This singular man, more than forty years ago, occupied a large portion
of public attention; his eccentricities were the theme of general
wonder, and great was the curiosity to catch a glance at as strange a
being as any that ever appeared in English society. This extraordinary
individual was a native of one of the West India Islands, and was
represented as a man of extraordinary wealth; to which, however, he had
no claim.
About the year 1808 there arrived at the York Hotel, at Bath, a person
about the age of fifty, somewhat gentlemanlike, but so different from
the usual men of the day that considerable attention was directed to
him. He was of a good figure; but his face was sallow, seamed with
wrinkles, and more expressive of cunning than of any other quality. His
dress was remarkable: in the day-time he was covered at all seasons
with enormous quantities of fur; but the evening costume in which he
went to the balls made a great impression, from its gaudy appearance;
for his buttons as well as his knee-buckles were of diamonds. There was
of course great curiosity to know who this stranger was; and this
curiosity was heightened by an announcement that he proposed to appear
at the theatre in the character of Romeo. There was something so
unlike the impassioned lover in his appearance--so much that indicated
a man with few intellectual gifts--that everybody was prepared for a
failure. No one, however, anticipated the reality.
On the night fixed for his appearance the house was crowded to
suffocation. The playbills had given out that "an amateur of fashion"
would for that night only perform in the character of Romeo; besides,
it was generally whispered that the rehearsals gave indication of
comedy rather than tragedy, and that his readings were of a perfectly
novel character.
The very first appearance of Romeo convulsed the house with laughter.
Benvolio prepares the audience for the stealthy visit of the lover to
the object of his admiration; and fully did the amateur give the
expression to one sense of the words uttered, for he was indeed the
true representative of a thief stealing onwards in the night, "with
Tarquin's ravishing strides," and disguising his face as if he were
thoroughly ashamed of it. The darkness of the scene did not, however,
show his real character so much as the masquerade, when he came forward
with hideous grin, and made what he considered his bow,--which
consisted in thrusting his head forward and bobbing it up and down
several times, his body remaining perfectly upright and stiff, like a
toy mandarin with moveable head.
His dress was outre in the extreme: whether Spanish, Italian, or
English, no one could say; it was like nothing ever worn. In a cloak
of sky-blue silk, profusely spangled, red pantaloons, a vest of white
muslin, surmounted by an enormously thick cravat, and a wig a la
Charles the Second, capped by an opera hat, he presented one of the
most grotesque spectacles ever witnessed upon the stage. The whole of
his garments were evidently too tight for him; and his movements
appeared so incongruous, that every time he raised his arm, or moved a
limb, it was impossible to refrain from laughter: but what chiefly
convulsed the audience was the bursting of a seam in an inexpressible
part of his dress, and the sudden extrusion through the red rent of a
quantity of white linen sufficient to make a Bourbon flag, which was
visible whenever he turned round. This was at first supposed to be a
wilful offence against common decency, and some disapprobation was
evinced; but the utter unconsciousness of the odd creature was soon
apparent, and then urestrained mirth reigned throughout the boxes, pit,
and gallery. The total want of flexibility of limb, the awkwardness of
his gait, and the idiotic manner in which he stood still, all produced
a most ludicrous effect; but when his guttural voice was heard, and his
total misapprehension of every passage in the play, especially the
vulgarity of his address to Juliet, were perceived, everyone was
satisfied that Shakspeare's Romeo was burlesqued on that occasion.
The balcony scene was interrupted by shrieks of laughter, for in the
midst of one of Juliet's impassioned exclamations, Romeo quietly took
out his snuff-box and applied a pinch to his nose; on this a wag in the
gallery bawled out, "I say, Romeo, give us a pinch," when the
impassioned lover, in the most affected manner, walked to the side
boxes and offered the contents of his box first to the gentlemen, and
then, with great gallantry, to the ladies. This new interpretation of
Shakspeare was hailed with loud bravos, which the actor acknowledged
with his usual grin and nod. Romeo then returned to the balcony, and
was seen to extend his arms; but all passed in dumb show, so incessant
were the shouts of laughter. All that went on upon the stage was for a
time quite inaudible, but previous to the soliloquy "I do remember an
apothecary," there was for a moment a dead silence; for in rushed the
hero with a precipitate step until he reached the stage lamps, when he
commenced his speech in the lowest possible whisper, as if he had
something to communicate to the pit that ought not to be generally
known; and this tone was kept up throughout the whole of the soliloquy,
so that not a sound could be heard.
The amateur actor showed many indications of aberration of mind, and
seemed rather the object of pity than of amusement; he, however,
appeared delighted with himself, and also with his audience, for at the
conclusion he walked first to the left of the stage and bobbed his head
in his usual grotesque manner at the side boxes; then to the right,
performing the same feat; after which, going to the centre of the stage
with the usual bob, and placing his hand upon his left breast, he
exclaimed, "Haven't I done it well?" To this inquiry the house,
convulsed as it was with shouts of laughter, responded in such a way as
delighted the heart of Kean on one great occasion, when he said, "The
pit rose at me." The whole audience started up as if with one accord,
giving a yell of derision, whilst pocket-handkerchiefs waved from all
parts of the theatre.
The dying scene was irresistibly comic, and I question if Liston,
Munden, or Joey Knight, was ever greeted with such merriment; for Romeo
dragged the unfortunate Juliet from the tomb, much in the same manner
as a washerwoman thrusts into her cart the bag of foul linen. But how
shall I describe his death? Out came a dirty silk handkerchief from
his pocket, with which he carefully swept the ground; then his opera
hat was carefully placed for a pillow, and down he laid himself. After
various tossings about he seemed reconciled to the position; but the
house vociferously bawled out, "Die again, Romeo!" and, obedient to
the command, he rose up, and went through the ceremony again. Scarcely
had he lain quietly down, when the call was again heard, and the
well-pleased amateur was evidently prepared to enact a third death; but
Juliet now rose up from her tomb, and gracefully put an end to this
ludicrous scene by advancing to the front of the stage and aptly
applying a quotation from Shakspeare:--
"Dying is such sweet sorrow,
That he will die again until to-morrow."
Thus ended an extravaganza such as has seldom been witnessed; for
although Coates repeated the play at the Haymarket, amidst shouts of
laughter from the playgoers, there never was so ludicrous a performance
as that which took place at Bath on the first night of his appearance.
Eventually he was driven from the stage with much contumely, in
consequence of its having been discovered that, under pretence of
acting for a charitable purpose, he had obtained a sum of money for his
performances. His love of notoriety led him to have a most singular
shell-shaped carriage built, in which, drawn by two fine white horses,
he was wont to parade in the park; the harness, and every available
part of the vehicle (which was really handsome) were blazoned over with
his heraldic device--a cock crowing, and his appearance was heralded by
the gamins of London shrieking out "cock-a-doodle-doo." Coates
eventually quitted London and settled at Boulogne, where a fair lady
was induced to become the partner of his existence, notwithstanding the
ridicule of the whole world.