Their Majesties' Servants. Annals of the English Stage (Volume 2 of 3)

Illustravit semper et nobilitavit

Nunquam ingenium idem ad parties diversissimas

Habilius fuit

Ita tamen ut ad singulas

Non facta sed nata esse videretur,

In tragœdiis

Formæ splendor, oris dignitas, incessus majestas,

Tanta vocis suavitate temperabantur

Ut nemo esset tam agrestis, tam durus spectator,

Quin in admirationem totus raperetur

In comœdia autem

Tanta vis, tam venusta hilaritas, tam curiosa felicitas

Ut neque sufficerent spectando oculi,

Neque plaudendo manus."

I have said that her last original part was Sophonisba. Among the last words she uttered in it, when mortal illness was upon her, were these: —

"And is the sacred moment then so near,
The moment when yon sun, these heavens, this earth
Shall sink at once, and straight another state,
New scenes, new joys, new faculties, new wonders,
Rise, on a sudden, round?"

These words were first spoken by her, on the last day of February 1730. On the 23rd of the following October she died, in her forty-seventh year. A week later, Dr. Parker "buried her very willingly, and with much satisfaction!"

CHAPTER II

FROM THE DEATH OF ANNE OLDFIELD TO THAT OF WILKS

Between the season of 1729-30, and that of 1733-34, great changes took place. It is correct to say, that the stage "declined;" but if we lose Mrs. Oldfield in the former period, we find some compensation at the beginning of the latter, by first meeting, in Fielding and Hippisley's booth, at Bartholomew and Southwark fairs, with one who was destined to enthral the town, – modest Mrs. Pritchard, playing Loveit, in a "Cure for Covetousness."

Meanwhile, Mrs. Porter reigned supreme; but the stage was deprived, for more than a year, of the presence of her whom Mrs. Oldfield loved to address as "mother," by an accident which dislocated her thigh. Even after her recovery, the tragedy queen was forced to walk the stage with a crutched stick, which, like a true artist, she turned to account in her action.

Of actors of eminence, the greatest whom the stage lost was Wilks, airy and graceful down to the last; – of him, who died in 1732, I will speak more fully presently. Death also carried off quaint, squeaking, little Norris, the excellent comic actor, popularly known as "Jubilee Dicky." After Norris went Boheme, the pillar of the Lincoln's Inn Fields, a dignified and accomplished tragedian, whose Lear was full of antique grandeur and pathos; – it was, perhaps, the only character in which the former young sailor's quarter-deck walk was not discernible. Colley Cibber, too, must be reckoned among the departed, since he retired from the stage, at the end of the season 1732-33, but occasionally returned to it. He was disheartened by the break-up in the old partnership, and the manifest close of a period of prosperity. Booth had sold half of his share in the patent to a rich and silly amateur actor – Highmore. Wilks's widow, who inherited her husband's share, was represented by attorney; Colley was uneasy at having to encounter new partners, and he ultimately sold his share to Highmore, for three thousand guineas.

While the stage failed in players, it was not upheld by the poets. The gentlemen of the inns of court hissed Charles Johnson's "Medea," and did not even applaud the satirical allusion contained in it to Pope. The town was weary of classical pieces. The "Eurydice" of Mallet – who had been gate-keeper at the Edinburgh High School, and had picked up learning enough to enable him to efficiently exercise the office of tutor in the Duke of Montrose's family – fared no better,[3 - "Eurydice" was played about thirteen times, and was thought worthy of revival in 1759.] despite Mrs. Porter. The piece was as hard and as dry as granite; but the author thought it had as much pathos as his ballad of "William and Margaret."

In the prologue, tragedy was especially recommended to the patronage of ladies, because therein the character of women is exalted; while in the comedies of the day it was debased. But the epilogue, spoken by Miss Robinson, in boy's clothes – "born for this dapper age – pert, short, and clever" – showed that the poet did not much care for the female character.

Jeffreys' "Merope" had no better success. His cousins of the Chandos family may have laughed at the young collegian's bathos; but on the second night there was not audience enough to make a laugh comfortable; and the curtain did not rise.[4 - This is the story told in the Biographia Dramatica, but Genest says "Merope" was acted three times.] Critics complained that all tragic action on our stage turned on love; and Jeffreys contrived to make three couple of nymphs and swains sigh or swear in this story of mother and son! "Who could believe," says Voltaire, "that love could have been introduced into such a story? But, since the times of Charles II., love has taken possession of the English stage; and one must acknowledge that no nation in the world has painted that passion so badly." But Voltaire, you will remember, also said that Shakspeare was "a savage!"

A Gloucestershire squire, named Tracy, tried his hand on "Periander," and failed, though he was guiltless of a false quantity; unlike Addison's learned friend, Frowde, who tripped in his penultimates, with the alacrity of Hughes!

It was not altogether because our ancestors were weary of classical tragedies, that a short, fat, one-eyed, and well-to-do dissenter and jeweller, of Moorgate Street, reaped such a triumph, with his modern and domestic tragedy, "George Barnwell." Mr. Lillo had previously written a ballad-opera, "Sylvia;" but now he aimed to show the hideousness and consequence of vice. "George Barnwell" was first acted at Drury Lane, at the beginning of the Midsummer holidays of 1731. Theophilus Cibber played the hero; Mrs. Butler, Milwood. The audience looked for fun, and took the old ballad, – there was the flutter of a thousand copies in the house, to compare it with the play. Pope was present, and expressed an opinion that the language was often too elevated for the personages;[5 - Pope said "in a few passages."] and the hearers thought only of the story as illustrated by Lillo, and every eye was weeping. It was the first fairly honest attempt made to amend, from the stage, the vices and weaknesses of mankind; and it certainly, in some degree, succeeded. It enlisted the sympathies of honest women. "The distresses of great personages," says a lady, in the Gentleman's Magazine, "have ceased to affect the town," and "none but a prostitute could find fault with this tragedy." Fault, however, was found; but the objection was answered in this way; – that "lowness of action was disallowed in a tragedy, but not lowness of character: the circumstances here are all important." One critic holds the story to be improbable; but contemporary journals furnish a parallel. A mercer's apprentice, who sleeps in his master's shop, admits a Milwood, who at a later hour refuses to leave, unless he will cut off satin enough, to make her a robe. Great distress! but, at a happy moment, a virtuous porter arrives, who, on hearing the circumstances, and perhaps having seen the tragedy, lays hold of the lady, who had no more drapery about her than Lady Godiva, claps her into a sack, carries her off, and shoots her into a cart full of grains, standing unguarded. The naughty person is suffocated, if I remember rightly; but the honour of the apprentice is saved!!

"George Barnwell" brought domestic tragedy into fashion, and Charles Johnson closed his dramatic career with "Cœlia, or the perjured Lover," which was a warning to young ladies. Cœlia has a bad and a good lover, – warring principles! She prefers the former, with ruin for a consequence. He lodges her in a bagnio, where she is swept up by the watch, in the arrest of all the inmates, and taken to Bridewell. Thence her very heavy father takes her home, while the good lover kills the bad one in a duel; but the latter politely requests that the avenger will consider Cœlia as having been his lawful wife. The lady, however, dies in her father's arms; the curtain comes down with a "tag," and then on tripped the epilogue, to ridicule all those present who were disposed to profit by the moral of the drama!

Theophilus Cibber's "Lover" was a sort of pendant to the "Nonjuror," – Granger being in the habit of going regularly to church, and daily breaking the ten commandments. The only enjoyment the audience had, – who fought for or against the piece till blood flowed abundantly, – was in the epilogue, in which Mrs. Theophilus Cibber smartly satirised the failings of her lord! The audience relished it amazingly.

These were the principal novelties of the period about which I am treating; but I must add, that at the Haymarket, and at Goodman's Fields, where Giffard had created in Ayliffe Street a commodious theatre, far superior to the old throwster's shop, which had served an early dramatic purpose, in Leman Street, sterling old plays, with operettas and burlesques, were played at irregular seasons. Fielding especially distinguished and sometimes disgraced himself. He had not yet struck upon the vein which made him the first and most philosophical of English novelists; but he rose from his squibs and farces to the achievement of the "Miser," in itself an adaptation, but done by a master hand, and with a double result of triumph, – to the author, and to Griffin, the clergyman's son, who played Lovegold. There were smaller attempts by smaller men, but these I omit, to record the failure of Quin in Lear, – a character which it was temerity to touch, so soon after Boheme had ceased to be the King. Mills made as great a mistake, when, at nearly sixty, he played for the first time – Hamlet. The public cared more for the pantomimic "Harlot's Progress," got up by Theophilus Cibber for Drury Lane, where this piece, preceded by "George Barnwell," must have been as edifying to both sexes as going to church, – a result in which Hogarth had full share with Lillo.

I have noticed the actors departing and departed, and the appearance in a booth of Mrs. Pritchard, a name yet to be famous and respected – like Mrs. Betterton's. So during this period I find a young player, Delane, at Goodman's Fields, who will advance to the first rank; but also a greater than he, Macklin, quietly playing any little part given him at Lincoln's Inn Fields, and securing his firm standing ground by the ability with which he acquitted himself at that house, when, in 1731, he was suddenly called upon to play Brazencourt,[6 - Genest doubts this story, and gives very strong grounds for doing so. Vol. iii. pp. 306-8.] in Fielding's "Coffee House Politicians." He had only four lines to speak; but those he spoke so well, that the true actor was at once discerned. One may fancy the tone and manner in which the rascal exclaimed: – "I was forced to turn her off for stealing four of my shirts, two pair of stockings, and my Common Prayer Book." With such small opportunity, Mr. Maclean, as he was then called, led up to Shylock and Sir Pertinax Macsycophant!

Macklin was the last of the great actors who played at Lincoln's Inn Fields; and he did not leave Covent Garden until after the appearance there of Braham, who was yet among us but yesterday. The first-named house had never rivalled the success of Drury Lane, but Rich had gained enough to enable him to build a new house, and the last play acted in the Fields was Ravenscroft's "Anatomist," one of the worst of a second-rate author of King Charles's days. This was on December 5, 1732. Except for a few nights, irregularly, the old house never opened again. It was the third theatre which had occupied the site since 1662. In 1756 it was converted into a barrack. As late as 1848, it was Copeland's China Repository, when the old stage door and passage, through which Quin had so often passed, still existed.

There had been a long expressed desire for a new theatre; that is, not merely a new edifice, but a new system. The proposal embraced prospective delights for authors, such as they had hitherto never dreamed of. In the published prospectus it was stated that actors and authors should be excluded from the management, which was to be entrusted to individuals, who, at least, knew as little about it, namely, men of quality, taste, figure, and of a fortune varying from ten to twelve hundred pounds. A committee was to be appointed, whose duty it would be, among others, to provide for the efficient reading of new plays, and for their being listened to with reverence and attention. It was calculated that the annual profit of such a theatre would amount to £3000 a year, and that out of it an annuity of £100 might be set aside for every author who had achieved a certain amount of success. In the following year, the Weekly Miscellany and the Grub Street Journal were very eager on the subject of theatrical reform. The former complained that high comedy and dignified tragedy had deserted the stage; remarked that plays were not intended for tradesmen! and denounced pantomimes and harlequinades as infamous. The Journal was rather practical than reflective. Old Exeter Change was then to let, and the Journal proposed that it should be converted into a theatre; adding a suggestion, which required above a century and a quarter to be carried into realisation, namely, that a college should be founded for decayed actors. This college was to form the two wings of the theatre; which wings were to be inhabited respectively by the emeriti among actors, and destitute actresses, whose new home was to be within sound of the old stirring echoes of their joyous days. The direction of the establishment was to be confided to a competent governor and officers selected from among the decayed nobility and gentry; and the glory and profit resulting were calculated at a very high figure indeed!

On one result the Grub Street congratulated itself with unctuous pride. If the stage were reformed, the universities and inns of court would supply actors. Gentlemen, said the Grub Street, with some arrogance, were reluctant to go among the scamps on the stage. Then, as for actresses, Grub rudely declared that every charity school could supply a dozen wenches of more decent education and character, of better health, brighter youth, more brilliant beauty, and more exalted genius, than the common run of hussies then on the stage; and a season's training, he added, would qualify them for business. This was a hard hit at men, among whom there were many well born; and at women, who, whatever they lacked, possessed the happy gifts of health, youth, beauty, and genius; but Grub Street's cynicism was probably founded on the fact, that he was not invited by the men, nor smiled on by the women.

A reform before the curtain was, however, now as loudly called for as behind it. One of the greatest grievances complained of this year was the insolence of the footmen. Occupying their masters' places, they lolled about with their hats on, talked aloud, were insolent on rebuke from the audience, and when they withdrew, on their masters' arrival, to their own gallery, they kept up a continual tumult there, which rendered their presence intolerable. What with the fine gentlemen on the stage, and their lacqueys, selected for their size, personal good looks, or fine hair, in the gallery, the would-be attentive audience in the pit were driven well nigh to desperation.

Much of this last grievance was amended when Covent Garden Theatre was opened on the 7th of December 1732. The first piece acted was Congreve's "Way of the World;" Fainall by Quin, Mirabel by Ryan, who, with Walker, Hippisley, Milward, Chapman, and Neal, Mrs. Younger, Mrs. Bullock, and Mrs. Buchanan, formed the principal members of the company. Gay was not now alive to increase his own and Rich's fortune in this elegant and well-appointed theatre; but Rich produced Gay's operatic piece "Achilles," which represented the hero when lying disguised as a girl. By the treatment of the subject, Gay did not manifest the innocency to which he laid claim, nor show himself either in wit a man, or in simplicity a child. Theobald's adaptation of Webster's "Duchess of Malfy" (Bosola, by Quin; the Duchess, Mrs. Hallam), brought no credit on "King Log." Generally, indeed, the novelties were failures, or unimportant. The only incident worth recording is the debut of Miss Norsa, as Polly. But before greeting new comers, let us say a word or two of greater than they who have gone – of Wilks dead, and, by and by, of Cibber withdrawn. The loss of such actors seemed irreparable; but during this past season there had been a lad among the audience at either house, who was to excel them all. Meanwhile, he studied them deeply, and after times showed that the study had not been profitless to this boy of sixteen, whose name was David Garrick.

Quin's most brilliant days lay between this period and the ripening into manhood of this ardent boy. Before we accompany him through that time of triumph, let us look back at the career of Wilks.

CHAPTER III

ROBERT WILKS

In Mr. Secretary Southwell's office, in Dublin, there sits the young son of one of the Pursuivants of the Lord Lieutenant; he is not writing a précis, he is copying out the parts of a play to be acted in private. His name is Robert Wilks, and the wise folk of Rathfarnham, near Dublin, where he was born in 1665, shake their heads and declare that he will come to no good.

The prophecy seemed fulfilled when the Irish wars between James and William forced him, an unwilling volunteer, into the army of the latter. As clerk to the camp he is exempt from military duty; but he tells a good story, sings a good song, and the officers take him for a very pretty fellow.

Anon, he is back in the old Dublin office. At all stray leisure hours he may, however, be seen fraternising with the actors. He most affects one Richards; he hears Richards repeat his parts, and he speaks the intervening sentences of the other characters. This he does with such effect that Richards swears he is made for an actor, and the young Government clerk, fired by the fame of Betterton, is eager to leap from the stool, which his father considered the basis of his fortune, and to don sock and buskin.

His old comrades of the camp were then about to vary the monotony of life at the Castle, by getting up a play to inaugurate the new theatre, re-opened, like the Temple of Janus, at the restoration of peace. Judicious and worthy Ashbury was the only professional player. Young Wilks had privately acted with him as the Colonel in the "Spanish Friar." Ashbury now offered to play Iago to his Othello, and the officers were well pleased to meet again with their old clerk of the camp. The tragedy was acted accordingly. "How were you pleased?" asked Richards, who thought Wilks took it as a pastime. "I was pleased with all but myself," answered the Government clerk, who was thoroughly in earnest.

Wilks had gone through many months of probation, watched by good Joseph Ashbury, and honest Richards, when one morning the latter called on the young actor, with an introductory letter to Betterton in his hand. Wilks accepted the missive with alacrity, bade farewell to secretaries and managers, and in a brief space of time was sailing over the waters, from the Pigeon House to Parkgate.

The meeting of Wilks and Betterton, in the graceful costume of those days, the young actor travel-worn, a little shabby, anxious, and full of awe; the elder richly attired, kind in manner, his face bright with intellect, and his figure heightened by the dignity of a lofty nature and professional triumph, borne with a lofty modesty, is another subject for a painter.

Betterton instructed the stranger as to the course he should take, and, accordingly, one bright May morning of 1690,[7 - All dates regarding Wilks are difficult to determine; but as his appearance in Othello, previously referred to, took place at the end of the Irish Revolution – (Hitchcock says in December 1691) – this date, 1690, must be wrong. Besides, Rich does not seem to have obtained a footing in the theatre till March 1691.] a handsome young fellow, with a slight Irish accent, presented himself to Christopher Rich as a light comedian. He was a native of Dublin county, he said, had left a promising Government clerkship, to try his fortune on the Irish stage; and, tempted by the renown of Betterton, had come to London to see the great actor, and to be engaged, if that were possible, in the same company.

Christopher Rich was no great judge of acting, but he thought there was something like promise of excellence in the easy and gentleman-like young fellow; and he consented to engage him for Drury Lane, at the encouraging salary of fifteen shillings a week, from which half a crown was to be deducted for instruction in dancing! This left Wilks twelve and sixpence clear weekly income; and he had not long been enjoying it, when he married Miss Knapton, daughter of the Town Clerk of Southampton. Young couple never began life upon more modest means; but happiness, hard work, and good fortune came of it.

For a few years, commencing with 1690,[8 - See previous note.] Wilks laboured unnoticed, at Drury Lane, by all save generous Betterton, who seeing the young actor struggling for fame, with a small salary, and an increasing family, recommended him to return to Ashbury, the Dublin manager, who, at Betterton's word, engaged him at £50 a year,[9 - Chetwood says sixty pounds.] and a clear benefit. "You will be glad to have got him," said Betterton to Ashbury. "You will be sorry you have lost him," said he, to Christopher Rich. Sorry! In three or four years more, Rich was imploring him to return, and offering him Golconda, as salaries were then understood. But Wilks was now the darling of the Dublin people, and, at a later period, so universal was the desire to keep him amongst them, that the Duke of Ormond, Lord Lieutenant, issued a warrant to prohibit his leaving the kingdom. But, on the other hand, £4 per week awaited him in London. It was nearly as high a salary as Betterton's![10 - It was apparently the same salary as Betterton's.] Wilks, however, caring less for the terms than for the opportunity of satisfying his inordinate thirst for fame, contrived to escape, with his wife. With them came a disappointed actor, soon to be a popular dramatist, Farquhar; who, in the year 1699, after opening the season with his "Love and a Bottle," produced his "Constant Couple," with Wilks as Sir Harry Wildair. On the night of Wilks's first appearance, in some lines written for him by Farquhar, and spoken by the debutant, the latter said: —