To conclude, Sir, if by our constant Attendance, our Care, our Anxiety (not to mention the disagreeable Contests we sometimes meet with, both within and without Doors, in the Menagement of our Theatre) we have not only saved the whole from Ruin, which, if we had all follow'd Sir Richard's Example, could not have been avoided; I say, Sir, if we have still made it so valuable an Income to him, without his giving us the least Assistance for several Years past; we hope, Sir, that the poor Labourers that have done all this for Sir Richard will not be thought unworthy of their Hire.
How far our Affairs, being set in this particular Light, might assist our Cause, may be of no great Importance to guess; but the Issue of it was this: That Sir Richard not having made any Objection to what we had charged for Menagement for three Years together; and as our Proceedings had been all transacted in open Day, without any clandestine Intention of Fraud; we were allow'd the Sums in dispute above-mention'd; and Sir Richard not being advised to appeal to the Lord-Chancellor, both Parties paid their own Costs, and thought it their mutual Interest to let this be the last of their Law-suits.
And now, gentle Reader, I ask Pardon for so long an Imposition on your Patience: For tho' I may have no ill Opinion of this Matter myself; yet to you I can very easily conceive it may have been tedious. You are, therefore, at your own Liberty of charging the whole Impertinence of it, either to the Weakness of my Judgment, or the Strength of my Vanity; and I will so far join in your Censure, that I farther confess I have been so impatient to give it you, that you have had it out of its Turn: For, some Years before this Suit was commenced, there were other Facts that ought to have had a Precedence in my History: But that, I dare say, is an Oversight you will easily excuse, provided you afterwards find them worth reading. However, as to that Point I must take my Chance, and shall therefore proceed to speak of the Theatre which was order'd by his late Majesty to be erected in the Great old Hall at Hampton-Court; where Plays were intended to have been acted twice a Week during the Summer-Season. But before the Theatre could be finish'd, above half the Month of September being elapsed, there were but seven Plays acted before the Court returned to London.[154] This throwing open a Theatre in a Royal Palace seem'd to be reviving the Old English hospitable Grandeur, where the lowest Rank of neighbouring Subjects might make themselves merry at Court without being laugh'd at themselves. In former Reigns, Theatrical Entertainments at the Royal Palaces had been perform'd at vast Expence, as appears by the Description of the Decorations in several of Ben. Johnson's Masques in King James and Charles the First's Time;[155] many curious and original Draughts of which, by Sir Inigo Jones, I have seen in the Musæum of our greatest Master and Patron of Arts and Architecture, whom it would be a needless Liberty to name.[156] But when our Civil Wars ended in the Decadence of Monarchy, it was then an Honour to the Stage to have fallen with it: Yet, after the Restoration of Charles II. some faint Attempts were made to revive these Theatrical Spectacles at Court; but I have met with no Account of above one Masque acted there by the Nobility; which was that of Calisto, written by Crown, the Author of Sir Courtly Nice. For what Reason Crown was chosen to that Honour rather than Dryden, who was then Poet-Laureat and out of all Comparison his Superior in Poetry, may seem surprizing: But if we consider the Offence which the then Duke of Buckingham took at the Character of Zimri in Dryden's Absalom, &c. (which might probably be a Return to his Grace's Drawcansir in the Rehearsal) we may suppose the Prejudice and Recommendation of so illustrious a Pretender to Poetry might prevail at Court to give Crown this Preference.[157] In the same Reign the King had his Comedians at Windsor, but upon a particular Establishment; for tho' they acted in St. George's Hall, within the Royal Palace, yet (as I have been inform'd by an Eye-witness) they were permitted to take Money at the Door of every Spectator; whether this was an Indulgence, in Conscience I cannot say; but it was a common Report among the principal Actors, when I first came into the Theatre-Royal, in 1690, that there was then due to the Company from that Court about One Thousand Five Hundred Pounds for Plays commanded, &c. and yet it was the general Complaint, in that Prince's Reign, that he paid too much Ready-money for his Pleasures: But these Assertions I only give as I received them, without being answerable for their Reality. This Theatrical Anecdote, however, puts me in mind of one of a more private nature, which I had from old solemn Boman, the late Actor of venerable Memory.[158] Boman, then a Youth, and fam'd for his Voice, was appointed to sing some Part in a Concert of Musick at the private Lodgings of Mrs. Gwin; at which were only present the King, the Duke of York, and one or two more who were usually admitted upon those detach'd Parties of Pleasure. When the Performance was ended, the King express'd himself highly pleased, and gave it extraordinary Commendations: Then, Sir, said the Lady, to shew you don't speak like a Courtier, I hope you will make the Performers a handsome Present: The King said he had no Money about him, and ask'd the Duke if he had any? To which the Duke reply'd, I believe, Sir, not above a Guinea or two. Upon which the laughing Lady, turning to the People about her, and making bold with the King's common Expression, cry'd, Od's Fish! what Company am I got into!
Whether the reverend Historian of his Own Time,[159] among the many other Reasons of the same Kind he might have for stiling this Fair One the indiscreetest and wildest Creature that ever was in a Court, might know this to be one of them, I can't say: But if we consider her in all the Disadvantages of her Rank and Education, she does not appear to have had any criminal Errors more remarkable than her Sex's Frailty to answer for: And if the same Author, in his latter End of that Prince's Life, seems to reproach his Memory with too kind a Concern for her Support, we may allow that it becomes a Bishop to have had no Eyes or Taste for the frivolous Charms or playful Badinage of a King's Mistress: Yet, if the common Fame of her may be believ'd, which in my Memory was not doubted, she had less to be laid to her Charge than any other of those Ladies who were in the same State of Preferment: She never meddled in Matters of serious Moment, or was the Tool of working Politicians: Never broke into those amorous Infidelities which others in that grave Author are accus'd of; but was as visibly distinguish'd by her particular Personal Inclination to the King, as her Rivals were by their Titles and Grandeur. Give me leave to carry (perhaps the Partiality of) my Observation a little farther. The same Author, in the same Page, 263,[160] tells us, That "Another of the King's Mistresses, the Daughter of a Clergyman, Mrs. Roberts, in whom her first Education had so deep a Root, that though she fell into many scandalous Disorders, with very dismal Adventures in them all, yet a Principle of Religion was so deep laid in her, that tho' it did not restrain her, yet it kept alive in her such a constant Horror of Sin, that she was never easy in an ill course, and died with a great Sense of her former ill Life."
To all this let us give an implicit Credit: Here is the Account of a frail Sinner made up with a Reverend Witness! Yet I cannot but lament that this Mitred Historian, who seems to know more Personal Secrets than any that ever writ before him, should not have been as inquisitive after the last Hours of our other Fair Offender, whose Repentance I have been unquestionably inform'd, appear'd in all the contrite Symptoms of a Christian Sincerity. If therefore you find I am so much concern'd to make this favourable mention of the one, because she was a Sister of the Theatre, why may not—But I dare not be so presumptuous, so uncharitably bold, as to suppose the other was spoken better of merely because she was the Daughter of a Clergyman. Well, and what then? What's all this idle Prate, you may say, to the matter in hand? Why, I say your Question is a little too critical; and if you won't give an Author leave, now and then, to embellish his Work by a natural Reflexion, you are an ungentle Reader. But I have done with my Digression, and return to our Theatre at Hampton-Court, where I am not sure the Reader, be he ever so wise, will meet with any thing more worth his notice: However, if he happens to read, as I write, for want of something better to do, he will go on; and perhaps wonder when I tell him that:
A Play presented at Court, or acted on a publick Stage, seem to their different Auditors a different Entertainment. Now hear my Reason for it. In the common Theatre the Guests are at home, where the politer Forms of Good-breeding are not so nicely regarded: Every one there falls to, and likes or finds fault according to his natural Taste or Appetite. At Court, where the Prince gives the Treat, and honours the Table with his own Presence, the Audience is under the Restraint of a Circle, where Laughter or Applause rais'd higher than a Whisper would be star'd at. At a publick Play they are both let loose, even 'till the Actor is sometimes pleas'd with his not being able to be heard for the Clamour of them. But this Coldness or Decency of Attention at Court I observ'd had but a melancholy Effect upon the impatient Vanity of some of our Actors, who seem'd inconsolable when their flashy Endeavours to please had pass'd unheeded: Their not considering where they were quite disconcerted them; nor could they recover their Spirits 'till from the lowest Rank of the Audience some gaping John or Joan, in the fullness of their Hearts, roar'd out their Approbation: And, indeed, such a natural Instance of honest Simplicity a Prince himself, whose Indulgence knows where to make Allowances, might reasonably smile at, and perhaps not think it the worst part of his Entertainment. Yet it must be own'd, that an Audience may be as well too much reserv'd, as too profuse of their Applause: For though it is possible a Betterton would not have been discourag'd from throwing out an Excellence, or elated into an Error, by his Auditors being too little or too much pleas'd, yet, as Actors of his Judgment are Rarities, those of less Judgment may sink into a Flatness in their Performance for want of that Applause, which from the generality of Judges they might perhaps have some Pretence to: And the Auditor, when not seeming to feel what ought to affect him, may rob himself of something more that he might have had by giving the Actor his Due, who measures out his Power to please according to the Value he sets upon his Hearer's Taste or Capacity. But, however, as we were not here itinerant Adventurers, and had properly but one Royal Auditor to please; after that Honour was attain'd to, the rest of our Ambition had little to look after: And that the King was often pleas'd, we were not only assur'd by those who had the Honour to be near him; but could see it, from the frequent Satisfaction in his Looks at particular Scenes and Passages: One Instance of which I am tempted to relate, because it was at a Speech that might more naturally affect a Sovereign Prince than any private Spectator. In Shakespear's Harry the Eighth, that King commands the Cardinal to write circular Letters of Indemnity into every County where the Payment of certain heavy Taxes had been disputed: Upon which the Cardinal whispers the following Directions to his Secretary Cromwell:
The Solicitude of this Spiritual Minister, in filching from his Master the Grace and Merit of a good Action, and dressing up himself in it, while himself had been Author of the Evil complain'd of, was so easy a Stroke of his Temporal Conscience, that it seem'd to raise the King into something more than a Smile whenever that Play came before him: And I had a more distinct Occasion to observe this Effect; because my proper Stand on the Stage when I spoke the Lines required me to be near the Box where the King usually sate:[161] In a Word, this Play is so true a Dramatick Chronicle of an old English Court, and where the Character of Harry the Eighth is so exactly drawn, even to a humourous Likeness, that it may be no wonder why his Majesty's particular Taste for it should have commanded it three several times in one Winter.
This, too, calls to my Memory an extravagant Pleasantry of Sir Richard Steele, who being ask'd by a grave Nobleman, after the same Play had been presented at Hampton-Court, how the King lik'd it, reply'd, So terribly well, my Lord, that I was afraid I should have lost all my Actors! For I was not sure the King would not keep them to fill the Posts at Court that he saw them so fit for in the Play.
It may be imagin'd that giving Plays to the People at such a distance from London could not but be attended with an extraordinary Expence; and it was some Difficulty, when they were first talk'd of, to bring them under a moderate Sum; I shall therefore, in as few Words as possible, give a Particular of what Establishment they were then brought to, that in case the same Entertainments should at any time hereafter be call'd to the same Place, future Courts may judge how far the Precedent may stand good, or need an Alteration.
Though the stated Fee for a Play acted at Whitehall had been formerly but Twenty Pounds;[162] yet, as that hinder'd not the Company's acting on the same Day at the Publick Theatre, that Sum was almost all clear Profits to them: But this Circumstance not being practicable when they were commanded to Hampton-Court, a new and extraordinary Charge was unavoidable: The Menagers, therefore, not to inflame it, desired no Consideration for their own Labour, farther than the Honour of being employ'd in his Majesty's Commands; and, if the other Actors might be allow'd each their Day's Pay and travelling Charges, they should hold themselves ready to act any Play there at a Day's Warning: And that the Trouble might be less by being divided, the Lord-Chamberlain was pleas'd to let us know that the Houshold-Musick, the Wax Lights, and a Chaise-Marine to carry our moving Wardrobe to every different Play, should be under the Charge of the proper Officers. Notwithstanding these Assistances, the Expence of every Play amounted to Fifty Pounds: Which Account, when all was over, was not only allow'd us, but his Majesty was graciously pleas'd to give the Menagers Two Hundred Pounds more for their particular Performance and Trouble in only seven times acting.[163] Which last Sum, though it might not be too much for a Sovereign Prince to give, it was certainly more than our utmost Merit ought to have hop'd for: And I confess, when I receiv'd the Order for the Money from his Grace the Duke of Newcastle, then Lord-Chamberlain, I was so surpris'd, that I imagin'd his Grace's Favour, or Recommendation of our Readiness or Diligence, must have contributed to so high a Consideration of it, and was offering my Acknowledgments as I thought them due; but was soon stopt short by his Grace's Declaration, That we had no Obligations for it but to the King himself, who had given it from no other Motive than his own Bounty. Now whether we may suppose that Cardinal Wolsey (as you see Shakespear has drawn him) would silently have taken such low Acknowledgments to himself, perhaps may be as little worth consideration as my mentioning this Circumstance has been necessary: But if it is due to the Honour and Integrity of the (then) Lord-Chamberlain, I cannot think it wholly impertinent.
Since that time there has been but one Play given at Hampton-Court, which was for the Entertainment of the Duke of Lorrain; and for which his present Majesty was pleased to order us a Hundred Pounds.
The Reader may now plainly see that I am ransacking my Memory for such remaining Scraps of Theatrical History as may not perhaps be worth his Notice: But if they are such as tempt me to write them, why may I not hope that in this wide World there may be many an idle Soul, no wiser than my self, who may be equally tempted to read them?
I have so often had occasion to compare the State of the Stage to the State of a Nation, that I yet feel a Reluctancy to drop the Comparison, or speak of the one without some Application to the other. How many Reigns, then, do I remember, from that of Charles the Second, through all which there has been, from one half of the People or the other, a Succession of Clamour against every different Ministry for the time being? And yet, let the Cause of this Clamour have been never so well grounded, it is impossible but that some of those Ministers must have been wiser and honester Men than others: If this be true, as true I believe it is, why may I not then say, as some Fool in a French Play does upon a like Occasion—Justement, comme chez nous! 'Twas exactly the same with our Menagement! let us have done never so well, we could not please every body: All I can say in our Defence is, that though many good Judges might possibly conceive how the State of the Stage might have been mended, yet the best of them never pretended to remember the Time when it was better! or could shew us the way to make their imaginary Amendments practicable.
For though I have often allow'd that our best Merit as Actors was never equal to that of our Predecessors, yet I will venture to say, that in all its Branches the Stage had never been under so just, so prosperous, and so settled a Regulation, for forty Years before, as it was at the Time I am speaking of. The most plausible Objection to our Administration seemed to be, that we took no Care to breed up young Actors to succeed us;[164] and this was imputed as the greater Fault, because it was taken for granted that it was a Matter as easy as planting so many Cabbages: Now, might not a Court as well be reproached for not breeding up a Succession of complete Ministers? And yet it is evident, that if Providence or Nature don't supply us with both, the State and the Stage will be but poorly supported. If a Man of an ample Fortune should take it into his Head to give a younger Son an extraordinary Allowance in order to breed him a great Poet, what might we suppose would be the Odds that his Trouble and Money would be all thrown away? Not more than it would be against the Master of a Theatre who should say, this or that young Man I will take care shall be an excellent Actor! Let it be our Excuse, then, for that mistaken Charge against us; that since there was no Garden or Market where accomplished Actors grew or were to be sold, we could only pick them up, as we do Pebbles of Value, by Chance: We may polish a thousand before we can find one fit to make a Figure in the Lid of a Snuff-Box. And how few soever we were able to produce, it is no Proof that we were not always in search of them: Yet, at worst, it was allow'd that our Deficiency of Men Actors was not so visible as our Scarcity of tolerable Women: But when it is consider'd, that the Life of Youth and Beauty is too short for the bringing an Actress to her Perfection; were I to mention, too, the many frail fair Ones I remember who, before they could arrive to their Theatrical Maturity, were feloniously stolen from the Tree, it would rather be thought our Misfortune than our Fault that we were not better provided.[165]
Even the Laws of a Nunnery, we find, are thought no sufficient Security against Temptations without Iron Grates and high Walls to inforce them; which the Architecture of a Theatre will not so properly admit of: And yet, methinks, Beauty that has not those artificial Fortresses about it, that has no Defence but its natural Virtue (which upon the Stage has more than once been met with) makes a much more meritorious Figure in Life than that immur'd Virtue which could never be try'd. But alas! as the poor Stage is but the Show-glass to a Toy-shop, we must not wonder if now and then some of the Bawbles should find a Purchaser.
However, as to say more or less than Truth are equally unfaithful in an Historian, I cannot but own that, in the Government of the Theatre, I have known many Instances where the Merit of promising Actors has not always been brought forward, with the Regard or Favour it had a Claim to: And if I put my Reader in mind, that in the early Part of this Work I have shewn thro' what continued Difficulties and Discouragements I myself made my way up the Hill of Preferment, he may justly call it too strong a Glare of my Vanity: I am afraid he is in the right; but I pretend not to be one of those chaste Authors that know how to write without it: When Truth is to be told, it may be as much Chance as Choice if it happens to turn out in my Favour: But to shew that this was true of others as well as myself, Booth shall be another Instance. In 1707, when Swiney was the only Master of the Company in the Hay-Market; Wilks, tho' he was then but an hired Actor himself, rather chose to govern and give Orders than to receive them; and was so jealous of Booth's rising, that with a high Hand he gave the Part of Pierre, in Venice Preserv'd, to Mills the elder, who (not to undervalue him) was out of Sight in the Pretensions that Booth, then young as he was, had to the same Part:[166] and this very Discouragement so strongly affected him, that not long after, when several of us became Sharers with Swiney, Booth rather chose to risque his Fortune with the old Patentee in Drury-Lane, than come into our Interest, where he saw he was like to meet with more of those Partialities.[167] And yet, again, Booth himself, when he came to be a Menager, would sometimes suffer his Judgment to be blinded by his Inclination to Actors whom the Town seem'd to have but an indifferent Opinion of. This again inclines me to ask another of my odd Questions, viz. Have we never seen the same passions govern a Court! How many white Staffs and great Places do we find, in our Histories, have been laid at the Feet of a Monarch, because they chose not to give way to a Rival in Power, or hold a second Place in his Favour? How many Whigs and Tories have chang'd their Parties, when their good or bad Pretensions have met with a Check to their higher Preferment?
Thus we see, let the Degrees and Rank of Men be ever so unequal, Nature throws out their Passions from the same Motives; 'tis not the Eminence or Lowliness of either that makes the one, when provok'd, more or less a reasonable Creature than the other: The Courtier and the Comedian, when their Ambition is out of Humour, take just the same Measures to right themselves.
If this familiar Stile of talking should, in the Nostrils of Gravity and Wisdom, smell a little too much of the Presumptuous or the Pragmatical, I will at least descend lower in my Apology for it, by calling to my Assistance the old, humble Proverb, viz. 'Tis an ill Bird that, &c. Why then should I debase my Profession by setting it in vulgar Lights, when I may shew it to more favourable Advantages? And when I speak of our Errors, why may I not extenuate them by illustrious Examples? or by not allowing them greater than the greatest Men have been subject to? Or why, indeed, may I not suppose that a sensible Reader will rather laugh than look grave at the Pomp of my Parallels?
Now, as I am tied down to the Veracity of an Historian whose Facts cannot be supposed, like those in a Romance, to be in the Choice of the Author to make them more marvellous by Invention; if I should happen to sink into a little farther Insignificancy, let the simple Truth of what I have farther to say, be my Excuse for it. I am obliged, therefore, to make the Experiment, by shewing you the Conduct of our Theatrical Ministry in such Lights as on various Occasions it appear'd in.
Though Wilks had more Industry and Application than any Actor I had ever known, yet we found it possible that those necessary Qualities might sometimes be so misconducted as not only to make them useless, but hurtful to our Common-wealth;[168] for while he was impatient to be foremost in every thing, he frequently shock'd the honest Ambition of others, whose Measures might have been more serviceable, could his Jealousy have given way to them. His own Regards for himself, therefore, were, to avoid a disagreeable Dispute with him, too often complied with: But this leaving his Diligence to his own Conduct, made us, in some Instances, pay dearly for it: For Example; he would take as much, or more Pains, in forwarding to the Stage the Water-gruel Work of some insipid Author that happen'd rightly to make his Court to him,[169] than he would for the best Play wherein it was not his Fortune to be chosen for the best Character. So great was his Impatience to be employ'd, that I scarce remember, in twenty Years, above one profitable Play we could get to be reviv'd, wherein he found he was to make no considerable Figure, independent of him: But the Tempest having done Wonders formerly, he could not form any Pretensions to let it lie longer dormant: However, his Coldness to it was so visible, that he took all Occasions to postpone and discourage its Progress, by frequently taking up the morning-Stage with something more to his Mind. Having been myself particularly solicitous for the reviving this Play, Dogget (for this was before Booth came into the Menagement) consented that the extraordinary Decorations and Habits should be left to my Care and Direction, as the fittest Person whose Temper could jossle through the petulant Opposition that he knew Wilks would be always offering to it, because he had but a middling Part in it, that of Ferdinand: Notwithstanding which, so it happen'd, that the Success of it shew'd (not to take from the Merit of Wilks) that it was possible to have good Audiences without his extraordinary Assistance. In the first six Days of acting it we paid all our constant and incidental Expence, and shar'd each of us a hundred Pounds: The greatest Profit that in so little a Time had yet been known within my Memory! But, alas! what was paltry Pelf to Glory? That was the darling Passion of Wilks's Heart! and not to advance in it was, to so jealous an Ambition, a painful Retreat, a mere Shade to his Laurels! and the common Benefit was but a poor Equivalent to his want of particular Applause! To conclude, not Prince Lewis of Baden, though a Confederate General with the Duke of Marlborough, was more inconsolable upon the memorable Victory at Blenheim, at which he was not present, than our Theatrical Hero was to see any Action prosperous that he was not himself at the Head of. If this, then, was an Infirmity in Wilks, why may not my shewing the same Weakness in so great a Man mollify the Imputation, and keep his Memory in Countenance.
This laudable Appetite for Fame in Wilks was not, however, to be fed without that constant Labour which only himself was able to come up to: He therefore bethought him of the means to lessen the Fatigue, and at the same time to heighten his Reputation; which was, by giving up now and then a Part to some raw Actor who he was sure would disgrace it, and consequently put the Audience in mind of his superior Performance: Among this sort of Indulgences to young Actors he happen'd once to make a Mistake that set his Views in a clear Light. The best Criticks, I believe, will allow that in Shakespear's Macbeth there are, in the Part of Macduff, two Scenes, the one of Terror, in the second Act, and the other of Compassion, in the fourth, equal to any that dramatick Poetry has produc'd: These Scenes Wilks had acted with Success, tho' far short of that happier Skill and Grace which Monfort had formerly shewn in them.[170] Such a Part, however, one might imagine would be one of the last a good Actor would chuse to part with: But Wilks was of a different Opinion; for Macbeth was thrice as long, had more great Scenes of Action, and bore the Name of the Play: Now, to be a second in any Play was what he did not much care for, and had been seldom us'd to: This Part of Macduff, therefore, he had given to one Williams, as yet no extraordinary, though a promising Actor.[171] Williams, in the Simplicity of his Heart, immediately told Booth what a Favour Wilks had done him. Booth, as he had Reason, thought Wilks had here carried his Indulgence and his Authority a little too far; for as Booth had no better a Part in the same Play than that of Banquo, he found himself too much disregarded in letting so young an Actor take Place of him: Booth, therefore, who knew the Value of Macduff, proposed to do it himself, and to give Banquo to Williams; and to make him farther amends, offer'd him any other of his Parts that he thought might be of Service to him. Williams was content with the Exchange, and thankful for the Promise. This Scheme, indeed, (had it taken Effect) might have been an Ease to Wilks, and possibly no Disadvantage to the Play; but softly——That was not quite what we had a Mind to! No sooner, then, came this Proposal to Wilks, but off went the Masque and out came the Secret! For though Wilks wanted to be eas'd of the Part, he did not desire to be excell'd in it; and as he was not sure but that might be the case if Booth were to act it,[172] he wisely retracted his own Project, took Macduff again to himself, and while he liv'd never had a Thought of running the same Hazard by any farther Offer to resign it.
Here I confess I am at a Loss for a Fact in History to which this can be a Parallel! To be weary of a Post, even to a real Desire of resigning it; and yet to chuse rather to drudge on in it than suffer it to be well supplied (though to share in that Advantage) is a Delicacy of Ambition that Machiavil himself has made no mention of: Or if in old Rome, the Jealousy of any pretended Patriot equally inclin'd to abdicate his Office may have come up to it, 'tis more than my reading remembers.
As nothing can be more impertinent than shewing too frequent a Fear to be thought so, I will, without farther Apology, rather risque that Imputation than not tell you another Story much to the same purpose, and of no more consequence than my last. To make you understand it, however, a little Preface will be necessary.
If the Merit of an Actor (as it certainly does) consists more in the Quality than the Quantity of his Labour; the other Menagers had no visible Reason to think this needless Ambition of Wilks, in being so often and sometimes so unnecessarily employ'd, gave him any Title to a Superiority; especially when our Articles of Agreement had allow'd us all to be equal. But what are narrow Contracts to great Souls with growing Desires? Wilks, therefore, who thought himself lessen'd in appealing to any Judgment but his own, plainly discovered by his restless Behaviour (though he did not care to speak out) that he thought he had a Right to some higher Consideration for his Performance: This was often Booth's Opinion, as well as my own. It must be farther observ'd, that he actually had a separate Allowance of Fifty Pounds a Year for writing our daily Play-Bills for the Printer: Which Province, to say the Truth, was the only one we car'd to trust to his particular Intendance, or could find out for a Pretence to distinguish him. But, to speak a plainer Truth, this Pension, which was no part of our original Agreement, was merely paid to keep him quiet, and not that we thought it due to so insignificant a Charge as what a Prompter had formerly executed. This being really the Case, his frequent Complaints of being a Drudge to the Company grew something more than disagreeable to us: For we could not digest the Imposition of a Man's setting himself to work, and then bringing in his own Bill for it. Booth, therefore, who was less easy than I was to see him so often setting a Merit upon this Quantity of his Labour, which neither could be our Interest or his own to lay upon him, proposed to me that we might remove this pretended Grievance by reviving some Play that might be likely to live, and be easily acted, without Wilks's having any Part in it. About this time an unexpected Occasion offer'd itself to put our Project in practice: What follow'd our Attempt will be all (if any thing be) worth Observation in my Story.
In 1725 we were call'd upon, in a manner that could not be resisted, to revive the Provok'd Wife,[173] a Comedy which, while we found our Account in keeping the Stage clear of those loose Liberties it had formerly too justly been charg'd with, we had laid aside for some Years.[174] The Author, Sir John Vanbrugh, who was conscious of what it had too much of, was prevail'd upon[175] to substitute a new-written Scene in the Place of one in the fourth Act, where the Wantonness of his Wit and Humour had (originally) made a Rake[176] talk like a Rake in the borrow'd Habit of a Clergyman: To avoid which Offence, he clapt the same Debauchee into the Undress of a Woman of Quality: Now the Character and Profession of a Fine Lady not being so indelibly sacred as that of a Churchman, whatever Follies he expos'd in the Petticoat kept him at least clear of his former Prophaneness, and were now innocently ridiculous to the Spectator.
This Play being thus refitted for the Stage, was, as I have observ'd, call'd for from Court and by many of the Nobility.[177] Now, then, we thought, was a proper time to come to an Explanation with Wilks: Accordingly, when the Actors were summon'd to hear the Play read and receive their Parts, I address'd myself to Wilks, before them all, and told him, That as the Part of Constant, which he seem'd to chuse, was a Character of less Action than he generally appear'd in, we thought this might be a good Occasion to ease himself by giving it to another.—Here he look'd grave.—That the Love-Scenes of it were rather serious than gay or humourous, and therefore might sit very well upon Booth.——Down dropt his Brow, and furl'd were his Features.—That if we were never to revive a tolerable Play without him, what would become of us in case of his Indisposition?——Here he pretended to stir the Fire.—That as he could have no farther Advantage or Advancement in his Station to hope for, his acting in this Play was but giving himself an unprofitable Trouble, which neither Booth or I desired to impose upon him.—Softly.—Now the Pill began to gripe him.——In a Word, this provoking Civility plung'd him into a Passion which he was no longer able to contain; out it came, with all the Equipage of unlimited Language that on such Occasions his Displeasure usually set out with; but when his Reply was stript of those Ornaments, it was plainly this: That he look'd upon all I had said as a concerted Design, not only to signalize our selves by laying him aside, but a Contrivance to draw him into the Disfavour of the Nobility, by making it suppos'd his own Choice that he did not act in a Play so particularly ask'd for; but we should find he could stand upon his own Bottom, and it was not all our little caballing should get our Ends of him: To which I answer'd with some Warmth, That he was mistaken in our Ends; for Those, Sir, said I, you have answer'd already by shewing the Company you cannot bear to be left out of any Play. Are not you every Day complaining of your being over-labour'd? And now, upon our first offering to ease you, you fly into a Passion, and pretend to make that a greater Grievance than t'other: But, Sir, if your being In or Out of the Play is a Hardship, you shall impose it upon yourself: The Part is in your Hand, and to us it is a Matter of Indifference now whether you take it or leave it. Upon this he threw down the Part upon the Table, cross'd his Arms, and sate knocking his Heel upon the Floor, as seeming to threaten most when he said least; but when no body persuaded him to take it up again, Booth, not chusing to push the matter too far, but rather to split the difference of our Dispute, said, That, for his Part, he saw no such great matter in acting every Day; for he believed it the wholsomest Exercise in the World; it kept the Spirits in motion, and always gave him a good Stomach. Though this was, in a manner, giving up the Part to Wilks, yet it did not allow he did us any Favour in receiving it. Here I observ'd Mrs. Oldfield began to titter behind her Fan: But Wilks being more intent upon what Booth had said, reply'd, Every one could best feel for himself, but he did not pretend to the Strength of a Pack-horse; therefore if Mrs. Oldfield would chuse any body else to play with her,[178] he should be very glad to be excus'd: This throwing the Negative upon Mrs. Oldfield was, indeed, a sure way to save himself; which I could not help taking notice of, by saying, It was making but an ill Compliment to the Company to suppose there was but one Man in it fit to play an ordinary Part with her. Here Mrs. Oldfield got up, and turning me half round to come forward, said with her usual Frankness, Pooh! you are all a Parcel of Fools, to make such a rout about nothing! Rightly judging that the Person most out of humour would not be more displeas'd at her calling us all by the same Name. As she knew, too, the best way of ending the Debate would be to help the Weak; she said, she hop'd Mr. Wilks would not so far mind what had past as to refuse his acting the Part with her; for tho' it might not be so good as he had been us'd to, yet she believed those who had bespoke the Play would expect to have it done to the best Advantage, and it would make but an odd Story abroad if it were known there had been any Difficulty in that point among ourselves. To conclude, Wilks had the Part, and we had all we wanted; which was an Occasion to let him see, that the Accident or Choice of one Menager's being more employ'd than another would never be allow'd a Pretence for altering our Indentures, or his having an extraordinary Consideration for it.[179]
However disagreeable it might be to have this unsociable Temper daily to deal with; yet I cannot but say, that from the same impatient Spirit that had so often hurt us, we still drew valuable Advantages: For as Wilks seem'd to have no Joy in Life beyond his being distinguish'd on the Stage, we were not only sure of his always doing his best there himself, but of making others more careful than without the Rod of so irascible a Temper over them they would have been. And I much question if a more temperate or better Usage of the hired Actors could have so effectually kept them to Order. Not even Betterton (as we have seen) with all his good Sense, his great Fame and Experience, could, by being only a quiet Example of Industry himself, save his Company from falling, while neither Gentleness could govern or the Consideration of their common Interest reform them.[180] Diligence, with much the inferior Skill or Capacity, will beat the best negligent Company that ever came upon a Stage. But when a certain dreaming Idleness or jolly Negligence of Rehearsals gets into a Body of the Ignorant and Incapable (which before Wilks came into Drury-Lane, when Powel was at the Head of them, was the Case of that Company) then, I say, a sensible Spectator might have look'd upon the fallen Stage as Portius in the Play of Cato does upon his ruin'd Country, and have lamented it in (something near) the same Exclamation, viz.
Of this wicked Doings Dryden, too, complains in one of his Prologues at that time, where, speaking of such lewd Actors, he closes a Couplet with the following Line, viz.
And murder Plays, which they miscall Reviving.[182]
The great Share, therefore, that Wilks, by his exemplary Diligence and Impatience of Neglect in others, had in the Reformation of this Evil, ought in Justice to be remember'd; and let my own Vanity here take Shame to itself when I confess, That had I had half his Application, I still think I might have shewn myself twice the Actor that in my highest State of Favour I appear'd to be. But if I have any Excuse for that Neglect (a Fault which, if I loved not Truth, I need not have mentioned) it is that so much of my Attention was taken up in an incessant Labour to guard against our private Animosities, and preserve a Harmony in our Menagement, that I hope and believe it made ample Amends for whatever Omission my Auditors might sometimes know it cost me some pains to conceal. But Nature takes care to bestow her Blessings with a more equal Hand than Fortune does, and is seldom known to heap too many upon one Man: One tolerable Talent in an Individual is enough to preserve him from being good for nothing; and, if that was not laid to my Charge as an Actor, I have in this Light too, less to complain of than to be thankful for.
Before I conclude my History, it may be expected I should give some further View of these my last Cotemporaries of the Theatre, Wilks and Booth, in their different acting Capacities. If I were to paint them in the Colours they laid upon one another, their Talents would not be shewn with half the Commendation I am inclined to bestow upon them, when they are left to my own Opinion. But People of the same Profession are apt to see themselves in their own clear Glass of Partiality, and look upon their Equals through a Mist of Prejudice. It might be imagin'd, too, from the difference of their natural Tempers, that Wilks should have been more blind to the Excellencies of Booth than Booth was to those of Wilks; but it was not so: Wilks would sometimes commend Booth to me; but when Wilks excell'd, the other was silent:[183] Booth seem'd to think nothing valuable that was not tragically Great or Marvellous: Let that be as true as it may; yet I have often thought that, from his having no Taste of Humour himself,[184] he might be too much inclin'd to depreciate the Acting of it in others. The very slight Opinion which in private Conversation with me he had of Wilks's acting Sir Harry Wildair, was certainly more than could be justified; not only from the general Applause that was against that Opinion (tho' Applause is not always infallible) but from the visible Capacity which must be allow'd to an Actor, that could carry such slight Materials to such a height of Approbation: For, though the Character of Wildair scarce in any one Scene will stand against a just Criticism; yet in the Whole there are so many gay and false Colours of the fine Gentleman, that nothing but a Vivacity in the Performance proportionably extravagant could have made them so happily glare upon a common Audience.
Wilks, from his first setting out, certainly form'd his manner of Acting upon the Model of Monfort;[185] as Booth did his on that of Betterton. But——Haud passibus æquis: I cannot say either of them came up to their Original. Wilks had not that easy regulated Behaviour, or the harmonious Elocution of the One, nor Booth that Conscious Aspect of Intelligence nor requisite Variation of Voice that made every Line the Other spoke seem his own natural self-deliver'd Sentiment: Yet there is still room for great Commendation of Both the first mentioned; which will not be so much diminish'd in my having said they were only excell'd by such Predecessors, as it will be rais'd in venturing to affirm it will be a longer time before any Successors will come near them. Thus one of the greatest Praises given to Virgil is, that no Successor in Poetry came so near Him as He himself did to Homer.
Though the Majority of Publick Auditors are but bad judges of Theatrical Action, and are often deceiv'd into their Approbation of what has no solid Pretence to it; yet, as there are no other appointed Judges to appeal to, and as every single Spectator has a Right to be one of them, their Sentence will be definitive, and the Merit of an Actor must, in some degree, be weigh'd by it: By this Law, then, Wilks was pronounced an Excellent Actor; which, if the few true Judges did not allow him to be, they were at least too candid to slight or discourage him. Booth and he were Actors so directly opposite in their Manner, that if either of them could have borrowed a little of the other's Fault, they would Both have been improv'd by it: If Wilks had sometimes too violent a Vivacity; Booth as often contented himself with too grave a Dignity: The Latter seem'd too much to heave up his Words, as the other to dart them to the Ear with too quick and sharp a Vehemence: Thus Wilks would too frequently break into the Time and Measure of the Harmony by too many spirited Accents in one Line; and Booth, by too solemn a Regard to Harmony, would as often lose the necessary Spirit of it: So that (as I have observ'd) could we have sometimes rais'd the one and sunk the other, they had both been nearer to the mark. Yet this could not be always objected to them: They had their Intervals of unexceptionable Excellence, that more than balanc'd their Errors. The Master-piece of Booth was Othello: There he was most in Character, and seemed not more to animate or please himself in it than his Spectators. 'Tis true he owed his last and highest Advancement to his acting Cato: But it was the Novelty and critical Appearance of that Character that chiefly swell'd the Torrent of his Applause: For let the Sentiments of a declaiming Patriot have all the Sublimity that Poetry can raise them to; let them be deliver'd, too, with the utmost Grace and Dignity of Elocution that can recommend them to the Auditor: Yet this is but one Light wherein the Excellence of an Actor can shine: But in Othello we may see him in the Variety of Nature: There the Actor is carried through the different Accidents of domestick Happiness and Misery, occasionally torn and tortur'd by the most distracting Passion that can raise Terror or Compassion in the Spectator. Such are the Characters that a Master Actor would delight in; and therefore in Othello I may safely aver that Booth shew'd himself thrice the Actor that he could in Cato. And yet his Merit in acting Cato need not be diminish'd by this Comparison.
Wilks often regretted that in Tragedy he had not the full and strong Voice of Booth to command and grace his Periods with: But Booth us'd to say, That if his Ear had been equal to it, Wilks had Voice enough to have shewn himself a much better Tragedian. Now, though there might be some Truth in this; yet these two Actors were of so mixt a Merit, that even in Tragedy the Superiority was not always on the same side: In Sorrow, Tenderness, or Resignation, Wilks plainly had the Advantage, and seem'd more pathetically to feel, look, and express his Calamity: But in the more turbulent Transports of the Heart, Booth again bore the Palm, and left all Competitors behind him. A Fact perhaps will set this Difference in a clearer Light. I have formerly seen Wilks act Othello,[186] and Booth the Earl of Essex,[187] in which they both miscarried: Neither the exclamatory Rage or Jealousy of the one, or the plaintive Distresses of the other, were happily executed, or became either of them; though in the contrary Characters they were both excellent.
When an Actor becomes and naturally Looks the Character he stands in, I have often observ'd it to have had as fortunate an Effect, and as much recommended him to the Approbation of the common Auditors, as the most correct or judicious Utterance of the Sentiments: This was strongly visible in the favourable Reception Wilks met with in Hamlet, where I own the Half of what he spoke was as painful to my Ear as every Line that came from Betterton was charming;[188] and yet it is not impossible, could they have come to a Poll, but Wilks might have had a Majority of Admirers: However, such a Division had been no Proof that the Præeminence had not still remain'd in Betterton; and if I should add that Booth, too, was behind Betterton in Othello, it would be saying no more than Booth himself had Judgment and Candour enough to know and confess. And if both he and Wilks are allow'd, in the two above-mention'd Characters, a second Place to so great a Master as Betterton, it will be a Rank of Praise that the best Actors since my Time might have been proud of.
I am now come towards the End of that Time through which our Affairs had long gone forward in a settled Course of Prosperity. From the Visible Errors of former Menagements we had at last found the necessary Means to bring our private Laws and Orders into the general Observance and Approbation of our Society: Diligence and Neglect were under an equal Eye; the one never fail'd of its Reward, and the other, by being very rarely excus'd, was less frequently committed. You are now to consider us in our height of Favour, and so much in fashion with the politer Part of the Town, that our House every Saturday seem'd to be the appointed Assembly of the First Ladies of Quality: Of this, too, the common Spectators were so well appriz'd, that for twenty Years successively, on that Day, we scarce ever fail'd of a crowded Audience; for which Occasion we particularly reserv'd our best Plays, acted in the best Manner we could give them.[189]
Among our many necessary Reformations; what not a little preserv'd to us the Regard of our Auditors, was the Decency of our clear Stage;[190] from whence we had now, for many Years, shut out those idle Gentlemen, who seem'd more delighted to be pretty Objects themselves, than capable of any Pleasure from the Play: Who took their daily Stands where they might best elbow the Actor, and come in for their Share of the Auditor's Attention. In many a labour'd Scene of the warmest Humour and of the most affecting Passion have I seen the best Actors disconcerted, while these buzzing Muscatos have been fluttering round their Eyes and Ears. How was it possible an Actor, so embarrass'd, should keep his Impatience from entering into that different Temper which his personated Character might require him to be Master of?
Future Actors may perhaps wish I would set this Grievance in a stronger Light; and, to say the Truth, where Auditors are ill-bred, it cannot well be expected that Actors should be polite. Let me therefore shew how far an Artist in any Science is apt to be hurt by any sort of Inattention to his Performance.
While the famous Corelli,[191] at Rome, was playing some Musical Composition of his own to a select Company in the private Apartment of his Patron-Cardinal, he observed, in the height of his Harmony, his Eminence was engaging in a detach'd Conversation; upon which he suddenly stopt short, and gently laid down his Instrument: The Cardinal, surpriz'd at the unexpected Cessation, ask'd him if a String was broke? To which Corelli, in an honest Conscience of what was due to his Musick, reply'd, No, Sir, I was only afraid I interrupted Business. His Eminence, who knew that a Genius could never shew itself to Advantage where it had not its proper Regards, took this Reproof in good Part, and broke off his Conversation to hear the whole Concerto play'd over again.
Another Story will let us see what Effect a mistaken Offence of this kind had upon the French Theatre; which was told me by a Gentleman of the long Robe, then at Paris, and who was himself the innocent Author of it. At the Tragedy of Zaire, while the celebrated Mademoiselle Gossin[192] was delivering a Soliloquy, this Gentleman was seiz'd with a sudden Fit of Coughing, which gave the Actress some Surprize and Interruption; and his Fit increasing, she was forced to stand silent so long, that it drew the Eyes of the uneasy Audience upon him; when a French Gentleman, leaning forward to him, ask'd him, If this Actress had given him any particular Offence, that he took so publick an Occasion to resent it? The English Gentleman, in the utmost Surprize, assured him, So far from it, that he was a particular Admirer of her Performance; that his Malady was his real Misfortune, and if he apprehended any Return of it, he would rather quit his Seat than disoblige either the Actress or the Audience.
This publick Decency in their Theatre I have myself seen carried so far, that a Gentleman in their second Loge, or Middle-Gallery, being observ'd to sit forward himself while a Lady sate behind him, a loud Number of Voices call'd out to him from the Pit, Place à la Dame! Place à la Dame! When the Person so offending, either not apprehending the Meaning of the Clamour, or possibly being some John Trott who fear'd no Man alive; the Noise was continued for several Minutes; nor were the Actors, though ready on the Stage, suffer'd to begin the Play 'till this unbred Person was laugh'd out of his Seat, and had placed the Lady before him.
Whether this Politeness observ'd at Plays may be owing to their Clime, their Complexion, or their Government, is of no great Consequence; but if it is to be acquired, methinks it is pity our accomplish'd Countrymen, who every Year import so much of this Nation's gawdy Garniture, should not, in this long Course of our Commerce with them, have brought over a little of their Theatrical Good-breeding too.
I have been the more copious upon this Head, that it might be judg'd how much it stood us upon to have got rid of those improper Spectators I have been speaking of: For whatever Regard we might draw by keeping them at a Distance from our Stage, I had observed, while they were admitted behind our Scenes, we but too often shew'd them the wrong Side of our Tapestry; and that many a tolerable Actor was the less valued when it was known what ordinary Stuff he was made of.
Among the many more disagreeable Distresses that are almost unavoidable in the Government of a Theatre, those we so often met with from the Persecution of bad Authors were what we could never intirely get rid of. But let us state both our Cases, and then see where the Justice of the Complaint lies. 'Tis true, when an ingenious Indigent had taken perhaps a whole Summer's Pains, invitâ Minervâ, to heap up a Pile of Poetry into the Likeness of a Play, and found, at last, the gay Promise of his Winter's Support was rejected and abortive, a Man almost ought to be a Poet himself to be justly sensible of his Distress! Then, indeed, great Allowances ought to be made for the severe Reflections he might naturally throw upon those pragmatical Actors, who had no Sense or Taste of good Writing. And yet, if his Relief was only to be had by his imposing a bad Play upon a good Set of Actors, methinks the Charity that first looks at home has as good an Excuse for its Coldness as the unhappy Object of it had a Plea for his being reliev'd at their Expence. But immediate Want was not always confess'd their Motive for Writing; Fame, Honour, and Parnassian Glory had sometimes taken a romantick Turn in their Heads; and then they gave themselves the Air of talking to us in a higher Strain—Gentlemen were not to be so treated! the Stage was like to be finely govern'd when Actors pretended to be Judges of Authors, &c. But, dear Gentlemen! if they were good Actors, why not? How should they have been able to act, or rise to any Excellence, if you supposed them not to feel or understand what you offer'd them? Would you have reduc'd them to the meer Mimickry of Parrots and Monkies, that can only prate, and play a great many pretty Tricks, without Reflection? Or how are you sure your Friend, the infallible Judge to whom you read your fine Piece, might be sincere in the Praises he gave it? Or, indeed, might not you have thought the best Judge a bad one if he had disliked it? Consider, too, how possible it might be that a Man of Sense would not care to tell you a Truth he was sure you would not believe! And if neither Dryden, Congreve, Steele, Addison, nor Farquhar, (if you please) ever made any Complaint of their Incapacity to judge, why is the World to believe the Slights you have met with from them are either undeserved or particular? Indeed! indeed, I am not conscious that we ever did you or any of your Fraternity the least Injustice![193] Yet this was not all we had to struggle with; to supersede our Right of rejecting, the Recommendation, or rather Imposition, of some great Persons (whom it was not Prudence to disoblige) sometimes came in with a high Hand to support their Pretensions; and then, cout que cout, acted it must be! So when the short Life of this wonderful Nothing was over, the Actors were perhaps abus'd in a Preface for obstructing the Success of it, and the Town publickly damn'd us for our private Civility.[194]
I cannot part with these fine Gentlemen Authors without mentioning a ridiculous Disgraccia that befel one of them many Years ago: This solemn Bard, who, like Bays, only writ for Fame and Reputation; on the second Day's publick Triumph of his Muse, marching in a stately full-bottom'd Perriwig into the Lobby of the House, with a Lady of Condition in his Hand, when raising his Voice to the Sir Fopling Sound, that became the Mouth of a Man of Quality, and calling out—Hey! Box-keeper, where is my Lady such-a-one's Servant, was unfortunately answer'd by honest John Trott, (which then happen'd to be the Box-keeper's real Name) Sir, we have dismiss'd, there was not Company enough to pay Candles. In which mortal Astonishment it may be sufficient to leave him. And yet had the Actors refus'd this Play, what Resentment might have been thought too severe for them?
Thus was our Administration often censured for Accidents which were not in our Power to prevent: A possible Case in the wisest Governments. If, therefore, some Plays have been preferr'd to the Stage that were never fit to have been seen there, let this be our best Excuse for it. And yet, if the Merit of our rejecting the many bad Plays that press'd hard upon us were weigh'd against the few that were thus imposed upon us, our Conduct in general might have more Amendments of the Stage to boast of than Errors to answer for. But it is now Time to drop the Curtain.
During our four last Years there happen'd so very little unlike what has been said before, that I shall conclude with barely mentioning those unavoidable Accidents that drew on our Dissolution. The first, that for some Years had led the way to greater, was the continued ill State of Health that render'd Booth[195] incapable of appearing on the Stage. The next was the Death of Mrs. Oldfield,[196] which happen'd on the 23d of October, 1730. About the same Time, too, Mrs. Porter, then in her highest Reputation for Tragedy, was lost to us by the Misfortune of a dislocated Limb from the overturning of a Chaise.[197] And our last Stroke was the Death of Wilks, in September the Year following, 1731.[198]