in comedy equal
to his passing sentence on those who had offended against the rules
and observances of the Society. Having put on Garrick's hat, he
proceeded to inflict a long, wordy harangue upon the culprit, who
often endeavoured most unavailingly to stop him. Nor was it possible
to see when he meant to stop. But the imperturbable gravity with which
Jack performed his office, and the fruitless writhings of the luckless
being on whom the shower of his rhetoric was discharged, constituted
the amusement of the scene. There was no subject upon which Jack's
exuberance of talk failed him; yet, in that stream of talk there was
never mingled one drop of malignity, nor of unkind censure upon the
erring or unhappy. He would as soon adulterate his glass of port-wine
with water, as dash that honest though incessant prattle with one
malevolent or ungenerous remark.
William Linley, the brother of Mrs. Sheridan, charmed the Society with
his pure, simple English song: in a melody of Arne's, or of Jackson's
of Exeter, or a simple air of his father's, he excelled to
admiration,--faithful to the characteristic chastity of the style of
singing peculiar to the Linley family. Linley had not what is called a
fine voice, and port-wine and late nights did not improve his organ;
but you forgot the deficiencies of his power, in the spirit and taste
of his manner. He wrote a novel in three volumes, which was so
schooled by the Steaks that he wrote no more: when the agony of
wounded authorship was over, he used to exclaim to his tormentors:--
"This is no flattery; these are the counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am."
His merciless Zoilus brought a volume of the work in his pocket, and
read a passage of it aloud. Yet, Linley never betrayed the irritable
sulkiness of a roasted author, but took the pleasantries that played
around him with imperturbable good-humour: he laughed heartily at his
own platitudes, and thus the very martyr of the joke became its
auxiliary. Linley is said to have furnished Moore, for his _Life of
Sheridan_, with the common-place books in which his brother-in-law was
wont to deposit his dramatic sketches, and to bottle up the jokes he
had collected for future use; but many pleasantries of Sheridan were
deeply engraved on his recollection because they had been practised
upon himself, or upon his brother Hozy (as Sheridan called him), who
was an unfailing butt, when he was disposed to amuse himself with a
practical jest.
Another excellent brother was Dick Wilson, whose volcanic complexion
had for many years been assuming deeper and deeper tints of carnation
over the port-wine of the Society. Dick was a wealthy solicitor, and
many years Lord Eldon's "port-wine-loving secretary." His fortunes
were very singular. He was first steward and solicitor, and afterwards
residuary legatee, of Lord Chedworth. He is said to have owed the
favour of this eccentric nobleman to the legal acumen he displayed at
a Richmond water-party. A pleasant lawn, under a spreading beech-tree
in one of Mr. Cambridge's meadows, was selected for the dinner; but on
pulling to the shore, behold a board in the tree proclaiming, "All
persons landing and dining here will be prosecuted according to law."
Dick Wilson contended that the prohibition clearly applied only to the
joint act of "landing and dining" at the particular spot. If the party
landed a few yards lower down, and then dined under the tree, only one
member of the condition would be broken; which would be no legal
infringement, as the prohibition--being of two acts, linked by a
copulative--was not severable. This astute argument carried the day.
The party dined under Mr. Cambridge's beech-tree, and, it is presumed,
were not "prosecuted according to law." At all events, Lord Chedworth,
who was one of the diners, was so charmed with Dick's ready
application of his law to practice, that he committed to him the
management of his large and accumulating property.
Dick stood the fire of the Steaks with good humour; but he was
sometimes unmercifully roasted. He had just returned from Paris, when
Arnold, with great dexterity, drew him into some Parisian details,
with great glee; for Dick was entirely innocent of the French
language. Thus, in enumerating the dishes at a French table, he
thought the _boulevards_ delicious; when Cobbe called out, "Dick, it
was well they did not serve you at the Palais Royal for sauce to your
_boulevards_." The _riz de veau_ he called a _rendezvous_; and he
could not bear partridges served up _in shoes_; and once, intending to
ask for a pheasant, he desired the waiter to bring him a _paysanne_!
Yet, Dick was shrewd: calling one day upon Cobbe at the India House,
Dick was left to himself for a few minutes, when he was found by
Cobbe, on his return, exploring a map of Asia suspended on the wall:
he was measuring the scale of it with compasses, and then applying
them to a large tiger, which the artist had introduced as one of the
animals of the country. "By heavens, Cobbe," exclaimed Dick, "I should
never have believed it! Surely, it must be a mistake. Observe
now--here," pointing to the tiger, "here is a tiger that measures
two-and-twenty leagues. By heavens, it is scarcely credible."
Another of the noteworthy Steaks was "Old Walsh," commonly called
"the Gentle Shepherd:" he began life as a servant of the celebrated
Lord Chesterfield, and accompanied his natural son, Philip Stanhope,
on the grand tour, as valet: after this he was made a Queen's
messenger, and subsequently a Commissioner of Customs; he was a
good-natured butt for the Society's jokes. Rowland Stephenson, the
banker, was another Beef-Steaker, then respected for his clear head
and warm heart, years before he became branded as a forger. At the
same table was a capitalist of very high character--William Joseph
Denison, who sat many years in Parliament for Surrey, and died a
_millionnaire_: he was a man of cultivated tastes, and long enjoyed
the circle of the Steaks.
We have seen how the corner-stone of the sublime Society was laid. The
gridiron upon which Rich had broiled his solitary steak, being
insufficient in a short time for the supernumerary guests, the
gridiron was enshrined as one of the tutelary and household emblems of
the Club. Fortunately, it escaped the fire which consumed Covent
Garden Theatre in 1808, when the valuable stock of wine of the Club
shared the fate of the building; but _the gridiron was saved_. "In
that fire, alas!" says the author of _The Clubs of London_, "perished
the original archives of the Society. The lovers of wit and pleasantry
have much to deplore in that loss, inasmuch as not only the names of
many of the early members are irretrievably gone, but what is more to
be regretted, some of their happiest effusions; for it was then
customary to register in the weekly records anything of striking
excellence that had been hit off in the course of the evening. This,
however, is certain, that the Beaf-steaks, from its foundation to the
present hour, has been--
"'native to famous wits
Or hospitable.'
That, as guests or members, persons distinguished for rank, and social
and convivial powers, have, through successive generations, been
seated at its festive board--Bubb Dodington, Aaron Hill; Hoadley,
author of _The Suspicious Husband_, and Leonidas Glover, are only a
few names snatched from its early list. Sir Peere Williams, a
gentleman of high birth and fashion, who had already shone in
Parliament, was of the Club. Then came the days of Lord Sandwich,
Wilkes, Bonnell Thornton, Arthur Murphy, Churchill, and Tickell. This
is generally quoted as the golden period of the Society." Then there
were the Colmans and Garrick; and John Beard, the singer, was
president of the Club in 1784.
The number of the Steaks was increased from twenty-four to
twenty-five, in 1785, to admit the Prince of Wales, an event of
sufficient moment to find record in the _Annual Register_ of the year:
"On Saturday, the 14th of May, the Prince of Wales was admitted a
member of the Beaf-steak Club. His Royal Highness having signified his
wish of belonging to that Society, and there not being a vacancy, it
was proposed to make him an honorary member; but that being declined
by His Royal Highness, it was agreed to increase the number from
twenty-four to twenty-five, in consequence of which His Royal Highness
was unanimously elected. The Beaf-steak Club has been instituted just
fifty years, and consists of some of the most classical and sprightly
wits in the Kingdom." It is curious to find the Society here termed a
Club, contrary to its desire, for it stickled much for the
distinction.
Arthur Murphy, the dramatist, John Kemble, the Dukes of Clarence and
of Sussex, were also of the Steaks: these princes were both attached
to the theatre; the latter to one of its brightest ornaments, Dorothy
Jordan.
Charles, Duke of Norfolk, was another celebrity of the Steaks, and
frequently met here the Prince of Wales. The Duke was a great
gourmand, and, it is said, used to eat his dish of fish at a
neighbouring tavern--the Piazza, or the Grand--and then join the
Steaks. His _fidus Achates_ was Charles Morris, the laureate-lyrist of
the Steaks. Their attachment was unswerving, notwithstanding it has
been impeached. The poet kept better hours than his ducal friend: one
evening, Morris having left the dinner-table early, a friend gave some
significant hints as to the improvement of Morris's fortunes: the Duke
grew generous over his wine, and promised; the performance came, and
Morris lived to the age of ninety-three, to enjoy the realization.
The Duke took the chair when the cloth was removed. It was a place of
dignity, elevated some steps above the table, and decorated with the
insignia of the Society, amongst which was suspended Garrick's
_Ranger_ hat. As the clock struck five, a curtain drew up, discovering
the kitchen, in which the cooks were seen at work, through a sort of
grating, with this inscription from Macbeth:--
"If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly."
The steaks themselves were in the finest order, and in devouring them
no one surpassed His Grace of Norfolk: two or three steaks, fragrant
from the gridiron, vanished, and when his labours were thought to be
over, he might be seen rubbing a clean plate with a shalot for the
reception of another. A pause of ten minutes ensued, and His Grace
rested upon his knife and fork: he was tarrying for a steak from the
middle of the rump of beef, where lurks a fifth essence, the perfect
ideal of tenderness and flavour. The Duke was an enormous eater. He
would often eat between three and four pounds of beaf-steak; and after
that take a Spanish onion and beet-root, chop them together with oil
and vinegar, and eat them. After dinner, the Duke was ceremoniously
ushered to the chair, and invested with an orange-coloured ribbon, to
which a small silver gridiron[12] was appended. In the chair he
comported himself with urbanity and good humour. Usually, the
President was the target, at which all the jests and witticisms were
fired, but moderately; for though a characteristic equality reigned at
the Steaks, the influences of rank and station were felt there, and
courtesy stole insensibly upon those who at other times were merciless
assailants on the chair. The Duke's conversation abounded with
anecdote, terseness of phrase, and evidence of extensive reading,
which were rarely impaired by the sturdy port-wine of the Society.
Charles Morris, the Bard of the Club, sang one or two of his own
songs, the quintessence of convivial mirth and fancy; at nine o'clock
the Duke quitted the chair, and was succeeded by Sir John Hippisley,
who had a terrible time of it: a storm of "arrowy sleet and iron
shower" whistled from all points in his ears: all rules of civilized
warfare seemed suspended, and even the new members tried their first
timid essays upon the Baronet, than whom no man was more prompt to
attack others. He quitted the Society in consequence of an odd
adventure which really happened to him, and which, being related with
malicious fidelity by one of the Steaks, raised such a shout of
laughter at the Baronet's expense that he could no longer bear it.
Here is the story.