ROBERT ROMEO COATES

Robert Coates was born in Antigua in the West Indies, the only surviving child of a wealthy sugar planter, Alexander Coates, and his wife Dorothy. He was educated in England, and on returning to Antigua took part in amateur dramatics. When he inherited his father's estate in 1807, he moved to Bath, where he lived as a man of fashion.

Captain Gronow in his reminiscences recounts the following story of Robert Romeo Coates:

'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 amateur actor Robert Coates dreaming about his success

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.'

Despite this ridicule, Coates went on to tour the British Isles. If a theatre manager would hesitate to let him show his talents, he would bribe them. 

His fame spread and people would flock to see whether he really was as bad as they had heard. For some reason, Baron Ferdinand de Geramb became his foremost supporter. Even the Prince Regent would go to see him. In 1811, when he played the part of Lothario in The Fair Penitent in London's Haymarket Theatre, the theatre had to turn thousands of would-be spectators away.

Outside the stage, Coates tried to amaze the public with his taste in clothing. He wore furs even in hot weather. He went out in a custom-built carriage with a heraldic device of a crowing cock and the motto While I live, I'll crow. In receptions, he glittered from head to toe with diamond buttons and buckles. His predilection for diamonds of all kinds gave him the nickname "Diamond Coates".

Coates was never a professional actor, and only made his stage appearances in support of charitable causes: his own nickname of choice was 'the Celebrated Philanthropic Amateur'. After 1816 his performances ceased, as audiences had tired of laughing at him and theatrical managers were wary of allowing him to use of their premises. Later he fell into financial difficulties and to avoid creditors moved to Boulogne-sur-Mer, where he met Emma Anne Robinson, daughter of a naval lieutenant.

They returned to England and were married on 6 September 1823. They had two children, both of whom predeceased Coates.

Robert Coates died in London in 1848 after a street accident. He was caught and crushed between a Hansom cab and a private carriage as he was leaving a performance at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane on 15 February, and died at home six days later. At his inquest, the coroner brought in a verdict of manslaughter by a person or persons unknown. He was buried in Kensal Green Cemetery.

Powdered hair and partners

While visiting Bath in 1798, the young Elizabeth Canning wrote to her mother.

"Well my dearest Mamma, how do you like my red locks? For here I am without a grain of powder in them, all as one as if they were of the most beautiful brown!!"

Throughout the 17th and 18th centuries, both men and women powdered their hair or wigs. Hair powder was primarily used to create colour effects without damaging dyes.

Hair powder was made from various materials, from the poorest quality corn and wheat flour to the best quality in finely milled and sieved starch.  It was usually white but could also be brown, grey, orange, pink, red, blue, or violet.  The application of white powder over dark hair produces shades of light to dark grey, not the paperwhite seen in films and costume wigs.  White powder applied over very light hair produces a heightened blond effect.  The powder was applied with a bellows or with a puff for touchups and a knife for removal.

A very rare survival of a wig-powering sink can be seen from the street in a house in Gay Street, Bath.

Elizabeth's transition in style mirrors the societal shift towards more 'natural' looks in the 1790s. This shift, which saw powdering gradually lose its appeal, was further accelerated by the imposition of a tax on hair powder in 1795 to fund the war against the French. This tax marked the beginning of the end for hair powdering.

The portrait below of a younger Elizabeth and her mother gives some indication of the difference between natural and powdered hair.

Village de Florance Cotillion 1778

For the Year 1778 Three New Minuets with Seven Favorite Cottillions and figures for the Harp Harpsichord or Violin Humbly Dedicated to the Nobility and Gentry subscribers to Almacks &c by Francis Werner

Francis Werner was a dancing master and master of the ceremonies at Almack's and the Festino Rooms. He lived at 6, Lower St. James' Street, Golden Square, in 1782 and died in the year 1787. Campbell, Fentum, Birchall, and Andrews, and others published his yearly books.

How far apart should you stand in Regency Country Dances?

The London dancing master Thomas Wilson in his 1825 book "The Complete System of English Country Dancing" writes:

'DISTANCE OF STANDING, &c.

The proper distance of the lines formed by the Ladies and Gentlemen from each other is about four feet and a half, and the distance of the respective couples from each other is about two feet and a half.
The proper distance and the keeping of the lines truly parallel is necessary to the correct performance of the Figures, every person in the set having thereby an opportunity of seeing the various evolutions of the Figure performed by the leading couple, which very frequently proves of the greatest utility to those persons in the Dance unacquainted with the Figures, and prevents the confusion that would otherwise occur.'

The average modern person has a shoulder width of around 18 inches. Applying this to Wilsons numbers and adding a foot to allow for depth means that 3 couples will require a space of approximately 58 square feet just to stand.

Wilson's reference to the 'seeing the various evolutions' reminds us that, unlike modern balls, the Georgian practice was for the top couple to chose the figures and others would join in as they progressed down the set.

First impressions of Balls at the Assembly Rooms in the 1790s

Minuets became less and less popular during Jane Austen’s time in Bath. A clue to why might be found in this quote from a letter in the Bath library describing a ball in the Upper Rooms in 1792:

“It was amazingly crowded, although the minuets had not begun, so much so that we found some difficulty to get seats. I was very much entertained with the bad minuet dancers especially with a Mr Badcock who was obliged to stand up with seven or eight Ladies successively, to the great diversion of the spectators. I believe there were twenty minuets which was rather tiresome, but at last the Country Dances began”

Fancy Balls were a new innovation designed to combat the decline in attendances at the Cotillion Balls of the previous decade and an increasing resistance to the rigid dress codes. Fancy Balls were, in Georgian terms, much more relaxed occasions Ladies could appear in hats or make any other elegant fashion statement they pleased, short of actual fancy dress costumes. Fancy balls started with a country dance, after which there was one Cotillion only, and then tea – after tea, a country dance, one Cotillion only and the evening ended with more country dances, and the Long Minuet famously illustrated by Henry Bunbury.

Cotillions were danced in a square formation, by four couples, and consisted of a number of relatively simple standard verses in between which was danced a chorus that denoted a particular cotillion. The dance had its own vocabulary of step and in particular punctuation steps such as the rigadon. The dance involved a lot of exchanges of partners and opportunities to show off to and acknowledge members of the opposite sex. However, cotillions take a long time to dance and involve a lot of repetition.

In the 1790s, Dress and fancy balls in the Upper Rooms began as soon as possible after seven o’clock and concluded precisely at 11 even in the middle of a dance. These times were slightly different at the different rooms and the start times were altered slightly over time probably to accommodate shifting fashions for private parties.

In 1797 the 22-year-old Jane Austen visited Bath and it is possible that the description of a first ball at the Upper Rooms in Northanger Abbey is drawn from this visit. Certainly, her description of the Upper Rooms is in keeping with both contemporary illustrations and written descriptions in letters and diaries.

“Mrs Allen was so long in dressing that they did not enter the ballroom till late. The season was full, the room crowded and the two ladies squeezed in as well as they could. As for Mr Allen, he repaired directly to the card-room and left them to enjoy a mob by themselves.”

Struggling through the crowd they hoped to find seats and

“watch the dances with perfect convenience,”

 but even when they gained the top of the room,

 “they saw nothing of the dancers but the high feathers of some of the ladies.”

By continual exertion of strength and ingenuity, they found themselves at last in the passage behind the highest bench, and Miss Morland gained a comprehensive view of all the company beneath her.

“. .. It was a splendid sight and she began for the first time that evening, to feel herself at a ball: she longed to dance, but she had not an acquaintance in the room.”

It is interesting to compare this fictional description of the 17-year-old Catherine Morland’s experiences based on those of the 22-year-old Jane Austen with the description of a first ball at the Upper Rooms by the 15-year-old Elizabeth Canning writing to her mother the redoubtable Mehitabel Canning.

“at length a little past seven arrived and we set sail, were soon safe landed, at the Upper Rooms. By that time I felt all impatience to be in the Ball room, & was picturing to myself all the charms I could conceive, such a place to have, when we entered it. I was fully gratified, for to be sure I never saw so brilliant an assembly. It was amazingly crowded, although the minuets had not begun, so much so that we found some difficulty to get seats.”

After watching the Minuets

“there was a great humming & hawing whether or no I should dance. If I could get a partner, I felt at first as if I should be afraid but the sound of the music did so insinuate itself into my ears, that all idea of fear took itself off & I declared to Mrs Leigh  that I should like to dance, if I could get some mighty smart partner”

After a break for tea

“Mrs Leigh was not unmindful of her little niece, for she sent her good man to look for some dapper little personage for me & indeed he succeeded very well, for he soon brought us a Young Gentleman of about fifteen the smartest little mister you ever saw. When I perceived the gentleman I began to fear lest I should be obliged to accept him, but might have saved myself that trouble, for the pride of the old aunts was up at the idea of my making my first company with a lump of a boy”

After this unfortunate start

“Mr Leigh was dispatched after two or three dapper people that Mrs L had in her mind’s eye for me, among the rest Sir William Andre.”

Sir William was 32 and had become a Baronet when his brother was executed as a spy by the Americans.

“we were standing on the upper bench, so that we could all around the room to where we saw Mr Leigh rushing about till he got to Sir W and there was a little parleying and then they walked together as if coming towards us. Then my heart began to palpitate half afraid and yet wishing to dance but after being kept in suspense for some time Mr Leigh returned to us unsuccessful as for Sir William he had refused several ladies already & could not possibly dance then without offending them, another was engaged, & a third was tired, so among them your poor little pixie was obliged to content herself without cutting capers. Which indeed I did not much lament as, as the heat was so great that I almost doubt I should not have been able to have got down the dance, but the next time I go to a Ball now that I know the manoeuvres of it I shall get them to look out for a partner earlier in the evening, and then I shall have a better chance. Altogether I was very well satisfied with the evening’s amusements and came home in very good spirits, to supper, between eleven and twelve. I slept very well & dreamt all night of the fine rooms.”

Sherwood Grove a dance from 1788

"Book XX for the Year 1788 Eight Cotillions, six country dances and a favorite new minuet with their proper figures for the Harp, Harpsichord and Violin as Performed at the Prince of Wales's and other Grand Balls and Assemblies warmly dedicated to the Nobility & Gentry (subscribers to Willis's Rooms Festino &Co by JNo Fentum,"

The Prince of Wales later became George IV and was known for his extravagant entertainment. In 1788 he was about to face his first significant political challenge with his father's first bout of mental instability precipitating what became known as the Regency Crisis.

Willis's Rooms had previously been known as Almack's and continued to be referred to by both names until well into the nineteenth century. Willis's was primarily a gambling club to which women were admitted as well as men. Male members proposed and elected the female members, and women proposed and elected the male members. It was also famous for its balls attended by the cream of Regency society.

Festino is Italian for a feast or party, and it is not clear whether Fetum is referring to particular entertainments at Willis's Rooms or the reference is to The Hanover Square Rooms run by Giovanni Andrea Battista Gallini, an Italian dancer, choreographer and impresario, which was colloquially known as Festino.

John Fentum was probably the son of Jonathan Fentum, who had set up as an instrument maker and seller on premises located at 78 The Strand in 1762. John took over the premises and the business around 1784. In addition to instruments, John sold music and tickets for musical entertainment and was an accomplished violinist and violist. In the 1787-1788 season, he received £4 4s for playing violin in concerts of the Academy of Ancient Music. The Strand shop flourished, and in 1810, he opened a second shop at No 2 St George's Place. It is also probable that he played in the band at Willis's Rooms. Fentum continued at 78 The Strand until 1835 when he was succeeded by his relative Mary Ann Fentum.

F Werner was Francis Werner, formally harpist, dancing master and Master of the Ceremonies at Willis's and the Hanover Rooms, who had published collections of fashionable dance music and figures for some years.

Astley's Flag a Dance from 1816

In the collection of dances 'Treasures of Terpsichore" published in 1816 by the London dancing master Thomas Wilson appears a dance called Astley's Flag

Philip Astley, who had died in 1814, was an English equestrian, circus owner, and inventor regarded as the "father of the modern circus". The circus industry, as a presenter of an integrated entertainment experience that includes music, domesticated animals, acrobats, and clowns, traces its heritage to Astley's Amphitheatre, a riding school that Astley founded in London following the success of his invention of the circus ring in 1768.

The flag may be the flag shown flying over the Amphitheatre in some contemporary illustrations or possibly refers to a bet won by Astley when he floated down the Thames on his back, a flag in each hand, from Westminster to Blackfriars Bridge.