Perhaps a bit of background would not be amiss here.

We are so used to the status of celebrities, today, that it is easy to forget their place in the society of the early 19th century. In spite of the fame of Haydn, Beethoven, Mozart, and the like, most musicians, actors, and writers were considered by society as little better than trained bears. Their function was to amuse at society functions.

An idea of a typical evening at the theatre is given in Webster's "Shakespeare Without Tears":

"Theatre Royal, Kilkenny, Ireland, 1793...the tragedy of Hamlet, originally written and composed by the celebrated Dan Hayes of Limerick, and inserted in Shakespeare's works. Hamlet, by Mr. Kearns (being his first appearance in that character) who, between the acts, will perform several solos on the patent bagpipes, which play two tunes at the same time. Ophelia by Mrs. Prior, who will introduce several airs in character particularly 'the lass of Richmond Hill' and 'We'll All be Happy Together' from the Rev. Mr. Didbin's Oddities. The parts of the King and Queen, by the direction of the Reverend Mr. O'Callaghan, will be omitted, as too immoral for any stage. Polonius, the comical politician, by a Young Gentleman, being his first appearance in public. The Ghost, the Grave-digger, and Laertes, by Mr. Sampson, the great London Comedian. The characters will be dressed in Roman Shapes. To which will be added an interlude of sleight-of-hand tricks, by the celebrated surveyor, Mr. Hunt. The whole will conclude with a farce, Mahomet The Imposter, Mahomet by Mr. Kearns....No person will be admitted into the boxes without shoes or stockings."

There is little to separate a performance from a riot.

During the reign of Sarah Siddons in the 18th century, a Frenchman wrote:

"As for the manners there,...people sing, whistle, scream, drink, eat oranges and throw the rind straight before them without the slightest intention of insulting the cheek which received it; and no one takes offence."

And think the Frenchman not overly fastidious.

A German clergyman wrote:

"It is the tenants in this upper gallery, who, for their shilling, make all the noise and uproar for which the English playhouses are so famous. I was in the pit, which gradually rises, ampitheatre-wise, from the orchestra, and is furnished with benches, one above the other, from the top to the bottom. Often....whilst I sat there, did a rotten orange, or pieces of the peel of an orange, fly past me, or past some of my neighbors, and once one of them actually hit my hat, without my daring to look around, for fear another might hit me on the fact....Besides this perpetual pelting from the gallery, which renders and English playhouse so uncomfortable, there is no end to their calling out, and knocking with their sticks, till the curtain is drawn up...I sometimes heard, too, the people in the lower or middle gallery quarreling with those of the upper one."

The happenings at concerts and theatres were avidly reported in the press. Much as one might read about a rock concert today in one of the market tabloids, one could find in the excess of space and wild outpouring of words, a Dublin paper's review:

"Last night Mrs. Siddons, about whom all the world has been talking, exposed her beautiful, adamantine, soft and lovely person for the first time, in the Theatre Royal, Smock-Alley, in the bewitching, melting, and all-tearful character of Isabella. From the repeated panegyrics in the London newspapers, we were taught to expect the sight of an heavenly angel: but how they were supernaturally surprised into the most awful joy, on beholding an earthly goddess: The house was crowded with hundreds more than it could hold, with thousands of admiring spectators, that went away with out a sight. This extraordinary phenomenon of tragi-excellence, this star of Melpomene, this comet of the stage, this sun of the firmament of the muses, this moon of blank verse, this Queen and Princess of tears, this Donellan of the poisoned bowl, this Empress Rusty-fusty of the pistol and dagger, this chaos of Shakespeare, this world of weeping cloud, this Juno of commanding aspect, this Terpsichore of the curtains and scenes, this proserpine of fire and earthquake...exceeded expectations... were beyond belief, and soared above all the powers of description of wit. Where expectations were raised so high it was thought she would be judged by her appearance; but it was the audience who were injured. Several fainted even before the curtain drew up; but when she came to the scene of parting with her wedding ring, ah, what a sight was there! The very fiddlers in the orchestra blubbered like hungry children for their bread and butter; and when the bell rang for music between the acts, the tears ran in such plentiful streams from the bassoon players eyes, that they choked the finger-stops, and making a spout of the instrument, poured such torrent on the first fiddler's book, that, not seeing the overture was in two sharps, the leader of the band actually played it in one flat; but the sobs and sighs of the groaning audience and the noise of corks from the smelling bottles prevented the mistakes between the flats and sharps being perceived. One hundred and nine ladies fainted, forty-six went into fits, ninety-five had strong hysterics. The world will scarce credit the assertion, when they are told, fourteen children, five old women, a one-handed sailor, and six common councilmen, were actually drowned in the inundation of tears that flowed from the boxed and galleries, to increase the briny flood in the pit. The water was three feet deep; and the people that were obliged to stand upon the benches, were, in that situation, up to their ankles in tears."

(L'Encore, D. Frohman)

Ivor Novello as seen in the Gotsford Park film is a wonderful portrait of the perceived bohemian who is invited to a 1930s house party, and who's function is to provided after-dinner music and song to amuse the bored socialites...but one certainly not want to encourage him beyond that...and not to much of 'that' either.

The traveling artist of earlier times was an object of admiration, pity, abuse and wonder. In the 19th century could be found Pagannini, John Field, Chopin, Liszt and the others, who were objects of comment. But their lives were anything but easy and comfortable. Rotten roads, terrible housing, greasy meals, argumentative travelers, arrogant aristocracy, and greedy concert managers were the norm. Nerves of steel, and a cast-iron stomach were essential.