These Lines alluded to the Revolt of the Persons above mention'd.
Notwithstanding the Acquisition of these two Actors, who were of more Importance than any of those to whose Assistance they came, the Affairs of the Patentees were still in a very creeping Condition;[232] they were now, too late, convinced of their Error in having provok'd their People to this Civil War of the Theatre! quite changed and dismal now was the Prospect before them! their Houses thin, and the Town crowding into a new one! Actors at double Sallaries, and not half the usual Audiences to pay them! And all this brought upon them by those whom their full Security had contemn'd, and who were now in a fair way of making their Fortunes upon the ruined Interest of their Oppressors.
Here, tho' at this time my Fortune depended on the Success of the Patentees, I cannot help in regard to Truth remembring the rude and riotous Havock we made of all the late dramatic Honours of the Theatre! all became at once the Spoil of Ignorance and Self-conceit! Shakespear was defac'd and tortured in every signal Character—Hamlet and Othello lost in one Hour all their good Sense, their Dignity and Fame. Brutus and Cassius became noisy Blusterers, with bold unmeaning Eyes, mistaken Sentiments, and turgid Elocution! Nothing, sure, could more painfully regret[233] a judicious Spectator than to see, at our first setting out, with what rude Confidence those Habits which actors of real Merit had left behind them were worn by giddy Pretenders that so vulgarly disgraced them! Not young Lawyers in hir'd Robes and Plumes at a Masquerade could be less what they would seem, or more aukwardly personate the Characters they belong'd to. If, in all these Acts of wanton Waste, these Insults upon injur'd Nature, you observe I have not yet charged one of them upon myself, it is not from an imaginary Vanity that I could have avoided them; but that I was rather safe, by being too low at that time to be admitted even to my Chance of falling into the same eminent Errors: So that as none of those great Parts ever fell to my Share, I could not be accountable for the Execution of them: Nor indeed could I get one good Part of any kind 'till many Months after; unless it were of that sort which no body else car'd for, or would venture to expose themselves in.[234] The first unintended Favour, therefore, of a Part of any Value, Necessity threw upon me on the following Occasion.
As it has been always judg'd their natural Interest, where there are two Theatres, to do one another as much Mischief as they can, you may imagine it could not be long before this hostile Policy shew'd itself in Action. It happen'd, upon our having Information on a Saturday Morning that the Tuesday after Hamlet was intended to be acted at the other House, where it had not yet been seen, our merry menaging Actors, (for they were now in a manner left to govern themselves) resolv'd at any rate to steal a March upon the Enemy, and take Possession of the same Play the Day before them: Accordingly, Hamlet was given out that Night to be Acted with us on Monday. The Notice of this sudden Enterprize soon reach'd the other House, who in my Opinion too much regarded it; for they shorten'd their first Orders, and resolv'd that Hamlet should to Hamlet be opposed on the same Day; whereas, had they given notice in their Bills that the same Play would have been acted by them the Day after, the Town would have been in no Doubt which House they should have reserved themselves for; ours must certainly have been empty, and theirs, with more Honour, have been crowded: Experience, many Years after, in like Cases, has convinced me that this would have been the more laudable Conduct. But be that as it may; when in their Monday's Bills it was seen that Hamlet was up against us, our Consternation was terrible, to find that so hopeful a Project was frustrated. In this Distress, Powel, who was our commanding Officer, and whose enterprising Head wanted nothing but Skill to carry him through the most desperate Attempts; for, like others of his Cast, he had murder'd many a Hero only to get into his Cloaths. This Powel, I say, immediately called a Council of War, where the Question was, Whether he should fairly face the Enemy, or make a Retreat to some other Play of more probable Safety? It was soon resolved that to act Hamlet against Hamlet would be certainly throwing away the Play, and disgracing themselves to little or no Audience; to conclude, Powel, who was vain enough to envy Betterton as his Rival, proposed to change Plays with them, and that as they had given out the Old Batchelor, and had chang'd it for Hamlet against us, we should give up our Hamlet and turn the Old Batchelor upon them. This Motion was agreed to, Nemine contradicente; but upon Enquiry, it was found that there were not two Persons among them who had ever acted in that Play: But that Objection, it seems, (though all the Parts were to be study'd in six Hours) was soon got over; Powel had an Equivalent, in petto, that would ballance any Deficiency on that Score, which was, that he would play the Old Batchelor himself, and mimick Betterton throughout the whole Part. This happy Thought was approv'd with Delight and Applause, as whatever can be suppos'd to ridicule Merit generally gives joy to those that want it: Accordingly the Bills were chang'd, and at the Bottom inserted,
Printed Books of the Play were sent for in haste, and every Actor had one to pick out of it the Part he had chosen: Thus, while they were each of them chewing the Morsel they had most mind to, some one happening to cast his Eye over the Dramatis Personæ, found that the main Matter was still forgot, that no body had yet been thought of for the Part of Alderman Fondlewife. Here we were all aground agen! nor was it to be conceiv'd who could make the least tolerable Shift with it. This Character had been so admirably acted by Dogget, that though it is only seen in the Fourth Act, it may be no Dispraise to the Play to say it probably ow'd the greatest Part of its Success to his Performance. But, as the Case was now desperate, any Resource was better than none. Somebody must swallow the bitter Pill, or the Play must die. At last it was recollected that I had been heard to say in my wild way of talking, what a vast mind I had to play Nykin, by which Name the Character was more frequently call'd.[235] Notwithstanding they were thus distress'd about the Disposal of this Part, most of them shook their Heads at my being mention'd for it; yet Powel, who was resolv'd at all Hazards to fall upon Betterton, and having no concern for what might become of any one that serv'd his Ends or Purpose, order'd me to be sent for; and, as he naturally lov'd to set other People wrong, honestly said before I came, If the Fool has a mind to blow himself up at once, let us ev'n give him a clear Stage for it. Accordingly the Part was put into my Hands between Eleven and Twelve that Morning, which I durst not refuse, because others were as much straitned in time for Study as myself. But I had this casual Advantage of most of them; that having so constantly observ'd Dogget's Performance, I wanted but little Trouble to make me perfect in the Words; so that when it came to my turn to rehearse, while others read their Parts from their Books, I had put mine in my Pocket, and went thro' the first Scene without it; and though I was more abash'd to rehearse so remarkable a Part before the Actors (which is natural to most young People) than to act before an Audience, yet some of the better-natur'd encouraged me so far as to say they did not think I should make an ill Figure in it: To conclude, the Curiosity to see Betterton mimick'd drew us a pretty good Audience, and Powel (as far as Applause is a Proof of it) was allow'd to have burlesqu'd him very well.[236] As I have question'd the certain Value of Applause, I hope I may venture with less Vanity to say how particular a Share I had of it in the same Play. At my first Appearance one might have imagin'd by the various Murmurs of the Audience, that they were in doubt whether Dogget himself were not return'd, or that they could not conceive what strange Face it could be that so nearly resembled him; for I had laid the Tint of forty Years more than my real Age upon my Features, and, to the most minute placing of an Hair, was dressed exactly like him: When I spoke, the Surprize was still greater, as if I had not only borrow'd his Cloaths, but his Voice too. But tho' that was the least difficult Part of him to be imitated, they seem'd to allow I had so much of him in every other Requisite, that my Applause was, perhaps, more than proportionable: For, whether I had done so much where so little was expected, or that the Generosity of my Hearers were more than usually zealous upon so unexpected an Occasion, or from what other Motive such Favour might be pour'd upon me, I cannot say; but in plain and honest Truth, upon my going off from the first Scene, a much better Actor might have been proud of the Applause that followed me; after one loud Plaudit was ended and sunk into a general Whisper that seem'd still to continue their private Approbation, it reviv'd to a second, and again to a third, still louder than the former. If to all this I add, that Dogget himself was in the Pit at the same time, it would be too rank Affectation if I should not confess that to see him there a Witness of my Reception, was to me as consummate a Triumph as the Heart of Vanity could be indulg'd with. But whatever Vanity I might set upon my self from this unexpected Success, I found that was no Rule to other People's Judgment of me. There were few or no Parts of the same kind to be had; nor could they conceive, from what I had done in this, what other sort of Characters I could be fit for. If I sollicited for any thing of a different Nature, I was answered, That was not in my Way. And what was in my Way it seems was not as yet resolv'd upon. And though I reply'd, That I thought any thing naturally written ought to be in every one's Way that pretended to be an Actor; this was looked upon as a vain, impracticable Conceit of my own. Yet it is a Conceit that, in forty Years farther Experience, I have not yet given up; I still think that a Painter who can draw but one sort of Object, or an Actor that shines but in one Light, can neither of them boast of that ample Genius which is necessary to form a thorough Master of his Art: For tho' Genius may have a particular Inclination, yet a good History-Painter, or a good Actor, will, without being at a loss, give you upon Demand a proper Likeness of whatever nature produces. If he cannot do this, he is only an Actor as the Shoemaker was allow'd a limited Judge of Apelles's Painting, but not beyond his Last. Now, tho' to do any one thing well may have more Merit than we often meet with, and may be enough to procure a Man the Name of a good Actor from the Publick; yet, in my Opinion, it is but still the Name without the Substance. If his Talent is in such narrow Bounds that he dares not step out of them to look upon the Singularities of Mankind, and cannot catch them in whatever Form they present themselves; if he is not Master of the Quicquid agunt homines,[237] &c. in any Shape Human Nature is fit to be seen in; if he cannot change himself into several distinct Persons, so as to vary his whole Tone of Voice, his Motion, his Look and Gesture, whether in high or lower Life, and, at the same time, keep close to those Variations without leaving the Character they singly belong to; if his best Skill falls short of this Capacity, what Pretence have we to call him a complete Master of his Art? And tho' I do not insist that he ought always to shew himself in these various Lights, yet, before we compliment him with that Title, he ought at least, by some few Proofs, to let us see that he has them all in his Power. If I am ask'd, who, ever, arriv'd at this imaginary Excellence, I confess the Instances are very few; but I will venture to name Monfort as one of them, whose Theatrical Character I have given in my last Chapter: For in his Youth he had acted Low Humour with great Success, even down to Tallboy in the Jovial Crew; and when he was in great Esteem as a Tragedian, he was, in Comedy, the most complete Gentleman that I ever saw upon the Stage. Let me add, too, that Betterton, in his declining Age, was as eminent in Sir John Falstaff, as in the Vigour of it, in his Othello.
While I thus measure the Value of an Actor by the Variety of Shapes he is able to throw himself into, you may naturally suspect that I am all this while leading my own Theatrical Character into your Favour: Why really, to speak as an honest Man, I cannot wholly deny it: But in this I shall endeavour to be no farther partial to myself than known Facts will make me; from the good or bad Evidence of which your better Judgment will condemn or acquit me. And to shew you that I will conceal no Truth that is against me, I frankly own that had I been always left to my own choice of Characters, I am doubtful whether I might ever have deserv'd an equal Share of that Estimation which the Publick seem'd to have held me in: Nor am I sure that it was not Vanity in me often to have suspected that I was kept out of the Parts I had most mind to by the Jealousy or Prejudice of my Cotemporaries; some Instances of which I could give you, were they not too slight to be remember'd: In the mean time, be pleas'd to observe how slowly, in my younger Days, my Good-fortune came forward.
My early Success in the Old Batchelor, of which I have given so full an Account, having open'd no farther way to my Advancement, was enough, perhaps, to have made a young Fellow of more Modesty despair; but being of a Temper not easily dishearten'd, I resolv'd to leave nothing unattempted that might shew me in some new Rank of Distinction. Having then no other Resource, I was at last reduc'd to write a Character for myself; but as that was not finish'd till about a Year after, I could not, in the Interim, procure any one Part that gave me the least Inclination to act it; and consequently such as I got I perform'd with a proportionable Negligence. But this Misfortune, if it were one, you are not to wonder at; for the same Fate attended me, more or less, to the last Days of my remaining on the Stage. What Defect in me this may have been owing to, I have not yet had Sense enough to find out; but I soon found out as good a thing, which was, never to be mortify'd at it: Though I am afraid this seeming Philosophy was rather owing to my Inclination to Pleasure than Business. But to my Point. The next Year I produc'd the Comedy of Love's last Shift; yet the Difficulty of getting it to the Stage was not easily surmounted; for, at that time, as little was expected from me, as an Author, as had been from my Pretensions to be an Actor. However, Mr. Southern, the Author of Oroonoko, having had the Patience to hear me read it to him, happened to like it so well that he immediately recommended it to the Patentees, and it was accordingly acted in January 1695.[238] In this Play I gave myself the Part of Sir Novelty, which was thought a good Portrait of the Foppery then in fashion. Here, too, Mr. Southern, though he had approv'd my Play, came into the common Diffidence of me as an Actor: For, when on the first Day of it I was standing, myself, to prompt the Prologue, he took me by the Hand and said, Young Man! I pronounce thy Play a good one; I will answer for its Success,[239] if thou dost not spoil it by thy own Action. Though this might be a fair Salvo for his favourable Judgment of the Play, yet, if it were his real Opinion of me as an Actor, I had the good Fortune to deceive him: I succeeded so well in both, that People seem'd at a loss which they should give the Preference to.[240] But (now let me shew a little more Vanity, and my Apology for it shall come after) the Compliment which my Lord Dorset (then Lord-Chamberlain) made me upon it is, I own, what I had rather not suppress, viz. That it was the best First Play that any Author in his Memory had produc'd; and that for a young Fellow to shew himself such an Actor and such a Writer in one Day, was something extraordinary. But as this noble Lord has been celebrated for his Good-nature, I am contented that as much of this Compliment should be suppos'd to exceed my Deserts as may be imagin'd to have been heighten'd by his generous Inclination to encourage a young Beginner. If this Excuse cannot soften the Vanity of telling a Truth so much in my own Favour, I must lie at the Mercy of my Reader. But there was a still higher Compliment pass'd upon me which I may publish without Vanity, because it was not a design'd one, and apparently came from my Enemies, viz. That, to their certain Knowledge, it was not my own: This Report is taken notice of in my Dedication to the Play.[241] If they spoke Truth, if they knew what other Person it really belong'd to, I will at least allow them true to their Trust; for above forty Years have since past, and they have not yet reveal'd the Secret.[242]
The new Light in which the Character of Sir Novelty had shewn me, one might have thought were enough to have dissipated the Doubts of what I might now be possibly good for. But to whatever Chance my Ill-fortune was due; whether I had still but little Merit, or that the Menagers, if I had any, were not competent Judges of it; or whether I was not generally elbow'd by other Actors (which I am most inclin'd to think the true Cause) when any fresh Parts were to be dispos'd of, not one Part of any consequence was I preferr'd to 'till the Year following: Then, indeed, from Sir John Vanbrugh's favourable Opinion of me, I began, with others, to have a better of myself: For he not only did me Honour as an Author by writing his Relapse as a Sequel or Second Part to Love's last Shift, but as an Actor too, by preferring me to the chief Character in his own Play, (which from Sir Novelty) he had ennobled by the Style of Baron of Foppington. This Play (the Relapse) from its new and easy Turn of Wit, had great Success, and gave me, as a Comedian, a second Flight of Reputation along with it.[243]
As the Matter I write must be very flat or impertinent to those who have no Taste or Concern for the Stage, and may to those who delight in it, too, be equally tedious when I talk of no body but myself, I shall endeavour to relieve your Patience by a Word or two more of this Gentleman, so far as he lent his Pen to the Support of the Theatre.
Though the Relapse was the first Play this agreeable Author produc'd, yet it was not, it seems, the first he had written; for he had at that time by him (more than) all the Scenes that were acted of the Provok'd Wife; but being then doubtful whether he should ever trust them to the Stage, he thought no more of it: But after the Success of the Relapse he was more strongly importun'd than able to refuse it to the Publick. Why the last-written Play was first acted, and for what Reason they were given to different Stages, what follows will explain.
In his first Step into publick Life, when he was but an Ensign and had a Heart above his Income, he happen'd somewhere at his Winter-Quarters, upon a very slender Acquaintance with Sir Thomas Skipwith, to receive a particular Obligation from him which he had not forgot at the Time I am speaking of: When Sir Thomas's Interest in the Theatrical Patent (for he had a large Share in it, though he little concern'd himself in the Conduct of it) was rising but very slowly, he thought that to give it a Lift by a new Comedy, if it succeeded, might be the handsomest Return he could make to those his former Favours; and having observ'd that in Love's last Shift most of the Actors had acquitted themselves beyond what was expected of them, he took a sudden Hint from what he lik'd in that Play, and in less than three Months, in the beginning of April following, brought us the Relapse finish'd; but the Season being then too far advanc'd, it was not acted 'till the succeeding Winter. Upon the Success of the Relapse the late Lord Hallifax, who was a great Favourer of Betterton's Company, having formerly, by way of Family-Amusement, heard the Provok'd Wife read to him in its looser Sheets, engag'd Sir John Vanbrugh to revise it and gave it to the Theatre in Lincolns-Inn Fields. This was a Request not to be refus'd to so eminent a Patron of the Muses as the Lord Hallifax, who was equally a Friend and Admirer of Sir John himself.[244] Nor was Sir Thomas Skipwith in the least disobliged by so reasonable a Compliance: After which, Sir John was agen at liberty to repeat his Civilities to his Friend Sir Thomas, and about the same time, or not long after, gave us the Comedy of Æsop, for his Inclination always led him to serve Sir Thomas. Besides, our Company about this time began to be look'd upon in another Light; the late Contempt we had lain under was now wearing off, and from the Success of two or three new Plays, our Actors, by being Originals in a few good Parts where they had not the Disadvantage of Comparison against them, sometimes found new Favour in those old Plays where others had exceeded them.[245]
Of this Good-fortune perhaps I had more than my Share from the two very different chief Characters I had succeeded in; for I was equally approv'd in Æsop as the Lord Foppington, allowing the Difference to be no less than as Wisdom in a Person deform'd may be less entertaining to the general Taste than Folly and Foppery finely drest: For the Character that delivers Precepts of Wisdom is, in some sort, severe upon the Auditor by shewing him one wiser than himself. But when Folly is his Object he applauds himself for being wiser than the Coxcomb he laughs at: And who is not more pleas'd with an Occasion to commend than accuse himself?
Though to write much in a little time is no Excuse for writing ill; yet Sir John Vanbrugh's Pen is not to be a little admir'd for its Spirit, Ease, and Readiness in producing Plays so fast upon the Neck of one another; for, notwithstanding this quick Dispatch, there is a clear and lively Simplicity in his Wit that neither wants the Ornament of Learning nor has the least Smell of the Lamp in it. As the Face of a fine Woman, with only her Locks loose about her, may be then in its greatest Beauty; such were his Productions, only adorn'd by Nature. There is something so catching to the Ear, so easy to the Memory, in all he writ, that it has been observ'd by all the Actors of my Time, that the Style of no Author whatsoever gave their Memory less trouble than that of Sir John Vanbrugh; which I myself, who have been charg'd with several of his strongest Characters, can confirm by a pleasing Experience. And indeed his Wit and Humour was so little laboured, that his most entertaining Scenes seem'd to be no more than his common Conversation committed to Paper. Here I confess my Judgment at a Loss, whether in this I give him more or less than his due Praise? For may it not be more laudable to raise an Estate (whether in Wealth or Fame) by Pains and honest Industry than to be born to it? Yet if his Scenes really were, as to me they always seem'd, delightful, are they not, thus expeditiously written, the more surprising? let the Wit and Merit of them then be weigh'd by wiser Criticks than I pretend to be: But no wonder, while his Conceptions were so full of Life and Humour, his Muse should be sometimes too warm to wait the slow Pace of Judgment, or to endure the Drudgery of forming a regular Fable to them: Yet we see the Relapse, however imperfect in the Conduct, by the mere Force of its agreeable Wit, ran away with the Hearts of its Hearers; while Love's last Shift, which (as Mr. Congreve justly said of it) had only in it a great many things that were like Wit, that in reality were not Wit: And what is still less pardonable (as I say of it myself) has a great deal of Puerility and frothy Stage-Language in it, yet by the mere moral Delight receiv'd from its Fable, it has been, with the other, in a continued and equal Possession of the Stage for more than forty Years.[246]
As I have already promis'd you to refer your Judgment of me as an Actor rather to known Facts than my own Opinion (which I could not be sure would keep clear of Self-Partiality) I must a little farther risque my being tedious to be as good as my Word. I have elsewhere allow'd that my want of a strong and full Voice soon cut short my Hopes of making any valuable Figure in Tragedy; and I have been many Years since convinced, that whatever Opinion I might have of my own Judgment or Capacity to amend the palpable Errors that I saw our Tragedians most in favour commit; yet the Auditors who would have been sensible of any such Amendments (could I have made them) were so very few, that my best Endeavour would have been but an unavailing Labour, or, what is yet worse, might have appeared both to our Actors and to many Auditors the vain Mistake of my own Self-Conceit: For so strong, so very near indispensible, is that one Article of Voice in the forming a good Tragedian, that an Actor may want any other Qualification whatsoever, and yet have a better chance for Applause than he will ever have, with all the Skill in the World, if his Voice is not equal to it. Mistake me not; I say, for Applause only—but Applause does not always stay for, nor always follow intrinsick Merit; Applause will frequently open, like a young Hound, upon a wrong Scent; and the Majority of Auditors, you know, are generally compos'd of Babblers that are profuse of their Voices before there is any thing on foot that calls for them. Not but, I grant, to lead or mislead the Many will always stand in some Rank of a necessary Merit; yet when I say a good Tragedian, I mean one in Opinion of whose real Merit the best Judges would agree.
Having so far given up my Pretensions to the Buskin, I ought now to account for my having been, notwithstanding, so often seen in some particular Characters in Tragedy, as Iago,[247] Wolsey, Syphax, Richard the Third, &c. If in any of this kind I have succeeded, perhaps it has been a Merit dearly purchas'd; for, from the Delight I seem'd to take in my performing them, half my Auditors have been persuaded that a great Share of the Wickedness of them must have been in my own Nature: If this is true, as true I fear (I had almost said hope) it is, I look upon it rather as a Praise than Censure of my Performance. Aversion there is an involuntary Commendation, where we are only hated for being like the thing we ought to be like; a sort of Praise, however, which few Actors besides my self could endure: Had it been equal to the usual Praise given to Virtue, my Cotemporaries would have thought themselves injur'd if I had pretended to any Share of it: So that you see it has been as much the Dislike others had to them, as Choice that has thrown me sometimes into these Characters. But it may be farther observ'd, that in the Characters I have nam'd, where there is so much close meditated Mischief, Deceit, Pride, Insolence, or Cruelty, they cannot have the least Cast or Profer of the Amiable in them; consequently, there can be no great Demand for that harmonious Sound, or pleasing round Melody of Voice, which in the softer Sentiments of Love, the Wailings of distressful Virtue, or in the Throws and Swellings of Honour and Ambition, may be needful to recommend them to our Pity or Admiration: So that, again, my want of that requisite Voice might less disqualify me for the vicious than the virtuous Character. This too may have been a more favourable Reason for my having been chosen for them—a yet farther Consideration that inclin'd me to them was that they are generally better written, thicker sown with sensible Reflections, and come by so much nearer to common Life and Nature than Characters of Admiration, as Vice is more the Practice of Mankind than Virtue: Nor could I sometimes help smiling at those dainty Actors that were too squeamish to swallow them! as if they were one Jot the better Men for acting a good Man well, or another Man the worse for doing equal Justice to a bad one! 'Tis not, sure, what we act, but how we act what is allotted us, that speaks our intrinsick Value! as in real Life, the wise Man or the Fool, be he Prince or Peasant, will in either State be equally the Fool or the wise Man—but alas! in personated Life this is no Rule to the Vulgar! they are apt to think all before them real, and rate the Actor according to his borrow'd Vice or Virtue.
If then I had always too careless a Concern for false or vulgar Applause, I ought not to complain if I have had less of it than others of my time, or not less of it than I desired: Yet I will venture to say, that from the common weak Appetite of false Applause, many Actors have run into more Errors and Absurdities, than their greatest Ignorance could otherwise have committed:[248] If this Charge is true, it will lie chiefly upon the better Judgment of the Spectator to reform it.
But not to make too great a Merit of my avoiding this common Road to Applause, perhaps I was vain enough to think I had more ways than one to come at it. That, in the Variety of Characters I acted, the Chances to win it were the stronger on my Side—That, if the Multitude were not in a Roar to see me in Cardinal Wolsey, I could be sure of them in Alderman Fondlewife. If they hated me in Iago, in Sir Fopling they took me for a fine Gentleman; if they were silent at Syphax, no Italian Eunuch was more applauded than when I sung in Sir Courtly. If the Morals of Æsop were too grave for them, Justice Shallow was as simple and as merry an old Rake as the wisest of our young ones could wish me.[249] And though the Terror and Detestation raised by King Richard might be too severe a Delight for them, yet the more gentle and modern Vanities of a Poet Bays, or the well-bred Vices of a Lord Foppington, were not at all more than their merry Hearts or nicer Morals could bear.
These few Instances out of fifty more I could give you, may serve to explain what sort of Merit I at most pretended to; which was, that I supplied with Variety whatever I might want of that particular Skill wherein others went before me. How this Variety was executed (for by that only is its value to be rated) you who have so often been my Spectator are the proper Judge: If you pronounce my Performance to have been defective, I am condemn'd by my own Evidence; if you acquit me, these Out-lines may serve for a Sketch of my Theatrical Character.
The State of the Stage continued. The Occasion of Wilks's commencing Actor. His Success. Facts relating to his Theatrical Talent. Actors more or less esteem'd from their private Characters.
The Lincoln's-Inn-Fields Company were now, in 1693,[250] a Common-wealth, like that of Holland, divided from the Tyranny of Spain: But the Similitude goes very little farther; short was the Duration of the Theatrical Power! for tho' Success pour'd in so fast upon them at their first Opening that every thing seem'd to support it self, yet Experience in a Year or two shew'd them that they had never been worse govern'd than when they govern'd themselves! Many of them began to make their particular Interest more their Point than that of the general: and tho' some Deference might be had to the Measures and Advice of Betterton, several of them wanted to govern in their Turn, and were often out of Humour that their Opinion was not equally regarded—But have we not seen the same Infirmity in Senates? The Tragedians seem'd to think their Rank as much above the Comedians as in the Characters they severally acted; when the first were in their Finery, the latter were impatient at the Expence, and look'd upon it as rather laid out upon the real than the fictitious Person of the Actor; nay, I have known in our own Company this ridiculous sort of Regret carried so far, that the Tragedian has thought himself injured when the Comedian pretended to wear a fine Coat! I remember Powel, upon surveying my first Dress in the Relapse, was out of all temper, and reproach'd our Master in very rude Terms that he had not so good a Suit to play Cæsar Borgia[251] in! tho' he knew, at the same time, my Lord Foppington fill'd the House, when his bouncing Borgia would do little more than pay Fiddles and Candles to it: And though a Character of Vanity might be supposed more expensive in Dress than possibly one of Ambition, yet the high Heart of this heroical Actor could not bear that a Comedian should ever pretend to be as well dress'd as himself. Thus again, on the contrary, when Betterton proposed to set off a Tragedy, the Comedians were sure to murmur at the Charge of it: And the late Reputation which Dogget had acquired from acting his Ben in Love for Love, made him a more declared Male-content on such Occasions; he over-valued Comedy for its being nearer to Nature than Tragedy, which is allow'd to say many fine things that Nature never spoke in the same Words; and supposing his Opinion were just, yet he should have consider'd that the Publick had a Taste as well as himself, which in Policy he ought to have complied with. Dogget, however, could not with Patience look upon the costly Trains and Plumes of Tragedy, in which knowing himself to be useless, he thought were all a vain Extravagance: And when he found his Singularity could no longer oppose that Expence, he so obstinately adhered to his own Opinion, that he left the Society of his old Friends, and came over to us at the Theatre-Royal: And yet this Actor always set up for a Theatrical Patriot. This happened in the Winter following the first Division of the (only) Company.[252] He came time enough to the Theatre-Royal to act the Part of Lory in the Relapse, an arch Valet, quite after the French cast, pert and familiar. But it suited so ill with Dogget's dry and closely-natural Manner of acting, that upon the second Day he desired it might be disposed of to another; which the Author complying with, gave it to Penkethman, who, tho' in other Lights much his Inferior, yet this Part he seem'd better to become. Dogget was so immovable in his Opinion of whatever he thought was right or wrong, that he could never be easy under any kind of Theatrical Government, and was generally so warm in pursuit of his Interest that he often out-ran it; I remember him three times, for some Years, unemploy'd in any Theatre, from his not being able to bear, in common with others, the disagreeable Accidents that in such Societies are unavoidable.[253] But whatever Pretences he had form'd for this first deserting from Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, I always thought his best Reason for it was, that he look'd upon it as a sinking Ship; not only from the melancholy Abatement of their Profits, but likewise from the Neglect and Disorder in their Government: He plainly saw that their extraordinary Success at first had made them too confident of its Duration, and from thence had slacken'd their Industry—by which he observ'd, at the same time, the old House, where there was scarce any other Merit than Industry, began to flourish. And indeed they seem'd not enough to consider that the Appetite of the Publick, like that of a fine Gentleman, could only be kept warm by Variety; that let their Merit be never so high, yet the Taste of a Town was not always constant, nor infallible: That it was dangerous to hold their Rivals in too much Contempt;[254] for they found that a young industrious Company were soon a Match for the best Actors when too securely negligent: And negligent they certainly were, and fondly fancied that had each of their different Schemes been follow'd, their Audiences would not so suddenly have fallen off.[255]
But alas! the Vanity of applauded Actors, when they are not crowded to as they may have been, makes them naturally impute the Change to any Cause rather than the true one, Satiety: They are mighty loath to think a Town, once so fond of them, could ever be tired; and yet, at one time or other, more or less thin Houses have been the certain Fate of the most prosperous Actors ever since I remember the Stage! But against this Evil the provident Patentees had found out a Relief which the new House were not yet Masters of, viz. Never to pay their People when the Money did not come in; nor then neither, but in such Proportions as suited their Conveniency. I my self was one of the many who for six acting Weeks together never received one Day's Pay; and for some Years after seldom had above half our nominal Sallaries: But to the best of my Memory, the Finances of the other House held it not above one Season more, before they were reduced to the same Expedient of making the like scanty Payments.[256]
Such was the Distress and Fortune of both these Companies since their Division from the Theatre-Royal; either working at half Wages, or by alternate Successes intercepting the Bread from one another's Mouths;[257] irreconcilable Enemies, yet without Hope of Relief from a Victory on either Side; sometimes both Parties reduced, and yet each supporting their Spirits by seeing the other under the same Calamity.
During this State of the Stage it was that the lowest Expedient was made use of to ingratiate our Company in the Publick Favour: Our Master, who had sometime practised the Law,[258] and therefore loved a Storm better than fair Weather (for it was his own Conduct chiefly that had brought the Patent into these Dangers) took nothing so much to Heart as that Partiality wherewith he imagined the People of Quality had preferr'd the Actors of the other House to those of his own: To ballance this Misfortune, he was resolv'd, at least, to be well with their Domesticks, and therefore cunningly open'd the upper Gallery to them gratis: For before this time no Footman was ever admitted, or had presum'd to come into it, till after the fourth Act was ended: This additional Privilege (the greatest Plague that ever Play-house had to complain of) he conceived would not only incline them to give us a good Word in the respective Families they belong'd to, but would naturally incite them to come all Hands aloft in the Crack of our Applauses: And indeed it so far succeeded, that it often thunder'd from the full Gallery above, while our thin Pit and Boxes below were in the utmost Serenity. This riotous Privilege, so craftily given, and which from Custom was at last ripen'd into Right, became the most disgraceful Nusance that ever depreciated the Theatre.[259] How often have the most polite Audiences, in the most affecting Scenes of the best Plays, been disturb'd and insulted by the Noise and Clamour of these savage Spectators? From the same narrow way of thinking, too, were so many ordinary People and unlick'd Cubs of Condition admitted behind our Scenes for Money, and sometimes without it: The Plagues and Inconveniences of which Custom we found so intolerable, when we afterwards had the Stage in our Hands, that at the Hazard of our Lives we were forced to get rid of them; and our only Expedient was by refusing Money from all Persons without Distinction at the Stage-Door; by this means we preserved to ourselves the Right and Liberty of chusing our own Company there: And by a strict Observance of this Order we brought what had been before debas'd into all the Licenses of a Lobby into the Decencies of a Drawing-Room.[260]
About the distressful Time I was speaking of, in the Year 1696,[261] Wilks, who now had been five Years in great Esteem on the Dublin Theatre, return'd to that of Drury-Lane; in which last he had first set out, and had continued to act some small Parts for one Winter only. The considerable Figure which he so lately made upon the Stage in London, makes me imagine that a particular Account of his first commencing Actor may not be unacceptable to the Curious; I shall, therefore, give it them as I had it from his own Mouth.
In King James's Reign he had been some time employ'd in the Secretary's Office in Ireland (his native Country) and remain'd in it till after the Battle of the Boyn, which completed the Revolution. Upon that happy and unexpected Deliverance, the People of Dublin, among the various Expressions of their Joy, had a mind to have a Play; but the Actors being dispersed during the War, some private Persons agreed in the best Manner they were able to give one to the Publick gratis at the Theatre. The Play was Othello, in which Wilks acted the Moor; and the Applause he received in it warm'd him to so strong an Inclination for the Stage, that he immediately prefer'd it to all his other Views in Life: for he quitted his Post, and with the first fair Occasion came over to try his Fortune in the (then only) Company of Actors in London. The Person who supply'd his Post in Dublin, he told me, raised to himself from thence a Fortune of fifty thousand Pounds. Here you have a much stronger Instance of an extravagant Passion for the Stage than that which I have elsewhere shewn in my self; I only quitted my Hopes of being preferr'd to the like Post for it; but Wilks quitted his actual Possession for the imaginary Happiness which the Life of an Actor presented to him. And, though possibly we might both have better'd our Fortunes in a more honourable Station, yet whether better Fortunes might have equally gratify'd our Vanity (the universal Passion of Mankind) may admit of a Question.
Upon his being formerly received into the Theatre-Royal (which was in the Winter after I had been initiated) his Station there was much upon the same Class with my own; our Parts were generally of an equal Insignificancy, not of consequence enough to give either a Preference: But Wilks being more impatient of his low Condition than I was, (and, indeed, the Company was then so well stock'd with good Actors that there was very little hope of getting forward) laid hold of a more expeditious way for his Advancement, and returned agen to Dublin with Mr. Ashbury, the Patentee of that Theatre, to act in his new Company there: There went with him at the same time Mrs. Butler, whose Character I have already given, and Estcourt, who had not appeared on any Stage, and was yet only known as an excellent Mimick: Wilks having no Competitor in Dublin, was immediately preferr'd to whatever parts his Inclination led him, and his early Reputation on that Stage as soon raised in him an Ambition to shew himself on a better. And I have heard him say (in Raillery of the Vanity which young Actors are liable to) that when the News of Monfort's Death came to Ireland, he from that time thought his Fortune was made, and took a Resolution to return a second time to England with the first Opportunity; but as his Engagements to the Stage where he was were too strong to be suddenly broke from, he return'd not to the Theatre-Royal 'till the Year 1696.[262]
Upon his first Arrival, Powel, who was now in Possession of all the chief Parts of Monfort, and the only Actor that stood in Wilks's way, in seeming Civility offer'd him his choice of whatever he thought fit to make his first Appearance in; though, in reality, the Favour was intended to hurt him. But Wilks rightly judg'd it more modest to accept only of a Part of Powel's, and which Monfort had never acted, that of Palamede in Dryden's Marriage Alamode. Here, too, he had the Advantage of having the Ball play'd into his Hand by the inimitable Mrs. Monfort, who was then his Melantha in the same Play: Whatever Fame Wilks had brought with him from Ireland, he as yet appear'd but a very raw Actor to what he was afterwards allow'd to be: His Faults, however, I shall rather leave to the Judgments of those who then may remember him, than to take upon me the disagreeable Office of being particular upon them, farther than by saying, that in this Part of Palamede he was short of Powel, and miss'd a good deal of the loose Humour of the Character, which the other more happily hit.[263] But however he was young, erect, of a pleasing Aspect, and, in the whole, gave the Town and the Stage sufficient Hopes of him. I ought to make some Allowances, too, for the Restraint he must naturally have been under from his first Appearance upon a new Stage. But from that he soon recovered, and grew daily more in Favour, not only of the Town, but likewise of the Patentee, whom Powel, before Wilks's Arrival, had treated in almost what manner he pleas'd.
Upon this visible Success of Wilks, the pretended Contempt which Powel had held him in began to sour into an open Jealousy; he now plainly saw he was a formidable Rival, and (which more hurt him) saw, too, that other People saw it; and therefore found it high time to oppose and be troublesome to him. But Wilks happening to be as jealous of his Fame as the other, you may imagine such clashing Candidates could not be long without a Rupture: In short, a Challenge, I very well remember, came from Powel, when he was hot-headed; but the next Morning he was cool enough to let it end in favour of Wilks. Yet however the Magnanimity on either Part might subside, the Animosity was as deep in the Heart as ever, tho' it was not afterwards so openly avow'd: For when Powel found that intimidating would not carry his Point; but that Wilks, when provok'd, would really give Battle,[264] he (Powel) grew so out of Humour that he cock'd his Hat, and in his Passion walk'd off to the Service of the Company in Lincoln's-Inn Fields. But there finding more Competitors, and that he made a worse Figure among them than in the Company he came from, he stay'd but one Winter with them[265] before he return'd to his old Quarters in Drury-Lane; where, after these unsuccessful Pushes of his Ambition, he at last became a Martyr to Negligence, and quietly submitted to the Advantages and Superiority which (during his late Desertion) Wilks had more easily got over him.