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.”
[Illustration: 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.”
[Illustration: 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:
“It is stated that the old For £25,000, read £1,000.
materials of the Theatre The bricks were of so little
were estimated at £25,000 value, that not one old brick
was used in the building,
and the greater part now
lie buried near Hart Street.
It is stated that instead For 22 read 12 additional
of twelve private boxes, private boxes. In fact, the
they have now thirty-four, Proprietors contend that
being an addition of twenty-two they have no private boxes,
private boxes. as all of them are let annually
to the Public. They
are taken by the higher
classes of society, and, by
that means, the first and
second circles of boxes are
left free for the public at
large. What the Proprietors
gain by them annually,
they lose nightly.
It is stated that £50,000 For £50,000, read £42,000.
was received from the Insurance ’Tis true that £3 or 4,000
of the Theatre. was received from the insurance
of houses, now included
in the Theatre; but
it was forgotten that the Proprietors
paid near £28,000
for those houses, to insulate
the Theatre, and render the
avenues safe and commodious.
The increased ground
rent of which will be a heavy
and lasting incumbrance on
the Theatre.
It is asserted that Madame The Proprietors have already
Catalani is the cause of the given their reasons
advance on the prices. to the Public, which existed
long before Madame Catalani’s
engagement. As well
might it be said that the
increased prices were caused
by Mrs. Siddons, whose engagement
is fifty guineas a
night and a clear benefit;
or by the other eminent
English Performers of the
Theatre, whose salaries amount
to £32,000.”
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.
[Illustration: This is the house that _Jack_[59] built.]
[Illustration:
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.]
[Illustration:
These are the Pigeon Holes over the Boxes, painted so neat, &c.]
[Illustration:
This is the CAT engaged to squall, to the poor in the Pigeon Holes,
&c.]
[Illustration:
This is John Bull with his _Bugle Horn_
Who hissed the CAT engaged to squall, &c.]
[Illustration:
This is the Thieftaker[60] shaven and shorn
That took up John Bull with his _Bugle Horn_, &c.]
[Illustration:
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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]