THE ROMANCE THE ENGLISH STAGE BY PERCY FITZGERALD. M.A.. F.S.A.. PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. i75- INSCRIBED CHARLES JAMES MATHEWS, ESQ. 2039458 PREFACE. THERE are several collections in which the lives of the English actors and actresses have been set out. Of these the most important are Gait's "Lives of the Players," in which the substance, without the form, of the various the- atrical autobiographies has been given, mingled, however, with much that is apocryphal ; and the more recent " His- tory of the English Stage," by Dr. Doran, which is brought down almost to our own day. Nothing, however, hitherto published has professed to place before the public what may be considered the most interesting and characteristic feature of theatrical memoirs. Their chief attraction is found to be the air of personal confession, and simplicity of the revelations furnished the natvftf, the humor, and almost garrulous confidence ; above all, the quaint turn of expression in which every- thing is unfolded. A selection of such entertaining pas- sages seemed likely to present a better idea of the player's nature and character, than the more official and historical accounts with which the public is already familiar; and this, it is hoped, has been attempted with some success in the following pages. The carrying out of such a design naturally required i* 5 6 PREFACE. large space, for the list of theatrical autobiographies is a long one. It was necessary, therefore, that some principle should direct the selection. And this has been applied by admitting such narratives only as should illustrate some special type of life or character. Thus, the story of the unfortunate Mossop exhibits the proud and luckless player, that of Mrs. Bellamy, the career of a gay and frivolous stage beauty. Tate Wilkinson's shows the pleasant vaga- bondage of a "wandering patentee:" while the pathetic history of Gerald Griffin sets out the weary struggles of a young dramatist in the world of London. The fate of Miss Ray, and the romance of Miss Smithson, illustrate the tragic and melodramatic sides of stage life respectively ; while the career of Elliston introduces us to the type of the airy Comedian, who plays as consistently in every-day life as though he were at the footlights. Sketches of the exploded "strolling" days, with pictures of what came next in degree the respectable provincial Theatre have been added : and thus a tolerably complete view is obtained of the romance and humors of a fashion of life that has now almost passed away. There are other stories which, on the ground of romance, might fairly claim a place, such as those of Macklin, Savage, Mrs. Inchbald, George Soane, and perhaps Mrs. Jordan. But space was wanting. What has been given will, it is hoped, be found sufficient to furnish a good idea of the player's life, character, and feelings, unfolded in his own words. LONDON, 1874. CONTENTS. CHAPTER L THEATRICAL MEMOIRS CHAPTER IL THE STROLLER'S LIFE CHAPTER IIL CHAPTER IV. THE STORY OF GEORGE AXXE BELLAMY 76 CHAPTER V. THE ADVE3JTCRES OF TATE WttlOXSOX 144 CHAPTER VL GREAT DEBCTS: GARRICK SIDDOI6 KEAX . . . .219 CHAPTER VIL "THE ILL-FATED MOSSOP 51 228 CHAPTER VIIL LOVE AXD DEATH UPON THE STAGE 240 CHAPTER IX. THE IRELAXD FORGERIES 278 CHAPTER X. 29! 7 8 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XI. PAGE GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE 33! CHAPTER XII. ELLISTON 361 CHAPTER XIII. GERALD GRIFFIN 401 CHAPTER XIV. THE YOUNG ROSCIUS 423 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. CHAPTER I. THEATRICAL MEMOIRS. THE angular fascination which the stage has alwajs exercised, holding under its spell every race and genera- tion, from the rudest to the most refined, has been thought not unworthy the serious inquiry of the philosopher. There is, indeed, nothing in human society so deeply rooted, or so independent of taste or fashion : and the relish for stage entertainment is now as keen and even passionate as it was in the remote days when the finest actors flourished. With- out entering very deeply into the matter, it could be shown in a few words that this ineradicable taste is the same as that which finds a gratification in the thrilling excitement of politics, in following the skirmishings and varying for- tunes of a trial in the courts, or even the lively skirmishing of conversation. These are all so many shapes of histrionic entertainment, for the most part imperfect and wanting dramatic power, but, so far as they go, offering glimpses of genuine interest. When a really exciting situation is evolved spontaneously and naturally in any of these arenas, nothing can exceed the avidity with which it is followed. Time itself is annihilated, for the hours fly by like mo- ments: the weight of existence, for those at least on whom it lies heavily, is lifted off: and even surrounding acces- A* 9 10 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. series, meagre and squalid though they be, become almost glorified. But for the average mass of mankind this sort of enjoyment is out of reach. The opportunities are few ; for "the people" is busy with material interests, while its intellect and cultivation is of a homely order. Indeed, the pure crowd cannot hope to see anything more dramatic than a street commotion, an altercation, or a public-house discussion. Eves among the cultivated and opulent classes, the dramatic surprises of real life cannot be reckoned on. Everything dramatic is spontaneous, not to be bespoken by the influence of money or rank. An exciting and witty conversation of the give-and-take order is no more to be foreordained, than a humorist can be directed " to begin to be funny." The most dramatic debates in Par- liament are those which have arisen out of some unpre- pared-for incident. Even in a cause celebre,-w\\\\e allowing a margin for vulgar curiosity and for the mere eagerness to see what every one is eager to see, there is an indescribable sense of interest aroused when, say a plaintiff comes to be cross-examined. For this means that the human mind will be exhibited under the most varied surprises, will be forced, perhaps unwillingly, to the test of truth and false- hood, exhibiting the whole round of emotions, exciting the listeners by its repulses, and, when .all seems lost, its desperate rallies. Apart from the stimulant of ordinary curiosity, the fact of so rare an exhibition going on rouses the dramatic passion and causes that press and eagerness which attend on every remarkable trial. So with a debate ; so with even the poorest kind of street discussion. This sort of entertainment, then, being rare and acci- dental, and* "the crowd" not being likely to meet with opportunities of enjoying it, it was discovered that a sort of substitute could be offered for it, under fixed and regular conditions. A kind of reproduction of the dramatic in- THEATRICAL MEMOIRS. 1 1 cidents of real life was found to be as interesting as the original. Gifted men, either by inspiration or art, soon reached to the secret, and discovered that by due selection and abstraction dramatic elements could be made to pro- duce more exciting results than the chance occurrences of daily life. The "writing of a play" is thus the result of philosophical thought applied to unregulated accidents, and offers the combination within a short space and time, and in the most forcible fashion, of what in real life might be diluted over years of time and miles of space. This little inquiry will show, perhaps explain, the natural fascination which the stage and its associations seem to have for mankind. We see reflected the most piquant con- ditions of our life, emotions, humors, as in a mirror, with all that interests our curiosity and passions. There is a tenderness and indulgence even now maintained by the very strength of old traditions, in spite of the commercial character assumed by theatrical undertakings and the mere shows they offer. This feeling has come down to us from the days of the great actors and the great plays, when early repasts allowed of assiduous attendance, night after night, in pit and boxes : from the time when the fine actor or actress was as conspicuous a personage as a prime minister, and the night of his finest impersonation as important as that of a great bill or debate. It was the intellectual man, with the situations in which he figured, that excited enthu- siasm : an impression independent of scenery or dress. The sense of the great character, as it were, filled the air. It was as the presence of some potentate. Even lately, when Sheridan's comedies were stereotyped in the bills and the nights of performance were counted by hundreds, there was a mysterious effect of vitality produced. We pass the doors of the playhouse with a certain reverence. Sir Peter Teazle, Mr. Joseph Surface, and other well-known 12 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. characters, with all their nature and liveliness, seem to be residing within : their faces look out from photographs in the shop windows, marvelous to say with an actual intelli- gence and harmonious significance that would never have been inspired in modern pieces. The most persistent grumbler and most eager asserter of the supremacy of the palmy old days of the drama still en- tertains a fond interest and curiosity in current theatrical events. The critiques are carefully read : they have the mysterious " orange-peel" flavor. He lingers before the playhouses, and ponders over the bills. In spite of desil- lusionnement and a steady succession of disappointments he clings to the old faith. The foot-lights, the " borders," the glimpse of the uninviting and cavernous stage-door stirs emotions gives a thrill, which a Mayfair hall-door held open, with a procession of entering belles, would fail to excite. The late Mr. Dickens rarely passed through the most obscure provincial town without being drawn away by the attraction of the local theatre, no matter what its quality. The once common association of the flavor of orange-peel with playhouse recollections has become scarcely appreciable by the new generation. But more mature playgoers will own to the almost magical power of such a reminder, which will call up the darkened pas- sages, the delicious expectancy of childhood the huge solemnity of the green curtain, which descended in waves, as it were, and with a funereal effect. There has passed away also the old-fashioned playbill, long and fluttering, with a vast deal of lustrous printer's ink, which had a pecu- liar savor of its own not unwelcome and which even soiled the kid gloves. The new theatres are boudoirs, the bills are lace-edged like valentines, and highly scented ; the orange-women and their great baskets would be rudely inappropriate in such, though oranges may be seen often THEATRICAL MEMOIRS. -- elegantly arranged with the dainties at the glittering bars of Messrs. Spiers and Pond and other caterers. The cur- tain is usually a gaudy drop-scene, with an inelegant roller, which shuts up the closing tableau from view, marks its arrival on the boards with a hollow thud, and often dis- plays a cheerful Italian landscape. Chocolate, mauve, crimson, amber, and other gaudy tints have been found more in keeping with the garish and elaborate shows be- hind. Such decorations have a sort of mtsquin air : and there was unquestionably a truer dramatic instinct in the simplicity and indefiniteness of the huge exposure of dark green and something more significant of " the end," which it was sought to present with wholesome effect to the spec- tators. In those old days there was simplicity about everything connected with the stage and it was "THE PLAT/' with the absorbing interest of the story, that so fascinated the beholder's soul. The spell was an intellectual one, though it might be conceived that the sensual element might have appealed more directly. It may be doubted if, in these days of ftcrits, so gorgeous with scenic marvels, of vast bands of young ladies, "glorified" with gold and silver armor, the charm would have been as potent. In the boy's mind the whole was a sort of ethereallzed " story- book," and the enormous and insuperable barrier that so hopelessly separated him from the figures made them seem almost like immortals. There is something in the con- dition of anything seen upon the stage that almost justifies this delightful hallucination. Figures and groups under the fierce light, with the gorgeous coloring and pictur- esque background, acquire an air heroic and supernatural which no logic will displace. The active steps of a grace- ful dansfttsc seem, from the boxes, to have a mysterious airiness and lightness, though on a near view they are no 2 I 4 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. more than a series of leaps made with considerable mus- cular exertion. The steady playgoer, though disgusted with repeated disappointments from bad acting, never quite loses the old faith, and to the very last something like the child's exaggerated belief is his. But there are other conditions, apart from their immedi- ate presence on the stage, which lend a curious charm to actors and actresses. Lawyers, physicians, clergymen, and politicians attract no particular attention when removed from their special stages, and are most effective when busy with their "callings. But actors, outside their profession, have always been an interesting class. They seem to carry into the colder and ruder world of life some of the fitful adventures of that unreal sphere in which they figure from dusk until midnight. The experience of our time, it may be thought, helped by the practical tone of the day, shows the actor to be a being of more than average homeliness. While the ideal world behind the scenes is all show, deco- ration, and gorgeousness, and a commercial spirit regulates the whole, it is but natural that this artificial tone should draw down the living elements to a more prosy level than even that of everyday life. But where the spirit of pure acting obtains, where the theatre scenery is comparatively naught, and THE PLAY extract of real life with all its broad characters and humors, is the attraction, then the actors do not merely share the ordinary dignities of life, but are elevated beyond it. After the performance of some great piece like the "School for Scandal," we come away with a feeling compounded of reverence and wonder. We have seen what is not altogether a mimicry of life : the performers seem not so much actors, as sharers in the action ; we think of them with curiosity and admiration ; we look upon them, even follow them in the street, drawn by an irresistible attraction, much as Lamb followed the THEATRICAL MEMOIRS. 15 " retired Diocletian of Islington," as he delighted to style Quick. So have we seen an eminent member of the Fran- cais corps pursued down the whole length of a boulevard, with eagerly turning heads and scarcely repressed exclama- tions. This tribute may be of course paid ro say one of our leading "comiques," but it takes the shape of a too familiar recognition, accompanied by a not over respectful grin. This distinction is really founded on an admission of superiority ; for we feel that the interpreter of a great dramatic part is infinitely above us : whereas every one knows that, with a little training, we could figure quite as respectably as the mechanical characters who help off a sensation piece, or the diverting beings who sing and dance and joke through a popular burlesque. It would be curious to apply this standard to the case of our living English actors, and it would be found by no means a bad plan for ascertaining their position. We shall find our- selves regarding those whose fame is associated with the greater comedies and established characters with a rever- ence that contrasts oddly with what we entertain towards those who support indiscriminately all the multifarious characters offered to them in the ephemeral dramas of our day. The result is the outlines of their figures and faces are blurred and indistinct. They are mere privates in the ranks, doing duty in turn : and one is about as effective as another; whereas those who have been associated with pieces of mark stand out with the distinctness of a political character.* *This principle is exhibited in a minor degree even in that cloud of his- trionic photographs which fill the shop windows. There are seen ranks upon ranks of the most noted performers ; and though the costumes are the most bizarre and extravagant, the wearers being " done in character." the impression left is of the feeblest and most indistinct kind. On the other hand, a portrait, say of Mr. Clayton as Surface, is of the most re- 1 6 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. "A goodly company of comedians," says Hazlitt, in an enthusiastic essay, "a theatre royal judiciously managed, is your true Heralds' College, the only Antiquarian Society that is worth a rush. It is for this reason that there is such an air of romance about players, and it is pleasanter to see them even in their own persons than any of the three learned professions. We feel more respect for John Kemble in a plain coat than for the Lord Chancellor on the woolsack. The most pleasant feature in the profession of a player, and which, indeed, is peculiar to it, is, that we not only admire the talents of those that adorn it, but we contract a personal intimacy with them. There is no class of society whom so many persons regard with affection as actors. We meet them on the stage ; we like to meet them in the streets ; they almost always recall to us pleasant associations, and we feel our gratitude excited without the uneasiness of a sense of obligation." These are happily-chosen phrases, and it is within the experience of most people that they are thus affected; though of course after a faint fashion, as these remarks were written some fifty years ago, when intellectual pieces and characters held the stage. This little description brings us to the purpose of the present volume, which is to show the pleasant romance that has colored the lives of actors and actresses of true quality and genuine order. In other walks of life there is a certain selfishness which repels. The eminent lawyer or physician, as he advances to the foremost position, does not entertain as he moves. The actor of the old time, who spent all his life interpreting characters in great comedies,, and who markable kind, and for its brilliance, expression, and intelligence, almost deserves a place beside the fine old theatrical mezzotints of the last century. The magic of this effect is owing to the constant familiarity of the actor with an intelligent part, which has impressed itself even on his face and bearing. THEATRICAL MEMOIRS. j~ every night found his intelligence and wit spurred by a reciprocal intelligence and wit that were greater, and whose exertions were watched and checked by an intelligent audi- ence, most have been an interesting being with gifts quite exceptional. Add to this that entering on the profession was like starting to explore some wild and adventurous country; there were no agents, few provincial theatres, and but two great ones in London, admission into which seemed as remote as the hope of die Lord Chancellorship to a young barrister. The chance of success was desperate, and the weary probation, with its long delays and hardships, seemed to require all the shifts and talents of the adventurer. This makes the charm of the crowd of theatrical memoirs, written chiefly at the end of the last century and during the first twenty years of the present, which fill many a shelf in the library. These show that the actors were wits and humor- ists, pleasant companions at the tables of the wise and great, travelers and writers ; while the actresses were lovely women , with a purpose beyond exhibiting their scantily-draped figures in tableaux Ttvaafs, where they become insipid, but striving to win approbation by the graces of intelligence, expression, and character. Most of these ladies had their history and offered lives of curious incident. The lives of few women in any other class are found associated with such adventures. Heroines of elopements and abductions the causes of sanguinary duels the pursued of men of rank and fashion ; now rolling in wealth and magnificence : now carried to sponging-houses and sank in misery : now mixing with wits and ladies of quality ; now the favorites of kings and princes they passed through all the most opposite vicissitudes. Actors are also found to be subject to the same alternations of life of prosperity, adversity, and misery and this life usually presented the most curious complexions of adventure. It is strange that the theatrical history of 2* 1 8 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. other countries, and notably of France, should not have the same adventurous interest. With a few exceptions, the lives of foreign players show the regular and perhaps unin- teresting progression found in other professions. But a more remarkable difference is found in the wealth of the- atrical memoirs for which England is distinguished, and which make a very characteristic department of modern literature. Its attraction is indeed increased by the fact that with the decay of acting the taste for writing as well as for reading such records has decayed also, and though some recent actors have set down their recollections, these are of such a poor and meagre sort, wanting in color and substance, that they have found few readers, and are not worthy of a great support. The reason of this would appear to be, that the modern actor's life, in proportion as his art has fallen away from the old high ideal, offers nothing striking or genuine ; while the spurious exhibitions which now engage his exertions remove him altogether from op- portunities of struggle and steady honorable advancement, the record of which it would be interesting to read. It is indeed extraordinary the variety of entertainment that is to be found in these adventures. Tate Wilkinson, Mrs. Bellamy, Colman, O'Keeffe, Reynolds, Geo. Fred- erick Cooke, Elliston, and Mathews are perhaps the most genuine and interesting of the whole. Wilkinson's biog- raphy, taken as a free, unaffected confession, is a picture of a mind revealing itself in the most natural way, defying grammar and even words themselves, and taking the short- ost, straightest, readiest way to unfold his thoughts. The infinite variety, the strange language and ideas, the shrewd judgment and observations, the quaint remarks, and the naive revelation of mean and paltry motives ; with the pleasant sketches of the manners and characters of the day, this curious compound, entitled " Memoirs of Tate Wil- THEATRICAL MEMOIRS. 19 kinson," in three volumes, with its sequel, "The Wan- dering Patentee," also in three volumes, deserves, as it seems to me, to be placed first in rank.* Reynolds and O'Keeffe's may perhaps be placed next, written in a dashing, jovial style, full of droll, convivial stories. The valuable portion of O'Keeffe's memoirs are his early recollections, which stretch back very far, especially his sketches of the old-world manners, which are done pic- turesquely. The younger Colman's are entertaining, and much in the same rollicking key as Reynolds's, but they make only a fragment and have little to do with the stage. Mrs. Bellamy's story is very rambling, and at times inco- herent, but it is full of details, and is marked by that curious token of the garrulous chronicler an exaggeration of trifling matters, the passing by or suppression of impor- tant things. It exhibits pictures of the most dismal alter- nations in a beautiful actress's life wealth, splendor, jewels, applause, succeeded by disgrace, bailiffs, sponging- houses, and absolute destitution. A pendant for which history may be found in the story of Mrs. Baddeley, an- other beautiful actress, but a woman of inferior degree in every respect. She ran a wild, dissipated course, with the same alternations of wealth and wretchedness, the jewels and rich dresses being succeeded by the inevitable bail- iffs and the sponging-house. A third story that of the handsome Mrs. Sumbel offers much the same character ; but, like that of Mrs. Baddeley, is but fitfully connected with the stage. It is curious that ladies of this description should have been too illiterate to write their own stories, which were put together, under their direction, by some indifferent hack writers. There is, however, a native gen- * At this moment the six little tomes are very scarce, especially the sequel, which is almost i*tro*sa6U. 20 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. nine vulgarity about them, and a rambling incoherence, which proves that they were dictated or inspired by the subjects of the narratives. Yet, though written under such conditions, there is present the charm of candor and a certain sincerity an eagerness to confess too much, rather than too little. In the more modern theatrical memoirs there is an affectation and restraint a wish to place the narrator in the best view to which- is sacrificed all free- dom and interest : the result, indeed, as in the case of such specimens as the " Memoirs of Lee Lewes" and "Edwin's Eccentricities," being almost blank. Lee Lewes, as Mr. Forster notes, was well acquainted with Goldsmith, Gar- rick, and other men of note yet there is not a single particular about them in his book. He has nothing to tell. His mind seems to have been of the "valet" order, and all that it retained were some low green-room stories, with- out point or interest, which he seems to have retailed over a pipe and glass to the Grub Street assistant who was to fashion them into a book. "The Memoirs of Grimaldi," which Mr. Dickens from motives of good nature and charity introduced to the public, are perhaps the dullest of this class > and though written with diligence and care, show effectually that there is a prosy side to stage life, and that the mere annals of a dramatic career are more un- interesting than almost anything that can be related. Mere records of engagements, new plays, and characters performed, seem all-important to the actor, and indeed ought to be, in one sense ; but to the reader such are bald and unwelcome. The poorest specimen of this class is perhaps the memoirs of one Donaldson, which, though running to many pages, contains little or nothing of recol- lection or observation. With this must be classed the late Paul Bedford's little book, which has some droll stories, but nothing of the least importance. The memoirs THEATRICAL MEMOIRS. 2J of the elder Mathews, by his widow, are little more than a mass of materials for a memoir a vast number of letters, newspaper cuttings, and "good stories," which swell the whole record to four bulky volumes, and make nearly 2000 pages of print. Mrs. Mathews had that difiuseness in her style which belongs to the stage most players when writing down facetious stories expanding the description with what seem to them droll turns of their own, which are perhaps modeled on comic passages in dramas. Hoi- croft's are of value, being written by a trained litterateur, and offer some curious alternations of fortune. Raymond's " Life of EUiston" is a really singular book, written in a style congenial to the eccentricities of its hero, which, though often transgressing literary taste and decorum, overflows with a rollicking spirit. At the bottom of the list must be placed the pretentious memoirs of " Harriet, Duchess of St. Albans," by Mrs. Cornwell Baron Wilson which contain very little. It would be impossible to particularize all that has been contributed to this class of literature. It will be seen, how- ever, from what is now about to be presented to the reader, that the incidents of the player's life in most instances related by himself offer pleasant entertainment. 22 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. CHAPTER II. THE STROLLER'S LIFE. THE state of the stage about one hundred years ago, and its condition at present, furnish a curious contrast. Now it is an important profession, with an enormous following. "Professionals" are to be counted by thousands, and thea- tres by hundreds, while the luxury of the age has enlarged the meaning of the words "the stage," formerly repre- senting only what was purely intellectual, into whatever can entertain the eye or ear. Everything, indeed, that can be produced upon a raised platform so as to be conven- iently seen by a large crowd seems to be included within ,the term of "the stage." The shows of the music-hall, gymnasts, tumblers and grotesque dancers, jugglers, de- lineators, mimics, comic singers all have found a place upon the "stage"; while decorators, scene-painters, ad- justers of the lime-light, gas-men, etc., form distinct and subsidiary callings. The system of "farming" has devel- oped a special form of ability, displued in the contracting for playbills, in dramatic agency and touring arrangements, advertising and the like. So that, in fact, it may be said that all that concerns the drama has grown to be of more importance than the drama itself. In the last century two large theatres, and a small house allowed to be open for a few months in the year, were all that London could offer. A theatre of some repute at Bath, the two Dublin theatres, and one at Edinburgh, exhausted the list of first-class theatres in the kingdom. On what were known as " the circuits" the York, Liver- THE STROLLERS LIFE. 23 pool, and others were found a number of small houses, very small and rude in their appointments, often some "converted" coach-house or chapel, and but rarely built for the purpose. These scarcely deserved the name of theatre, and were indeed only shapes more commodious and permanent of the ordinary barn in which strollers performed. Perhaps a couple of dozen completed the list of such places. To make the contrast more striking, there will be found in the morning papers some six feet of theat- rical advertisement, exhausting every device of claptrap and self-commendation to call attention to the play of the night. In the last century a space of a couple of inches square was all that was necessary to carry out the purpose of such an announcement, viz., to declare what play would be performed that night and what were the names of the actors. And yet, with these evidences of activity in our day, it may be safely said that the drama of the last century, though deficient in playhouses, advertisement, lime-light, etc., occupied a larger space in social life, had more influ- ence, and filled the public mind more satisfactorily than does the huge histrionic organization of our time. This may seem something of a paradox, but a little reflection will show its truth. Even a single great actor or actress such is the expansiveness of genius is in himself sufficient to supply ample entertainment to a whole generation. All can find opportunity to see him, just as nearly even- one of ordinary intellect and capacity contrived to see Mrs. Siddons or Garrick ; and the result in the shape of intel- lectual entertainment was more profitable and less costly than the present bewildering system. Expense and show costly dresses, etc., exhibited under strong light it is now discovered with som - ast nis' ment, do not pay so well as the simple, unadorned gifts of a simple and solitary 24 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. player of ability. The "sensation" drama, which half a dozen years ago was the rage, has palled on the public taste after the shortest conceivable reign ; while a strong-lunged tragedian of somewhat coarse power travels round from one provincial theatre to another, and draws vast and tumultuous audiences to hear some rude, but sound per- formances of the legitimate drama. In short, at some cost, we have learned the lesson that "the play's the thing" which at all times and seasons attracts and will attract; while shows and accessories, however magnificent, will offer but limited attractions, and these only for the vulgar. It is curious that the two extremes of respect and con- tempt should have always attended the stage, though it must be said that for the latter the stage itself is mainly accountable. In the presence of fine acting, respect, dig- nity, awe, admiration are excited in the highest degree; while the perverted shapes of histrionic exhibition pro- duce a curious feeling compounded of derision, tedium, and good-natured toleration. The reason of this would seem to be, that where vast publicity is invited the respon- sibility and risk are in the same proportion, and the con- trast between the quality of the entertainment and the conspicuous position in which it is presented at once chal- lenges a sort of contempt. Hence the low estimation in which those theatrical Pariahs known as STROLLERS have always been held; the very name being one of deprecia- tion. Strollers were the first in the line of those spurious representatives of the drama, whose connection with it does not go beyond the art of self-exhibition ; and their legitimate successors are surely the race of burlesque per- formers or mimics, with such actors as try to extort laugh- THE STROLLER'S LIFE. -5 ter by gags, antics, and devices which have no connection with the character in hand. It might seem odd that the strollers, who, after all, honestly strove to cany out their purpose according to such lights as they enjoyed, should have encountered such obloquy. But it was felt that the publicity they sought should be supported by more than good intentions, and that ability and training at least should be present. The immediate cause of the contempt that pursued them was the absurd contrast offered between the grand characters they undertook the kings, queens, heroes, etc. the noble sentiments they uttered, and the wretched supporters of these characters. And in justice it must be said, that audiences were not so much affected by the meagre and squalid accessories, which were out of keeping with the regal and heroic state presented, as by the discrepancy between the actor's abilities and the part he represented. The incidents of the strollers' life their poverty, mean shifts, "the candle ends," the desperate straits for food and clothes have furnished satirists and caricaturists with some of their most effective pictures the subject offering infinite opportunity for humorous treatment. Churchill, Scarron, and Hogarth have reveled in these details, and left the first specially a pitiless dissection of these in- firmities. His scathing lines will be remembered; and indeed nothing more inviting in the way of bitter satire could be conceived than the stroller, who was classed by the village constables with gypsies and vagabonds, and who was generally some youth who had run away from the counter or the desk to lay rude hands on Shakespeare. It is almost painful to follow the tale of humiliations which made up the career of these hapless creatures. It would almost seem that no class of the community ever passed through such a probation to earn miserable and B 3 26 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. uncertain wages. Yet, after all, the grand ideal was before them, like an ignis fatuus, and sustained the genuine pro- bationer: the more earthly followers found themselves hopelessly committed and could not draw back. To have been a stroller was a fatal hindrance to any other calling, while the shifty character of the life hopelessly demoralized inferior natures. On the other hand, no finer probation could be conceived for the sincere student who was pos- sessed of real theatrical genius. To such preparation Kemble and Siddons and Kean owed half their later triumphs. The mortifications and hardships of the tribe were end- less. The memoirs are full of stories of their being hunted by beadles from towns and villages of their lying in bed till night, their ordinary clothes being seized by the land- lady for rent of their pulling up turnips in convenient fields to stay their hunger ; and a fair idea of the profit to be gained by this calling may be gathered from the not ^infrequent sharing of the night's receipts among the mem- bers of the company, viz., a shilling and " six pieces of candle ends" falling to each.* But Stephen Kemble told the late Mr. John Taylor a story which, though trifling, is profoundly significant of what used to be the social esti- mation of the stroller. " He once told me," he says, " that while he was walking in a town -in Ireland with the mayor, who honored him with his arm, one of the inferior actors bowed to the magistrate with the most obsequious humility, but did not attract any notice. The man then * " I remember," said Mr. King in the green-room of Drury-lane, " that when I had been a short time on the stage I performed one night King Richard, gave two comic songs, played in an interlude, danced a hornpipe, spoke a prologue, afterwards harlequin, in a sharing company ; and, after all this fatigue, my share came to threepence and two pieces of candle." Everard ' s Memoirs, p. 62. THE STROLLER'S LIFE. -1 ran before them, and at another convenient spot repeated his humiliating obeisance. Still, however, he was passed without observation. Again he ran to a place where he thought he was more likely to draw attention, but was equally unsuccessful. Anxious to testify his respect for the mayor, he tried again at another convenient point, mani- festing, if possible, a more obsequious courtesy. At length the obduracy of the mayor softened, though not subdued in pride ; he turned his head to look at the persevering actor, but without even a nod of recognition, and hastily uttered, ' I see you, I see you,' which the poor actor considered as an act of gracious condescension." Many of these strollers who afterwards attained a respect- able position on the stage, have told the history of their early trials with the utmost frankness ; indeed, seeming to look back with a sort of good-humor to the very serious privations of this period of their lives. Bernard, who was secretary to the extinct Beefsteak Club, has left some very entertaining recollections of this kind, while Ryley, a pro- fessed "itinerant," as he called himself, has, in very ram- bling style, given a rude but truthful picture of the coarser side of such experiences. There was a dismal uniformity in these reports. The eager neophyte who had run away to join the profession was invariably confounded at finding the manager some low, ill-kept, ill-dressed personage of the coarsest manners, dashed with a singular eccentricity, which, oddly enough, seemed inseparable from a position of command. He found the company in a state of help- less destitution, the terms of engagement usually being either "on salary," when the performer was to receive about eight or nine shillings a week, or "on sharings," when his gains were to be speculative. In either case, the result was generally of the same disastrous kind. After the first week there was no salary, and the company, in 2 8 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. debt to the whole village, were told they must share and " take what was going." Or, if they had originally elected to share, the six candle ends and a few pence were impar- tially distributed among them. There were always loud murmurs and hostility to the manager, who was often sus- pected of fraud, he claiming so many shares for his scenery, dresses, etc. But in most instances this was unjust, as he was usually the most destitute of the party. Indeed, the manager's almost invariable embarrassment was to find an embargo laid upon his scenes and dresses for debt, while his actors were expecting their wages from him with which to pay their over-due lodging and board. They were thus unable to set out for the next town where races and assizes were going on, and where there was some faint hope that cash might come in. In this dead-lock an arrangement was usually come to : some trunks and dresses were left as a security, or the most confiding member of the party was induced to advance a few hoarded pounds. The sufferings of the members of the corps were yet more severe ; they had to extricate themselves as best they could. Indeed, the life of these poor wayfarers seemed to be uncolored by anything but hardship and persecution, and it seems amazing how it could have had the slightest attraction. But their perseverance and endurance, worthy of a higher reward, could only have been supported by the hope of passing through all this squalor and privation to the grand goal which lay at the end. Everything seemed to conspire to degrade the follower of the rickety Thespian cart. In time he was found com- peting for the office of " orator," as it was called or bill- distributor which in the town or village was entitled to be remunerated by a shilling, in the country by two. The duties of this office consisted in waiting on the hucksters and shopkeepers, in opening relations with the butlers and THE STROLLERS LIFE. -9 footmen at " great houses," who were to contrive to bring these programmes to the notice of the owners. Any one who would follow the shifts and degradations of the call- ing will find them set out in the dismal narrative of " an unfortunate son of Thespis," by one Edward Everard. There he will follow the poor stroller walking from town his wife "lying in" on the way defrauded by mana- gers, bullied by roughs, receiving little glimpses of hope when Sir Sydney Smith, or " Lord Erskine's brother, the Hon. Henry Erskine," allowed his name to be put at the top of the bill : now with Mr. Thornton, who " managed sixteen theatres;" now with "Jemmy Whitely," who goes off with his pockets full of money, and leaves " the sharers" without a farthing. In a company " at Evesham in the vale, pleasant in itself, but not so to us, with about eighteen men, twelve women, three good and constant musicians, handsome scenes and superb dresses, I did not get four shillings a week. Mr. Durrivan, a man possessed of a happy, dry humor, made me laugh one night when I observed to him that he had got on a most elegant rich suit of clothes. ' Ay,' said he, lifting up the flap of his vest, which covered his knees, and the crimson velvet could scarcely be seen for the gold lace and spangles 'Ay ! starving in pomp /' " The poor wretches struggled on, yet sometimes found a Samaritan. One of these well-experienced highway managers, one Ryley, whose nine volumes have become almost introuva- blf, tells the story of their trials very simply and nat- urally. And indeed it is worth noting how these poor adventurers battled on in the face of reverses which would have crushed another who was of a different profession. The reader will notice in all these confessions a rude but satisfactory form of expression, as though their sufferings came back on them vividly as they wrote, and caused the 3* 3 o THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. words to crowd to their lips. He thus describes strolling management : " I had been scarcely a month or so there, before they had to throw, as was customary, for the benefits. I wished to decline, alleging the short time I had been in the com- pany, and that there was no partner to go with me ; then being told that the nights were all fixed, and that I could possibly have no other chance ; at last reluctantly I con- sented, and, as ill chance would have it, won the first night. As I had purposely been laid on the shelf, a little vanity, more than the hopes of gain, urged me to ven- ture ; the trouble and any additional expense I knew must be all my own, and, if there should be any profit, I had to share it with an undeserving set ; I therefore took no pains about it. I flattered myself that I should have an opportunity of showing myself to some advantage, which, in the end, might answer some end, and that I should have the secret satisfaction of mortifying them a little in iriy turn. As I foresaw, so it fell out ; there was hardly the bare nightly charges. After playing Touchstone, Young Philpot, and dancing, I went home penniless. I had lodged and boarded with an old woman, who kept a creditable public house; she was at the play; I was unavoid- ably in her debt. I never was more cast down and dis- pirited ; I could with difficulty muster c&urage to open the door. When I entered, I shall never forget my reception. I believe she saw my backwardness. 'Come, come along,' says she ; ' bless your dear little legs. ' This was a wonderful cordial to my drooping spirits ; I never stood in greater need of one ; but she nor her husband would be satisfied, till out of his friendly bottle I had taken two cordials; then told me there was a little fowl just boiled and ready for my supper; not to be uneasy about anything, but make myself comfortable ; adding, ' I see now plainly the reason of THE STROLLER'S LIFE. 3I some of them backbiting you, but they will be glad now to come cap in hand to you.' Her words proved true; for next morning, early, two of my greatest enviers waited on me, to request that I would play a particular character, and dance for their benefit the next night. My good landlady told them their own. I confess I secretly tri- umphed in my turn, and then, being fully satisfied, com- plied with every one's desire till the last night : the manager told me next morning, that all the scenes and dresses must be taken down and packed up and sent to Stamford the next day, but that as I had had no benefit, and done so much for the company, they had all made an offer to stop and play next night gratis, for my benefit, if, under such circumstances, I could do anything. I gave out and performed the 'Stratagem* and 'Lying Valet," to about ten pounds, under every disadvantage, and my whole expenses did not amount to ten shillings." "The sharing plan," says the manager Ryley, "was always my aversion ; to remedy this I made a proposal to try the town of Ludlow upon small salaries of half a guinea, fifteen shillings, and a guinea, according to the merit and utility of the different performers. This was cheerfully agreed to, and we arrived in safety at this romantically picturesque place. " Having fixed my wife and little Fanny in a delightfully rural lodging, I thought it behoved me to pay attention to 'the property,' which was on its way. Accordingly I walked towards the suburbs leading to Worcester, in hopes of meeting the wagons which contained the scenery, ward- robe, etc. At the entrance of the town I observed a con- course of people collected round a four-wheeled carriage which moved slowly, and on its approach I found to my surprise it was 'the property'; and such an exhibition! Had the carter endeavored to excite a mob he could not 32 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. have done it more effectually than by the manner in which he had packed the load. Some scenes and figures belonging to a pantomime lay on the top of the boxes, which were numerous, and piled very high. To keep them steady he had placed a door on which was painted in large char- acters ' Tom's Punch House' in front of the wagon ; this soon gave a title to the whole. Upon the uppermost box and right over the door was a giant's head of huge dimen- sions, whose lower jaw, being elastic hung, opened with every jolt of the carriage. By the side of this tremendous head rode our large mastiff, who, enraged at the shouts of the mob, barked and bellowed forth vengeance. " The letters on the door had of course stamped it for a puppet-show, to corroborate which the impudent carter, somewhat in liquor, had placed a pasteboard helmet on his head, whilst with awkward gesticulation he thumped an old tambourine, to the no small amusement of the spectators. To finish the farcical physiognomy of this fascinating group, Bonny Long, his wife, and nine children, sat in the rear, Bonny in a large cocked hat, his wife with a child at her breast, wrapped in a Scotch plaid, a'nd the other eight in Httle red jackets. As soon as I beheld the comic effect produced by this tout ensemble, I slipped down a back street. I was waiting at the theatre with some impatience, when the stage-keeper came running to inform me that the wagon was overturned and Mr. Long killed. In an instant 1 was on the spot, and sure enough there lay the contents of the cart, and Bonny Long under the whole. The crowd had considerably increased ; some were humanely employed 'in lifting off boxes in order to release the sufferer, others sup- ported his wife, who, though safe from the fall, was in fits for the fate of her husband, whilst the eight little brats in scarlet jackets ran about like dancing dogs prepared for a stage exhibition. Poor Long was at length liberated with THE STROLLER'S LIFE. 33 no other inconvenience than what was occasioned by the suffocating dust arising from the old scenes, which had completely preserved him from the pressure of the boxes. The only misfortune this accident caused was the death of our watchful mastiff. This noble creature, when the wagon overturned, kept the men at bay lest his master's property should be purloined, till a blacksmith, who had been drawn from his anvil and stood gazing with the sledge-hammer on his shoulder, gave the poor animal a blow behind the ear which put a sudden period to his existence. This callous Cyclops was at my suit arraigned on the following day be- fore a magistrate, who acquitted him on the blacksmith's plea of self-defense. " The theatre was a miserably poor place, and when filled would scarcely contain twenty pounds. We opened it the following Monday with the comedy of ' The Beaux' Stratagem.' The receipts amounted to five pounds, and though the company were much reduced, I found a contin- uance of such receipts would disable me from paying the salaries. The second and third nights were not much bet- ter, and the third week I found myself under the unpleasant necessity of addressing the company and placing them on the old establishment. The houses instead of improving went from bad to worse ; dissatisfaction generally prevailed ' the sharing was not an existence.' This I very readily allowed, but surely no blame could be attached to me : in vain I urged the small receipts and heavy disbursements. One more witty than the rest chose* to exercise his humor at my expense, and on the following day was seen walking down with his five-shilling share in a canvas purse at the end of his stick placed over his right shoulder ; jocularly informing every one who inquired, that his last week's share was so heavy his arm ached with its weight. This sarcasm hurt me greatly. Ludlow races now approached 34 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. and great expectations were formed : overflowing houses were promised, and I vainly hoped it would be in my power to make amends for the miserable pittance they had hitherto received. Bui here, as in most of my undertakings, for- tune dashed down the cup of hope just as I was raising it to my lips on the first race night a ball opposed the the- atre, and the receipts were so trifling it was not thought proper to perform. To make amends for this I applied to the stewards to patronize the next night, but this could not be effected ; the grand ordinary dinner was to be that evening, and would detain the company till a late hour. As there were only two days' races I was now at my wits' end : the only probable way of drawing them to the the- atre was to perform in the morning. Again I waited on the stewards and obtained their consent and promised attendance. Accordingly the ' Castle of Andalusia' was advertised by desire of the stewards of the race, to begin at eleven o'clock. This new and unpleasant time of per- formance was particularly irksome to shut out daylight and to substitute candles for the glorious sun on a hot sum- mer's morn appeared little better than sacrilege ; but there was no alternative between this and empty benches. The time arrived, and with this astonishing patronage we raised eleven pounds. The benefits were now our only resource, and even that bore a melancholy aspect!" He now changes the scene: "At this time I received a letter from Mr. Smith, one of the proprietors of tRe Wolverhampton theatre, couched in terms of strong persuasion ; he was certain, if I brought my company to the fair, receipts could not be less than two hundred pounds. This was a strong temptation : I con- 'sulted the performers. They were as sanguine as myself, and, as I never looked on the dark side of things, I speedily embarked in this troublesome and expensive undertaking ; THE STROLLER'S LIFE. 35 bat the anxiety of mind that attended the removal of this unfortunate company, with their still more unfortunate manager, is indescribable. We arrived without accident, and the theatre was advertised to open on the Monday. Had I been as well acquainted as I am now with the description of people who attend Mrs, especially merry- making fairs, 1 should never have undertaken this disas- trous journey. Three, four, and five pounds were the customary receipts. In a state of mind bordering on dis- traction I went over to Birmingham, and, by way <& forcing*. house for the last night, engaged Messrs. Grist, Banks, and Barrymore to perform in Othello' and * Rosina/ for which I was to give them each a guinea and pay the chaise-hire. The receipts of that night, with all this great acting, amounted to seven pounds I ' ! out of which I had to pay these gentlemen three guineas, besides traveling expenses ! 1 3 I have known actors, ay and poor ones too, who would have received the three guineas with some appearance of regret; nay, there are those who would not have taken them at all : but these great people were superior to such little prejudices. They not only received them with ease and good-humor, but the greatest man of the three made a famous good story of it, to the great delight of his audi- tors, in the Birmingham green-room next day. Yet so blind was I to the narrowness of this conduct, that the supper bill (no small one, it may be supposed, when 'tis recollected who composed the party) I discharged under the idea of gentlemanly hospitality a prejudice which ought to have died with my shipwrecked fortune. The hour of departure arrived, and thirty pounds, the whole of the week's receipts, were all that I had to satisfy the actors, by lending each a little, and a long trafn of inci- dental expenses incurred by the journey, besides chaises to carry us back, and maintenance on the road. This was 3 6 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. the greatest difficulty I had ever experienced ; to wait upon the different tradesmen with apologies instead of money was, to a man of my temperament, grating beyond all description. However, there was no alternative : when I told my story, they were gentle and kind, and would patiently wait my own time of payment. Credit for chaises to transport us back was likewise cheerfully granted, and we left Wolverhampton, after this inauspicious week, minus about fifty pounds. "The benefits commenced at Ludlow, and each per- former managed to clear a trifle ; but Bonny Long outdid them all. As soon as his benefit was announced Mrs. Long washed her eight children and dressed them in the scarlet spencers which never made their appearance ex- cept at benefits and their first arrival in a town. At the head of this little tribe she paraded the streets, in her Scotch plaid, with a large bundle of playbills, and solicited custom at every respectable dwelling. The novelty of these little red runabouts, added to the good-humor and affability of the father, brought an overflowing house ; and so much was honest Bonny respected, there was not an individual in the theatre who did not rejoice in his suc- cess." Other seasons equally disastrous follow : " Gloucester. By way of raising Tone decent house, I endeavored to get a play patronized ; and, as luck would have it, the Earl of and several persons of distinction were then at the Hop Pole, where I understood they in- tended to remain a few days. This incident completely routed the blue devils, who had of late been my constant companions. I dressed myself in a handsome suit of black, with my best laced ruffles ; my hair was put in the most exact trim, and into Fossegate Street I bent my way. I have always remarked that the time to carry a point THE STROLLER'S LIFE. 37 which depends merely on good-humor is about half an hour after the cloth is drawn : I hit this period to a nicety. I followed a puppy-looking servant upstairs ; I heard him announce me as Mr. Romney, manager of the theatre ; upon which the whole company burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, at the same time repeating the word ' man- ager *' in a manner that gave me to understand they enter- tained no great reverence for the character. 'Oh, the ma-na-ger !' continued his drawling Lordship, when laugh- ter would permit ; ' show the manager in. We shall have some fun, my Lady.' Filled with contempt, I was turning to make a precipitate retreat, when the servant threw open the door and discovered me. * Walk in, Mr. Ma-na-ger !' cried his Lordship, nodding significantly at a baronet who sat at the bottom of the table and was leisurely picking his teeth. A degree of disappointment was apparent. I dare say they had painted the manager as a motley-dressed man adorned with tinsel, who would servilely cringe and bow for the favor of being insulted by such honorable brutes. Perceiving their mistake, with a bold steady step I walked up to my Lord and laid before him a list of plays. ' Oh ay ! Plays. My Lady, will you bespeak a play?' 4 Why really, my Lord, I have no idea of strollers pray, Mr. Manager, what sort of a set are yours?' During this time her Ladyship's eye, through a quizzing glass, was fixed upon me with steady effrontery. The baronet asked, ' Have you any fine girls in your troop, Mr. What's-your- name?' " After more of this treatment he made an indignant protest and retired. When he reached home he found a note from one of the ladies of the part)', complimenting him on his spirit and inclosing ten pounds. His cheerfulness and perseverance were at last rewarded, and he emerged from this life of shifts and degradation. 3 8 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. Though he never was "well off," he was removed from want, and was often kindly assisted by higher members of the profession. To this grotesque race of strolling managers belonged "Jemmy Whitely" and Penchard, of whom most leading players had stories to tell. There was a family likeness in their peculiarities; shifts and habitual debts and diffi- culties encourage a habit of wheedling and jocosity, in- tended to humor the pressing creditor ; and this treatment, being sometimes found successful, may have been fostered by practice. Gentlemen "who live by their wits," as it is called, have found this manner a valuable auxiliary. Mr. Bernard thus describes one of the fraternity : " I was now," he says, " introduced to a room fitted up in an inn, and Manager Penchard. Here was the old system of paper wings, hoop chandelier, superannuated scenery fiddler, property-man, and lamp-lighter identical, with a company five in number, the first and worst of whom was the manager himself. " Mr. Penchard had been a manager fifty years, and, for that reason, continued to play all the juvenile charac- ters. He was very tall, but stooped through infirmity. The gout was in both his legs, Shakespeare in his head, and money in his heart. He was a determined miser, and an actor by confederacy, that is, wifh the assistance of a remarkable peruke, which had been worn, as he averred, by Colley Gibber in 'The Fops.' It was such a wig as would now grace the head of a Lord Chief Justice ; and in this, I was informed, he played the whole round of his characters Hamlet, Don Felix, Lord Townley, and Zanga; so that he had obtained the familiar title through- out England of 'Penchard and his Wig.' On our way to his lodgings we were met by a member of the company, who knew Scott, and begged to join us, as he had a THE STROLLER'S LIFE. 39 favor to ask of his superior, which might not otherwise be granted. " On reaching the house, we were shown upstairs into a dark, dingy, narrow little room, with a bed in one corner and an immense chest in the other. We found the manager seated in an elbow-chair, muffled in a morning-gown, which looked like an adaptation of a Venetian tunic, by the side of a three-legged table at which he was eating his breakfast. This meal consisted of a halfpenny roll and a halfpenny- worth of milk. At our entrance, he slightly inclined his head, with a ' Good-morning, gentlemen,' and continued his meal, leaving us upon our legs but I forget, there were no more chairs in the room. Mr. Scott then introduced me to him ; and the manager commenced a conversation by giving me some valuable advice as to the life I was about to embrace. In the intervals of his catarrh and lumbago, he at length grew facetious ; and the person who accom- panied us, thinking this to be a good opportunity, stepped up to his table, and said, with some hesitation, he had a trifling favor to ask. The manager's face elongated in an instant, and every wrinkle disappeared like a sudden calm at sea. 'A favor, Mr. Singer,' he mumbled; 'a trifling favor, eh ! You are always asking trifling favors, sir, and such as are enough to ruin me. What is it you want this time?' 'The loan of a shilling, if it's not in- convenient.' 'A what?' ^A shilling, sir!' 'What can you do with your money?' At length he reluctantly drew a leathern pouch from his side, and selected a shilling from the silver it contained, which holding an instant between his finger and thumb, he remarked with some asperity ' You will remember, Mr. Singer, it was but last Saturday you shared three-and-sixpence, and this is Wednesday!' "After Mr. Singer had made a proper acknowledgment and retired, the old gentleman detailed to us his system of 40 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. living, as a comment upon what he termed the ruinous extravagance of the age. Threepence a day, we were in- formed, supplied him with subsistence. In the morning, his roll and milk, as we observed ; at dinner, a rasher of bacon and an egg; his tea, an encore to his breakfast; all of which was attainable for the above small sum. This was the severest lesson upon economy I ever received. But with penuriousness so palpable, I could not help thinking there was a considerable mixture of eccentricity; for he was known to have accumulated by his labors above a thousand pounds. "In the evening, I seated myself on a front bench in the pit, to witness the performance. The play was ' The Re- cruiting Officer' ; and the young and gallant Plume was supported by the manager. When the curtain drew up, he was discovered in his elbow-chair; one leg, swathed in flannel, resting on a stool. He was dressed in a Queen Anne suit of regimentals, crowned with his inseparable companion the wig! which was surmounted by a pecu- liarly commanding cocked hat, such as may sometimes be seen in the sign-board representation of the Marquess of Granby. His performance of Plume was precisely that of Lord Ogleby ; and all the business of the character con- sisted in his taking snuff, and producing and putting away a dirty pocket-handkerchief. As he ould neither exit nor enter, when his scene was over, the curtain was lowered, and he was wheeled off till the next occurred. With the exception of my friend Scott in Kite, and Miss Penchard in Rose, the rest of the acting preserved a beautiful corre- spondence to the manager's. The company being as destitute of numbers as talent, Mrs. Penchard doubled Silvia and Captain Brazen ; and Mr. Singer Mr. Worthy, Costar Pearman, and Justice Balance, &c. "Mrs. Penchard, the wife, from a certain slimness of THE STROLLER'S LIFE. 41 figure and volatility of spirit (though turned sixty), had retained many characters in genteel comedy which were too bustling for her husband to perform, and thus became what was styled the ' Breeches figure' of the company. The ' gallant gay Lothario' had but lately and reluctantly been given up to her by her husband ; and during its per- formance one evening, when falling in the combat, part of her dress became discomposed, at which the gallery portion of the audience set up a loud clapping and shout- ing : this the old lady unfortunately mistook for appro- bation ; and when her daughter, at the wing, repeatedly requested her to come off, 'I won't I won't !' she replied, loud enough to be heard by the spectators ; ' crack your jealous heart, you don't want any one to get applause but yourself!' " Some days later we encountered Manager Penchard and his company going out of town. This was a picture ! " First came Mr. Singer and Mrs. Penchard, arm-in-arm ; then old Joe, the stage-keeper, leading a Neddy (the prop- erty and old companion of Mr. Penchard in his wander- ings) which supported two panniers containing the scenery and wardrobe ; and above them, with a leg resting on each, Mr. Penchard himself, dressed in his ' Ranger' suit .of ' brown and gold,' with his distinguishing wig, and a little three-cornered hat cocked on one side, giving the septua- genarian an air of gayety that well accorded with his known attachment for the rakes and lovers of the drama : one hand was knuckled in his side (his favorite position), and the other raised a pinch of snuff to his nose ; and as he passed along he nodded and bowed to all about him, and seemed greatly pleased with the attention he excited. His daughter and two other persons brought up the rear."* * Bernard's " Retrospects," voL L p. 91. 4* 42 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. The same lively pen sketches manager Whitely : " On strolling about the town (of Nottingham), I per- ceived a playbill, and at the head of it the name of that celebrated itinerant, James Whitely, or Jemmy Whitely as he was familiarly called, a son of green Erin, and a worthy associate of those already recorded eccentrics, Thornton, Parker, and Bowles. The name and fame of this person pervaded the three kingdoms, and a hundred recollections of his personal and managerial peculiarities are now throng- ing my head ; but most of which, as their effect depends upon a Certain dramatic illustration, I regret are untrans- ferable to paper. Perhaps this is fortunate, for were the case otherwise, I might write ten volumes of recollections instead of two. I will, however, select a few which are treatable, and the first to exemplify what I have just said. "Whitely, in the course of his itinerancies, once came to a village where the magistrate was distinguished for two things, an infirmity of nodding his head, and a genuine "Jeremy-Collier distaste to plays and players. Jemmy, nevertheless, determined to wait upon him : the magis- trate was a butter merchant by trade ; and Jemmy found f him behind the counter, industriously attending to the wants of a dozen customers. " ' Plase, sir,' said Jemmy, taking off his hat, and bow- ing very low, ' my name's Mr. Whitery the manager, well known in the North of England and Ireland, and all the three kingdoms, for my respectability of karakter.' The magistrate stared, nodded his head, and said nothing. ' And I have come to ax your permission (nod again) in passing through the town (nod) (there are no villages in dramatic geography) to favor the inhabitants (nod), of whose liberal and enlightened karakter I have often heard (nod, nod), with a few evenings' entertainments' (nod, nod, nod). THE STROLLER'S LIFE. 43 " The magistrate's horror at the request had sealed his lips ; but Jemmy interpreted the nodding of his head as a tacit consent, and a hint that he wished such consent to be kept secret from those who were about him. ' Oh, oh !' he continued, ' I understand your Worship (nod) very well, sir (nod) mum ; thank you, sir (nod, nod), your Worship and your family will come for nothing (nod, nod) ; good-morning to you, sir ; I'm much obliged to you, sir; St. Patrick and the Saints keep you and your butter !' (nod, nod, nod.) " Jemmy then hastened to his myrmidons ; a room was engaged, the theatre fitted up, and the play announced. The magistrate in the mean time was informed of their design, and ordered his constables to attend and take the company into custody. His indignation at what appeared to him an open defiance of his authority, suggested this secret and severe mode of proceeding. As the curtain drew up, a pack of * dogs in office' accordingly leaped on the stage, surrounded their victims, and though they did not ' worry them to death,' they carried them off in their stage clothes and embellishments to the house of the mag- istrate, leaving the audience (who had paid their money) in as great a quandary as themselves. The magistrate had put on an important wig and demeanor to receive the cul- prits, and demanded of Whitely, with an accent like that of Mossop in 'Mahomet,' 'Had he dared attempt to con- taminate the inn and the village with a profane stage-play without his authority?' Whitely civilly replied, that he had received it. ' What ! do you mean to assert that I gave you permission?' said the magistrate. ' No, sir; but I mean to say that you nodded your head when I axed you ; and was not that maning that you gave your con- sent, but didn't want the Calvinistical bogtrotters who were buying your butter to know anything about it ?' 44 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. "A long altercation ensued, which terminated in the re- lease of the Thespians, on condition that they instantly quitted the 'town.' "Jemmy, whenever he entered a place of importance in which he could pitch his tent, invariably dressed him- self in his Don Felix suit (pink silk and white satin, span- gled and slashed), with an enormously long feather and rapier, and, accompanied by a boy with a bell, proceeded to the market-place, where he announced his intended performances (this was in 1776). He then waited upon the principal inhabitants respectively, to obtain their pa- tronage. On one occasion he entered the house of a retired tradesman, as vulgar as he was wealthy. Jemmy was shown into a room, where, in Oriental magnificence, the owner was reposing upon a couch. No sooner had the former disclosed the object of his visit, than the lordly adulterator of tea and sugar, eyeing him with an air of aristocratic contempt, exclaimed, ' Oh ! you are what they call a strolling player, eh ?' Jemmy's back stiffened in an instant from its rainbow inclination to an exact perpendic- ular, and, laying his hand upon his breast, he replied, ' Sir, whenever I'm blackguarded, I don't condescend to reply;' he then turned away, and walked out of the house. "Jemmy was not particular in poor communities, as to whether he received the public support in money or in 'kind.' He would take meat, fowl, vegetables, &c., value them by scales, &c., and pass in the owner and friends for as many admissions as they amounted to. Thus his treas- ury very often on a Saturday resembled a butcher's ware- house rather than a banker's. At a village on the coast, the inhabitants brought him nothing but fish ; but as the company could not subsist without its concomitants of bread, potatoes, and spirits, a general appeal was made to OLD YORK THEATRE. 45 his stomach and sympathies, and some alteration in the terms of admission required. Jemmy accordingly, after admitting nineteen persons one evening for a shad apiece, stopped the twentieth, and said, ' I beg your pardon, my darling, I am extramely sorry to refuse you ; but if we ate any more fish, by the powers, we shall all be turned into mermaids !' " This strolling life, the lowest stage of all, has a literature of its own ; indeed, its professors are the most garrulous of all. These sketches, however, give a fair idea of this strange vagabond existence. CHAPTER III. OLD YORK THEATRE. IN time the diligent stroller might fairly reckon on pro- motion and look for admission to the country theatre. Actors who became attached to a respectable house of this class were released from their vagabond mode of life, and enjoyed what was only an agreeable change, the passage from one theatre to another on the circuit. Such houses were directed by a solvent personage who had made money, and was held in esteem in the district. Salaries were paid; the actors were comfortable, and often enjoyed the excite- ment of learning that "a London manager was in the boxes." Even in this class, there were degrees; and the- atres like that of York, Hull, or Liverpool, held a com- paratively high position and supplied many performers to the London boards. The managers had a peculiar indi- viduality, and a direct and personal influence with their audiences, which was not without a beneficial effect on the 46 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. drama. But, like the old-fashioned inn landlord who looked directly after the comfort of the guest, the old country manager has passed away ; there is no place for him under modern theatrical arrangements. At the present time convenient and even elegant theatres have taken the place of the rude old edifices, where though modern scenic appliances and all that sets off acting were deficient, acting itself flourished. This revolution has taken place within the last thirty years, and the country theatre, as may be gathered from Mr. Dickens's vivacious sketches in "Nich- olas Nickleby," retained until lately the old traditions and practices of the days of Tate Wilkinson. " The bespeak" the waiting on local patrons at their houses, the rude devices for scenery and properties, of which the " pumps and tubs" were a figure these were but lingering remnants of the old days in the last century, when Tate Wilkinson commanded at York and Hull, Austen at Chester, and Stephen Kemble in the North. Their necessities and shifts had taught the players wit, or at least liveliness and good- humor ; and nearly all were remarkable for social gifts and oddities which excited a sort of interest and tolerance in the town and country folk who were their supporters. It is evident, however, that this fellowship must have entailed a certain dependence which was rather humiliating. We hear of the squireen at the inn door calling on the land- lord "to turn that actor out of the bar" of officers in the boxes requiring other unfortunate players to beg pardon "on their knees," with other stories of servitude. And yet, odd as the conclusion may appear, this contempt appears to argue a keener relish in the drama than is found at present, when, in rural districts, the interest has grown too languid even to take offense. Perhaps the most sig- nificant proof of the dependency of the poor players' position is conveyed by a truly piteous appeal attached to OLD YORK THEATRE. 47 an old York playbill, in which the manager pleads for the indulgence of his patrons on whom he is in every way dependent. Nothing more humble could be conceived : FOR THE BENEFIT OF MR. ORFETJR, Who is debarred the liberty of paying his respects and making his interest on the account of an action in the power of Mr. Huddy, from one at London. BY MR. KEREGAN'S COMPANY OF COMEDIANS, at MR. BANKS' COCKPIT, without Boulham Bar : THE MOURNING BRIDE. NEW THEATRE, IN MY LORD IRWIN'S YARD, YORK. On Tuesday will be acted a Play called HENRY THE I\"TH, WITH THE HUMOURS OF SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, In which Mr. Keregan hopes the Gentlemen and Ladies of this City will favor him with their company, it being the only night he desires before subscription time, notwithstanding his great charges for their reception. BOXES, Three Shillings. PIT, Two Shillings. STAGE, Three Shil- lings. MIDDLE GALLERY, One Shilling. N.B. The Play will be all new dressed with new Scenes from London, suitable to his House ; with a Prologue and Epilogue. The Musick consists of Overtures, Concertos, Sonatos, and Solos. Three Pieces will be performed before the Play begins: the first at five o'clock, the second at half-an-hour after five, and the third at six; at the end of which the Curtain will be drawn up. THE CASE OF THOMAS KEREGAN, Proprietor of the Theatre, humbly addressed to the Quality, Gentry, and Citizens of York. Having suffered very much of late in my business, and as I appre- hend by an ill opinion conceived of me for keeping up my subscrip- 48 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. tion tickets at the price they were first given out on the erection of my new Theatre, it having been suggested that they might be afforded at a lower price, but an unreasonable desire had made me reject the advice of my friends in that respect, I thought it my duty as well as interest to give the inhabitants of this ancient city the best satisfaction I was able in this affair, by voluntarily laying before them the state of my last quarter's accounts, whereby it will appear that I was near one hundred pounds a loser by the last quarter's subscriptions only. And as I never did desire anything more than a reasonable maintenance for myself and family, I humbly hope, after the great expense I have been at, that I shall not be compelled to remove my company to some other place for the want of encouragement here. ... I beg leave fur- ther to inform the public that, notwithstanding I have lowered the pit tickets to sixteen shillings, the advantage I have received by it hath been very small viz., only the addition of fourteen subscribers, not- withstanding that it reduces the pit to sevenpence-halfpenny a night, which is less than half the price paid to the meanest company of players in the kingdom. Before I conclude this short representation of my case, I cannot but take notice that it hath been insinuated very much to my prejudice, that neither myself nor my wife have been suffi- ciently thankful for favors which have been done us in coming to our benefits, whereas I can say with great truth that no one was ever more sensible of (and thankful for) such favors than we both have always been, however we may have failed in any acknowledgments from the stage, a thing never practised in any theatre but this, it being contrary to the rules of the stage. But as we are now sensible it is expected from us, we shall take care for the future, to the best of our knowledge, to do nothing which may give offence to any of our friends and benefactors. During quarter, with box and pit takes ^288 13 3 To 1 6 actors and actresses at izs. and a pit ticket per week I 45 12 o " Mrs. Evar and Mrs. Copen's children I 10 o For the use of clothes, scenes, &c., from shares on sala- ries allowed by the meanest companies abroad . . 72 16 o To charges of new people coming from London ... 10 10 O OLD YORK THEATRE. 49 To 31 nights' charges, &c 124 o o " getting up 2 Entertainments 30 o o Lost last quarter 9$ 14 9 The persons who take my money have set their hands to this ac- count, and, if necessary, are ready to make oath of the same. W. GREEN, J. EMMETT. For a more particular satisfaction, the following account of the nightly charges of acting : Bills one day with another; incidents one night with another ; drink to doorkeepers 2 14 o Besides play-books, writing of plays out, and odd parts; for writing out music ; drink for the music at practice ; letters for several players, carpenters, and smiths; jobs often for particular plays; glasses fre- quently broke ; washing the stock ; cards ; wax. Poor Mr. Keregan ! His "case" speaks a world of obsequious dependence and contemptuous patronage ; and his apology for apparent ingratitude and the omission of the serf-like custom of "acknowledgments from the stage" is truly pathetic. It was scarcely surprising that the player who retained some respect for himself should have shrunk from this act of homage. " After the play," says the old York manager Wilkinson, "the performer was to return thanks, and if married, both husband and wife to appear. Mr. Frodsham once, at York, spoke a comic epilogue, and actually car- ried his wife (now living) on and off the stage on his back to comply with the expected homage. On particular occasions, four or five children to make up weight, curtsey- ing and bowing in frocks, had a wonderful effect ; as the audience in general, and the ladies in particular, prided themselves on bestowing their bounty on such a painstaking man, or such a painstaking couple, as they proved tbem- c 5 50 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. selves to be." At Norwich a drum and trumpet went round the town with the bill-distributor, who, after each flourish and roll, gave out the piece of the night. There were some who naturally thought these customs to be badges of servitude, and the manager of the York Theatre wished to abolish them, with what result his own quaint language shall tell : "I must describe," he says, "one severe edict in force when I assumed the regency reins : I mean the custom of the man and his wife returning thanks on the stage and what was truly dreadful, the draggle-tailed Andromache, in frost, rain, hail, and snow, delivering her benefit play- bills from door to door, 'where piercing winds blew sharp, and the chill rain dropped from some penthouse on her wretched head.' But use had in some measure rendered it familiar and no wonder if Hector's widow, when sup- pliant and in tears, was induced, on such solicitations, to accept with thanks a cheering drop. When I mentioned that degrading and painful custom to the company at York, previous to my being manager, they seemed to lament the woes they sustained as the laborious custom of their work- house duty. And the reader (particularly if theatrical) will start with astonishment when I aver on my word, that when I put the law in force to entirely and decidedly relieve those ladies and gentlemen ffom the complained-of evident hardship, it was received by the then York com- pany of 1766 with marks of disgust, and a conspired com- bination against me, their chief, in consequence ensued such is the force of habit, and the use of complying with despicable meanness rather than run the hazard of losing a trifle. So how could I make those free that were by nature slaves? Their pleas were, that the quality would not come (a phrase constantly used in country towns by the lower people) ; that the town inhabitants would be much enraged, OLD YORK THEATRE. 5 ! and that Mr. Wilkinson was not subjected to such super- cilious duty : besides it was apparently to the advantage of the theatre; and as the manager shared the receipts on benefit nights, he had no cause to complain or be dissatis- fied ; he reaped the advantages, and the performers only had the difficulties to encounter. Those arguments I treated as futile, weak, absurd, and not to the purpose. "Good God! w hat a sight! to actually behold Mr. Frodsham, bred as a gentleman, with fine natural talents, and esteemed in York as a Garrick, the Hamlet of the age, running after or stopping a gentleman on horseback to deliver his benefit bill, and beg half a crown (then the price of the boxes). During Mr. Baker's life I never had authority sufficient to prevent the performers from con- stantly attending the assembly-rooms and presenting their petitions ; but when I was exalted from regent to the being sole monarch, for the credit of York city and myself, I was thai obeyed ; though in all states there will be now and then refractory black-hearted rebels start up, whose souls are truly malignant and not to be controlled, but in the end such people make themselves so hated and despised, that in consequence of their bad tongues, and their own actions giving the lie to their fawning and dissembled goodness, their services are shunned everywhere, and they fall into the net they designed for others." The York Theatre was perhaps the best specimen of the country theatre ; for the Bath Theatre held an ex- ceptional position. This pre-eminence it owed to the tact, character, and exertions of its manager, Tate Wilkin- son, who was known to several generations of the pro- fession. Later he shall be introduced to relate his own adventures ; but our view of the York Theatre or indeed of the typical country theatre would be incomplete with- out presenting this well-known figure. 5 2 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. Having made some money during a laborious life, he determined to invest it in this theatre, where he had often acted, but which the easy-going management of "old Baker" had reduced to decay. He was tired of wandering. He invested his savings nearly two thousand pounds in the -concern, and in the year 1766 entered on the management. For more than thirty years he conducted it with great success, and it may be added, singularity. He had tact enough to discern the promise of many obscure players, whom he encouraged with good salaries, and retained in his service until the "London manager" that rock ahead of the thriving country theatre be- guiled them to town. It was thus that he developed the talents of Kemble, Siddons, Fawcett, Jordan, Inchbald, and many more. It was to his credit that after the great actress's first failure in London he should have received her warmly and given her the leading place. He was not, however, to be known simply as an enterprising manager. From being a student of eccentricity, he became himself the most eccentric of beings ; and as he was in an irre- sponsible position, his oddities were encouraged to develop themselves. The name of the York house became known over the kingdom, and the stories of his peculiarities were the entertaiment of every green-rcom. The York Theatre helps us to a picture of the country- town society as it was in the last century. When the wealthy families came up for the York seasons, during race and assize weeks, the town filled to overflowing. The sheriff, and the stewards, and the officers, all patronized the theatre ; and during those festivals the actors received double salaries. One of the characteristics of the country theatre used to be the reasonable pride of the audience in their own per- OLD YORK THEATRE. 53 formers. Those who had lived among them for many years were known and respected, and reflected a certain credit on the place. It is indeed recorded, that when the reports of Garrick's extraordinary success reached Liver- pool, the patrons of the drama there began to be exercised as to the question whether the new actor could be superior to their own two leading performers, Messrs. Gibson and Ridout, who enjoyed the highest reputation. This dis- cussion became so exciting that at last a deputation going up to town on corporate business were charged specially to visit the theatre and bring back an accurate report. On their return the question was eagerly put, and, to the relief of the public, it was gravely announced " that Gibson and Ridout were on the whole superior." It was scarcely wonderful that, being thus appreciated, the local actor should hold his head high ; and the York company could always show a "line of veterans" who had played from youth to old age, and who, confident in their superiority and in the admiration of the town, affected to disdain all metropolitan allurements. Conspicuous among these was Mr. Frodsham, "the York Roscius" in "old Baker's" time, and Mr. Cummins, the ancient tragedian of Wilkin- son's, both delightful characters. The sketch of Frod- sham drawn by Wilkinson is admirable, and for gayety and humor might be a scene out of a good old comedy : " I apprehend that many persons in Yorkshire, whether the old who have seen Mr. Frodsham, or the young who have heard much of that gentleman, will be pleased with a description of him : I have therefore in this niche placed him ; and shall here give (according to my best recol- lection) a concise sketch of the once much-talked-of, and the now almost forgotten Frodsham, who was thirty years ago termed the York Garrick. "The abilities of that performer were unquestionable. 5* 5 4 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. Mr. Frodsham had a quick genius, aided by a liberal edu- cation : but his mind, his understanding, and supera- bundant good qualities, were all warped and undermined by nocturnal habits; which failings unfortunately were supplied by refreshing pulls at the brandy-bottle in the morning, to take off all qualms from the stomach, till the certain consequence ensued of being enfeebled, disordered, mad, dropsical, and dead at the age of thirty-five. " Mr. Powell of London, whom the stage had cause to lament, is the nearest assimilation I can give of Frodsham. Mr. Powell had the opportunity of strictly observing real artists, Garrick and Barry, in all their modes and shapes of grief: inattentive Frodsham unhappily was his own master, and a careless one ; for though he set himself diffi- cult tasks, he only now and then pursued the trump of fame with ardency or alacrity, but lagged, and never reached the goal, though a very little spurring and jockeyship would have made him come in first, and won many a theatrical plate. The public were so infatuated (and indeed he was so superior) that he cast all others at a distance in his York situation ; and the audience too blindly and too partially (for his good) approved all he did beyond comparison ; and when in full pride, before he wilfully sunk himself, I do not think any actor but Garrick would have been liked so well.; and even Garrick, not without some old maids' opinions at a secret cabal, where Frodsham would have been voted superior, and under the rose appointed the man for the ladies. Nor would that decision in favor of Frodsham have been from elderly ladies only, as he had often melted the youthful fair ones of the tenderest moulds, whose hearts have been susceptible whenever Frodsham was the lover. Thus situated at i/. is. per week salary, Frodsham had not any opportunity for observation or improvement : no in- fringement was suffered, or change of characters. About OLD YORK THEATRE. 55 thirty-two years ago he obtained a fortnight for holidays, which occasioned great lamentations at York, for they were certain if Mr. Garrick saw Frodsham it would be a' woful day for the York stage. He not only was young and vain, but self-opinionated to a superabundant degree. When in London he left a card at Mr. Garrick's house, ' Mr. Frodsham of York,' with the same ease and facility as if it had been the first gentleman from Yorkshire. Mr. Garrick judged this card of a country stroller very easy and very extraor- dinary, and from the sample wished to see the York actor, who had accordingly admittance the ensuing day; and after a slight conversation, during which Garrick was aston- ished at the young man's being so very free and affable, particularly on any subject pertaining to Shakespeare's plays, c., and still with a procrastination that Garrick was not accustomed to, or by any means relished a com- pliance with, he delayed, every minute expecting that Frodsham would present his petition to be heard, and re- ceive his commendation from Garrick's eye of favor. But this obsequious request not being made, Garrick urged present business, and presented the York Romeo with an order for the pit, desiring him that night to favor him with attendance to see him perform Sir John Brute, accom- panied with an invitation to breakfast the ensuing morning at the same time asking him, ' Pray now, have you seen a play since your arrival in London ?' ' Oh yes,' quickly answered Mr. Frodsham, 'I saw you play Hamlet two nights ago;' to which he added it was his own favorite character. * Well,' says Garrick, ' pray now, how did you approve, Frodsham ? I hope I pleased you : ' for that night he had judged his performance a lucky hit. Frodsham replied, * Oh, yes, certainly, my dear sir, vastly clever in several passages ; but I cannot so far subjoin mine to the public opinion of London, as to say I was equally struck 5 6 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. with your whole performance in that part.' I do not con- jecture that any actor who spoke to Garrick ever so amazed him. Garrick stammered, and said, ' Why why now, to be sure now, why I suppose you in the country Pray now, Mr. Frodsham, what sort of a place do you act in at York? Is it in a room, or riding-house, occasionally fitted up ?' 'Oh no, sir, a theatre, upon my honor.' 'Oh sure, why my Lord Burlington has said that ; why, will will you breakfast to-morrow, and we will have a trial of skill, and Mrs. Garrick shall judge between us, ha, ha, ha, now, I say. Good-day, Mr. York, for I must be at the theatre, so now pray remember breakfast.' Frodsham promised he would, and made his exit. And though Garrick himself told me the circumstance, and truly laughed then, yet I am certain at the time he had been greatly piqued, astonished, and surprised at so strange a visit from a country actor ; yet wishing to satisfy his curiosity, had done it for once at the expense of his pride and dignity. The following day arrived the York hero at Palais Royale in Southamp- ton Street, according to appointment breakfast finished, with Madam Garrick as good superintendent, waiting with impatience, and full of various conjectures why the poor man from the country did not take courage and prostrate before the foot of majesty, humbly requesting a trial, en- gagement, etc., but as Frodsham did not, as expected, break the ice, Garrick did. ' Well, Mr. Frodsham, why now, well, that is, I suppose you saw my Brute last night ? Now, no compliment, but tell Mrs. Garrick; well now, was it right ? Do you think it would have pleased at York? Now speak what you think !' ' Oh !' says Frodsham, ' cer- tainly, certainly ; and, upon my honor, without compli- ment, I never was so highly delighted and entertained it was beyond my comprehension : but having seen you play Hamlet first, your Sir John Brute exceeded my belief; for OLD YORK THEATRE. I have been told, Hamlet, Mr. Ganick, is one of your first characters ; but I must say, I flatter myself I play it almost as well ; for comedy, my good sir, is your forte. But your Brute, d n it, Mr. Garrick, your Brute was excellence itself! You stood on the stage in the drunken scene flour- ishing your sword ; you placed youself in an attitude I am sure you saw me in the pit at the same time, and with your eyes you seemed to say, " D n it, Frodsham, did you ever see anything like that at York ? Could you do that, Frodsham?" ' (and it is possible the last remark was a just one.) The latter part of this harangue of Frodsham's pos- sibly went not so glibly down as the tea at breakfast : and the ease and familiarity with which it was accompanied and delivered, not only surprised but mortified Garrick, who expected adulation and the bended knee. "After much affectation of laughter, and seemingly ap- proving all Frodsham had uttered ' Well now, hey I for a taste of your quality now a speech, Mr. Frodsham, from Hamlet ; and, Mrs, Garrick, " bear a wary eye." ' Frod- sham with the utmost composure, spoke Hamlet's first so- liloquy without any idea of fear or terror, or indeed allow- ing Garrick, as a tragedian, a better Hamlet, or superior to himself; Garrick all the while darting his fiery eyes into the soul of Frodsham a custom of Garrick's to all whom he deemed subservient, as if he meant to alarm and convey from those eyes an iflea of intelligence to the beholder of his own amazing intellect. Garrick certainly possessed most extraordinary powers of eye, as they contained not only the fire and austerity he meant to convey, but his sim- plicity in Scrub, and archness of eye in Don John, were equally excellent and as various. On Frodsham the eye of terror had no such effect ; for if he had noticed and thought Mr. Garrick's eyes were penetrating, he would inwardly have comforted himself his own were equally brilliant, if c* 58 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. not superiorly so. When Frodsham had finished Hamlet's first speech, and without stop, To be or not to be, &c., Gar- rick said, ' Well, hey now ! hey ! you have a smattering, but you want a little of my forming ; and really in some passages you have acquired tones I do not by any means approve.' Frodsham tartly replied, 'Tones, Mr. Garrick! to be sure I have tones, but you are not familiarized to them. I have seen you act twice, Hamlet the first, and I thought you had odd tones, and Mrs. Gibber strange tones, and they were not quite agreeable to me on the first hear- ing, but I dare say I should soon be reconciled to them.' ' Why now,' says the much-astonished, wondering Garrick, 'nay now, this is why now really, Frodsham, you are a d d queer fellow ; but for a fair and full trial of your genius my stage shall be open, and you shallact any part you please, and if you succeed we will then talk of terms.' ' Oh !' said Frodsham, in the same flighty flow of spirits, ' you are mistaken, my dear Mr. Garrick, if you think I came here to solicit an engagement ; I am a Roscius at my own quarters ! I came to London purposely to see a few plays, and looking on myself as a man not destitute of tal- ents, I judged it a proper compliment to wait on a brother genius. I thought it indispensable to see you and have half an hour's conversation with you I neither want nor wish for an engagement ; for I would not abandon or relinquish the happiness I enjoy in Yorkshire fof the first terms your great and grand city of London could afford ;' and with a negligent, wild bow made his exit, and left the gazing Gar- rick following his shade, like Shakespeare's ghost, himself standing in an attitude of surprise, to ruminate and reflect, and to relate this account of the strangest mad actor he had ever seen, or ever after did see." Once, when Colman came to York to make some engage- ments, a dinner was given in his honor by the manager. OLD YOKK THEATRE. 59 The play for the evening was "The School for Scandal," and be asked with some curiosity who was to play Charles Surface. A respectable old gentleman of sixty was sitting qffMUMlT, who had been eating in silence, and to whom the manager pointed, saying, " Mr. Cummins k the Charles" The actor bowed complacently, and Cohnan could not re- strain a grimace. This was the established glory of the York stage, who had ranted and mouthed for thirty or forty years, and whose position was secure. When Kembie, laboriously studying his profession, was attempting to make some impression on the Yorkshire "Tykes," it was pro- nounced that be was very good in his way, " but nothin' to Coomins "" A grave criticism from a local paper has been preserved in which good-natured words of warning and encouragement are given to the young aspirant, and he is told, if he would really wish to rise, to bestow pains on studying the various points of Mr. Cummins' style. Excellent as Kemble's promise was, the customs of the York stage were inflexible, and he was never allowed to interfere with Mr. Cummins, who to the last retained all his characters. This veteran was to be one of the lew players who have died literally in harness, and drawn their last breath at the foot-lights. All about the establishment had a dash of the director's eccentricity. The wardrobe-keeper, "Johnny Winter," who, though in care of a rich stock of dresses, had an almost invincible objection to allowing them to be used, was a character. All manner of spectacle was his particu- lar dread and detestation, and Shakespeare's plays were classed and confounded by him with pieces requiring show, dress, and numbers. Above all, he hated to look out dresses for the supernumeraries, whom he called smfcrmttJ- He argued against and resisted their aid, in the selfish manner he was master of; ai 60 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. the night came, he would abuse the people and obstruct their preparations. Whenever the manager ordered the revival of any of Shakespeare's plays, his abhorrence of them was proportioned to their processions, and he was almost frantic during John Kemble's engagement, when the play of " Coriolanus" was revived. " That John Kemble and Shakespeare," Mr. Mathews heard him say, " have given me more trooble than all the other people in t' world put together, and my spouse into t' bar- gain." He especially hated " Henry the Eighth," and others of the historical plays that required numbers to be dressed. Here as in other towns the players or the manager, rather were dependent on the caprices of their patrons the squires, the small gentry of the town, and the officers. Mr. Wilkinson, however, had a certain independence, and by asserting that of his profession, succeeded in raising its dignity. The tyranny of these patrons was indeed insup- portable. One night when Mr. Kemble was playing, a lady of position in the neighborhood disturbed the per- formance by loud remarks and ridicule of the actor. As this treatment was continued, Mr. Kemble, after many pauses and significant glances, at last came forward, and addressing the offender declared that he could not go on until the disturbance ceased. The lady was attended by some officers of the garrison, who resented what they con- sidered "the insult," and uproariously insisted on his coming forward to apologize. The spirited actor refused. The performance was not allowed to go on. He came for- ward, and replied to the cries of submission with a decided "Never." On this the "influential" party left the box. On the next day the military gentlemen took the matter up, insisting on the dismissal of the offender, and attempt- ing to intimidate the manager by declaring that unless the OLD YORK THEATRE. 6 1 wish was complied with, all further patronage should be withdrawn, and that they and their friends, with even the tradesmen they employed, should never enter the theatre. This was a serious crisis, but the veteran manager took a spirited part. He had always found Kemble " a gentle- man," and respected him. He refused to dismiss him, saying that he was in the right, and that he valued him more than all the patronage of the family and its depend- ents. After many further attempts at bullying him into compliance his firmness prevailed, and the audience came round to his side. Before he could thus vindicate his position the York manager had to undergo other humiliations : "This leads me to an anecdote, which suddenly and impulsively bursts on my recollection. A first esteemed gentleman in the spacious county of York, whose polished understanding and manners were universally acknowledged and admired, even to the extent of popularity in the great world, some few years since desired to patronize a play. I sent my treasurer with the catalogue (as is usual on such occasions to any leading person) ; but on looking over the list of tragedies, comedies, and farces, he declared he could not determine, and desired Mr. Wilkinson would attend him and his party after dinner, at the inn where he then for a few days resided. Which mandate I obeyed ; and without being arrogant, in my idea (as his Majesty's pat- entee), undoubtedly expected being favored with sitting at the cheerful board, and holding some chit-chat relative to the play and farce that he intended to sanction. Instead of such usual and indeed common civility, after waiting a considerable time in the bar, I was at length ushered into the room where the company had dined, when Sir beckoned me to approach him at the upper end of the table, where I impertinently expected to have to sat 6 62 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. down ; but neither found a vacancy, or the waiter even ordered to produce me a chair. Sir discoursed relative to the play then of York city ; graciously observed I had acted Bayes so as to merit his approbation ; and to heighten the compliment remarked, he was no judge, as he seldom visited the theatre, either in London or elsewhere. At length he condescendingly asked me to drink a glass of wine, which I begged to decline ; but he requested a worthy and respectable gentleman (now living) to give a glass, which he handed to me as if I had been a common porter waiting for a message : for I actually stood all the while at the backs of their chairs. I was most truly happy to depart, and from that day lost all anxiety or ray of in- clination to pay my devoirs or wait on that great man, who was then termed the Grandison of the age. "I would attribute this to want of thought at the time; but I do not see how that could be the case for so long a space, where sense and good breeding were by all allowed to be the characteristic qualities of that gentleman." Here is his picture of a York race-week and its trials : " The York races (which in the year 1765 were in their great glory) made me imagine 'Love a la Mode' would prove of the highest consequence there ; and I said to I by itself, I, / should do great things at the theatre from 'Love a la Mode,' which would go.down pleasantly, and expected to be applauded as a Garrick, a Foote, and a Macklin, in the different characters : and here, good reader, you will observe a lesson for vanity, and as efficacious and as good a cure as are Spilsbury's drops for the scurvy, or Godbold's for a consumption. "The Monday in the race week I fixed on Cadwallader in the farce, as a part I was certain the York audience were partial to me in, and judged I was established in their opinions. When at rehearsal that noon a message was OLD YORK THEATRE. 63 sent to me, while on Ihe stage, that several gentlemen desired to speak with me in Mr. Baker's dining-room. I instantly obeyed the summons (first desiring the performers to wait), and in imagination assuring myself it must cer- tainly be a complimentary intended bespoke play, for my performing in some shining character the night following. When I made my entrance into the room, in high mirth and glee, where the gentlemen were, and was singing aloud, York races are just now beginning, The lads and their lasses are coming, after my bow, and on the survey of features, not recol- lecting one individual face there assembled, I naturally requested to be acquainted with the honor of their com- mands, as I was at that time busily engaged with my atten- tion to the rehearsal of 'The Author,' a farce of Mr. Foote's, which was intended for that very evening ; when a young gentleman quickly replied, ' Sir, it is that very rehearsal and farce I came to put an immediate stop to ;' then turning to Mr. Baker, said : * Sir, you need not be informed the York Theatre is not licensed, and if you are not acquainted with another circumstance, I beg you will understand you are guilty of a double offence, by a flagrant breach of law and flying in the face of authority ; as the impudent libel called * The Author,' written by that scoun- drel Foote, was stopped from any future performance six years ago, in December, 1758, and has not been permitted since. My name, Mr. Wilkinson, is Apreece, and the character of Cadwallader you mean to perform is an affront to the memory of my father (who is now dead) : as his son, by G-d, I will not suffer such insolence to pass either un- noticed or unpunished; therefore if at night you dare attempt or presume to play that farce, myself and friends are determined, one and all, not to leave a bench or scene 64 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. in your theatre; so, Mr. Wilkinson, your immediate and determinate answer.' I could only refer to Mr. Baker, who was the manager and the proprietor ; I was only on an engagement with that gentleman for the race week, and I should be guided by his opinion and direction. 'Well, Mr. Baker,' said Mr. Apreece, 'we wait your decision.' The old gentleman spoke thus: 'Why, look ye, d'ye see, gentlemen, if so be that is the case, why as to the matter of that, Mr. Wilkinson, d'ye see me, must not act Cadwal- lader this evening.' That, Mr. Apreece said, was all he requested, and added, that himself and friends would all attend the theatre that night, but expected no infringe- ment to be made on the treaty, either by secret or offensive means, to cause an opposition after the manager's word was given ; then wished a good race week, and Apreece and his numerous association departed. " For some minutes Mr. Baker and I stood and gazed at each other like Gayless and Sharp after Kitty Pry's departure: where one says, 'O Sharp! Sharp!' the other answers, ' O master ! master !' But when recovered a little from the dilemma, what was to be done? that was the question ! To be or not to be ? for I could not advance forward (' The Author' being a favorite farce) and say, 'A party of gentlemen would not suffer it to be acted, for if it was they threatened a dangerous riot.' Nor could we give out handbills and inform the public a performer was dangerously ill, who might immediately contradict it and assert his being in perfect health : so in council it was agreed to be naturally stupid, say nothing, but substitute 'The Mayor of Garratt,' and proceed with the farce, so changed, without any apology whatever. It certainly was the strangest mode that ever was adopted, or that ever was suffered without momentous consequences, attended with strict inquiry and investigation. OLD YORK THEATRE. 65 " The first scene between Sir Jacob Jollup and Mr. Lint the apothecary, the astonished audience sat, each staring in his fellow's face, like Shakespeare's blacksmith with his hammer up and swallowing a tailor's news, and concluded it was something new by Wilkinson foisted into ' The Au- thor,' but when I was announced as the Major, and made my entrance, the reader will not be surprised when in- formed I was received with an universal hiss. I took no notice, but went on. The disapprobation continued, but not so virulently as to occasion a standstill ; and the reader may be assured we lost no time in getting our work over, but wished for bed-time, and that all were well ; for though I owed Heaven a debt, it is clearly evident it was not then due, and I was, like Falstaff, loth to pay before the day. At last the death of that day's life came on, the curtain dropped, and the poor Major Sturgeon sneaked away with marks of anger following at his heels, and slunk to bed to cover himself and his dishonor. So ended the first lesson of the week, where I expected to have outdone my usual outdoings; but the greatest generals have met with dis- graces and misfortunes. "Tuesday I acted 'The Lyar,' which went off wonder- fully well; I breathed better than in the morning, and felt once more a little elated. I had fixed on ' The Appren- tice' as the entertainment, which the summer before had done much for me in London ; but unfortunately it hap- pened to be a favorite part of Mr. Frodsham's (who in truth did not play it well, but quite the contrary), and in that character I failed again, without a single hand to assist. I labored through a part in which, in London, I had been much flattered by applause in the extreme ; my imitations were not known in Yorkshire, therefore naturally passed without the least effect. The reader will smile at the pleasant week I had promised myself, but I fed on thin 6* 66 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. diet, that of hope, which I doubted not would give a brilliant and good ending after the bad beginning. "About twelve on the Wednesday, when I had finished the rehearsal of 'The Provoked Wife,' a deputation of gentlemen were sent as ambassadors from the ladies assem- bled then at Giordani's concert. The gentlemen who came from the rooms informed me and Mr. Baker, that Lady Bingley and all the ladies assembled sent their com- pliments ; they wished that night to make a point of visit- ing the theatre before they went to the rooms, in order to show every encouragement to the manager; but it was with the proviso that so indecent a play as ' The Provoked Wife' (which the ladies could not by any means counte- nance) might be changed to another comedy, if their protection an 1 patronage were worth consideration ; but if their request was not complied with, they should not on any account enter the theatre, as they would not by any means think of sitting out so improper a representation. The ladies added, that as to the farce of ' The Upholsterer' being altered, it was very immaterial, as very few would continue after the play, but go to the rooms. More com- fort still for unfortunate Wilkinson ! " Well, the command, as it might be termed, from the boxes, was likely and necessary to be obeyed, however mortifying it was to me; fresh bills were issued forth with every necessary information of the play being altered, at the universal desire of persons of distinction, to 'Love in a Village.' At that time York races were remarkable for attracting the first families, not only of that immense county, but the kingdom at large ; and York was then honored with as many ladies of the first distinction as gentlemen. But oh, what a falling off is there ! Oh, woe is me to have seen what I have seen, and seeing what I see ! The house was full, and the boxes were much OLD YORK THEATRE, 67 crowded ; and my only care for the evening was to prepare for the Barber, though most of the ladies and gentlemen would not wait to be SHAVED ; but to those who did. I was not much indebted for the compliment of their attendance, as too sure I had Pilgarlick's ill luck again ; for as to my resemblance of Woodward it did not occur to one in a hundred, but it struck the fancy of the million that it was a part that appertained to their favorite Robertson, their darling (and deservedly so, for he was a comedian of true merit). But in regard to my playing the Barber, my dressing like Woodward, I was afterwards informed, was in every article of it contrary to the dress of Mr. Robert- son ; and as they pinned their faith upon his sleeve, why be was right, and I was judged wrong in every particular ; therefore absurd and assuming in Wilkinson to attempt Mr. Robertson's part of the Barber ; he would spoil it, and was impudent, ignorant, and deserved chastisement ; and I quitted the stage the third night with an universal hiss and general marks of disapprobation. It was to me a week of perplexity and woe not pleasure, to so great a man as /had fancied myself. "The next day I accidentally stepped into a milliner's shop, where a little elderly lady sat knitting in the corner, and without once looking at me on my entrance (or if she had she would not have known me), said, 'Well, I am sure, Nanny, you never shall persuade me to go to the play again to see that hunch-backed Barber. Give me "The Mourning Bride," and Mr. Frodsham, and then there is some sense in it; but for that man, that Wilkinson, as you call him, from London, pray let him go back and stay there, for he is the ugliest man I ever saw in my life, and so thought Nanny. I am sure if he was worth his weight in gold he should never marry a daughter of mine. ' I turned round to her, and said, ' Dear Madam, do not be so very hard- 68 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. hearted try the theatre once more when I play, and I will exert my best abilities to make you amends and deserve your Better sentiments.' The old lady stared, down dropped the spectacles, the knitted garters followed (which had busily employed her attention while speaking) ; and with- out a single word she took to her heels (which were nimble), and ran away out of the back-door into New Street. " Not having finished the career of that memorable race week, I must here register that Fortune had not ceased plaguing me with my performance of the Barber; for on the night following Mrs. Centlivre's play of the 'Busy- Body' was acted Marplot, Mr. Frodsham ; to which was added my highly-valued tower of strength, my 'Ville de Paris,' called 'Love a la Mode.' Thundering applause and shouts of expectation had pleasingly disturbed my sleep the night before, with glorious vast ideas, such as expecting thanks, and being the topic of admiring conver- sation, for the favor Mr. Wilkinson had conferred on the town by so good and unexpected a feast as Mr. Macklin's 'Love a la Mode.' Indeed, one material point was gained, for the theatre was crowded in every part. The York audi- ence then were particularly lukewarm as to applause, when compared to any other established theatre. But that serenity is now altered as if the children of another soil and that sometimes even to the overdoing. More than three plau- dits, however their admiration may be raised, in my humble opinion destroys their own dignity, and three is full suffi- cient for any performer's greediness; beyond, enfeebles instead of strengthening the intended effect. "But to return to 'Love a la Mode,' in which the first scene being merely introductory, not any applause could have been extorted from any audience ; silence and atten- tion was all that could be required, and that was granted. The scene of the Jew (Beau Mordecai) followed next: OLD YORK THEATRE. 69 not a smile ; as I stood behind the scenes on the very ten- ter-hooks of expectation my vanity attributed that only to the want of a little rousing and my desired appearance. A rat-a-tat at the stage-door, and now for it I says I. When I entered as Sir Archy, scarcely a hand ! My heart sank somewhere no matter where. I said to myself, for com- fort, Assume courage I I tried and tried, but all in vain : the scene dragged and grew more and more dull. Next came Sir Callaghan, whom I was truly glad to see, as it relieved me from a heavy tedious courtship with the lady which did not promise much better success any change, I trusted would be for the better. They gave applause on seeing Frodsham, and a few simpering smiles gave me a cheerer, and I judged all would be for the better. But when I as Sir Archy and he as Sir Callaghan were left to ourselves in the quarreling scene, which is truly well exe- cuted by the author, and very entertaining, instead of peals of laughter which I had assured myself would follow, and to my speeches in particular, the rail assemblage before us seemed as if by magnetism charmed into an evening nap all was hush they appeared perfectly willing to grant leave for our departure. We ended the act, but not with any honors to grace the remembrance and indeed by the turn of faces in the boxes, and almost in every other part, it was very perceptible the actors, or the piece, were by no means approved. I, for my own part, as an actor, never felt so severe a disappointment, and wished for the week over, as I could then take my leave of York forever. " While the music was playing preparatory to the second act, Frodsham flew eagerly to get relief from his fetal and false friend, the brandy-bottle. I was not quite so rash, but was contented with sending for a bottle of Madeira, of which I took large a"nd eager libations. Thus armed (after a tedious music) by the inspiration of the invinci- 7 o THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. ble spirit of wine, I felt bold, and sallied forth once more to take the field. I had to Frodsham confessed myself disappointed and hurt ; however, submissive resignation to the decrees of the Fates was indispensable ; and as an honest witness on a trial often gives weight to the jury, so did I rest hopes on my Squire Groom's setting all matters right ; and I predicted, that when the curtain dropped I should be envious of his receiving all the honors and praises that would, from the part being so applicable to the week, insure good fortune. When Squire Groom made his entree in his new dress and aw his pontificalibus, ex- actly as Mr. King had accoutred himself at London when he acted that part, why even there my hopes were frus- trated ; for his being dressed as a gentleman who had been riding his own match, gave offence instead of being pleas- ing to the gentlemen of the turf; it was sneered at as im- pertinently taking too great a liberty in the race week to have any freedom of character, or even to be permitted to pass, at a time when the whole dependence of the theatre rested on the resort of company that attended York races. Squire Groom's scene was permitted to get through with difficulty at the end of which, apparent disgust and weari- ness lessened the audience every minute, and then vanished all my pleasing prospect of profit and applause from my fancied treasure in possessing the celebrated farce of 'Love a la Mode' ; and as the people from all parts hastily re- tired, we were equally quick in bringing about the catas- trophe, and were not under much terror or apprehension for the conclusion, as none were left except a few harmless gazers, that neither cared for the audience, the farce, nor the actors, but found themselves in the theatre they scarce kne-.v how, and as peaceably departed they hardly knew why." He had other powers to conciliate, as will be seen from OLD YORK THEATRE. 71 the account of his giving offense to the officers of the militia then quartered in the town : " I ever worked like a horse at a mill to deserve my en- gagement, whether in town or country. My benefit was appointed, at my desire, on Monday, October 3. That day, I beg the reader will notice, was the first day of the militia's assembling. My bill of that night was nearly as follows : ' The last night. " The Rehearsal" : Bayes, Mr. Wilkinson. End of the play, by particular desire, the principal scene from the new farce called " The Mayor of Garratt" ; the character of Major Sturgeon (of the West- minster militia) by Mr. Wilkinson : also a scene from "The Orators" ; Peter Paragraph by Mr. Wilkinson : with the farce of "The Citizen" ; Young Philpot, Mr. Wilkin- son.' Surely I gave them enough for their money, what- ever it might want in quality. The house was crowded in every part, particularly the stage, by gentlemen, for want of room in the front of the house. The officers of the new militia were all there, and at their head the ever- entertaining Chace Price, whom I rejoiced to see: he had sent me a compliment at noon (being my benefit), and was between the acts in "great spirits, chatting with me and others. At the end of the comedy of ' The Rehearsal' he desired to wish Mr. Bayes good-night, as he found himself much fatigued with his journey, and expected a severe bout the next day with the bottle at the mess where he was pres- ident ; he said he would get a good night's rest, having traveled from London to Shrewsbury without going to bed. On his departure I retired to dress for the new part of Major Sturgeon (the reader will observe that farce was not then in print). On my appearance behind the scenes as the Major, I thought the countenances of several of the officers did not augur a pleasing aspect to my intended performance ; but not supposing any violent anger could 72 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. possibly arise without a sufficient cause, hoped I should be made ample amends by the smiling faces and laughing cheeks in front of the theatre. But the new commanders not having been at that juncture in London, when Mr. Foote's ' Mayor of Garratt' was acting, they knew nothing of its fashionable ton there, or if they did, would not allow- that as a sufficient plea for them, as men of valor, why they should not resent an injurious affront, from what they looked on as an unjustifiable and intentional insult ; they therefore one and all pressed so hard and close together at the first wing, where I was to make my entrance, as to prevent the possibility of gaining admittance on the stage ; and had not Roger the Bumpkin, servant to the Justice, Sir Jacob Jol- lup, cried out on the stage, ' Pray ye, gentlemen, pray ye let Major Fish come to visit my master,' they actually would not have suffered me to pass ; but from conscious shame and the hissing of the audience, I was at last (but not without much difficulty) permitted to enter; and I verily believe, had they not so pointedly marked their in- dignation, the bulk of the hearers would have passed the secret over as incomprehensible ; but such a remarkable and violent contempt offered to me was easily perceived by them, and once conceived, their ideas swiftly commu- nicated like gunpowder, when I came to the passage where Major Sturgeon relates to the Justice: " ' On we marched, the men all in high spirits, to attack the gibbet where Gardel is hanging ; but turning down a narrow lane to the left, as it might be about there, in order to possess a pig's stye, that we might take the gallows in flank, and at all events secure a retreat, who should come by but a drove of fat oxen for Smithfield. The drums beat in the front, the dogs barked in the rear, the oxen set up a gallop ; on they came thundering upon us, broke through our ranks in an instant, and threw the whole corps into confusion.' OLD YORK THEATRE. 73 " Now, reader, consider, that however outre and ridicu- lous this speech from fancy was formed by the author, Mr. Foote, the whole circumstance had in similarity happened that very day in every ludicrous point; and, in conse- quence, the offended party swore that particular passage must be the offspring of my own brain, and done as an impudent and intentional disgrace to them ; and when the tumult of laughter from the audience allowed permission for me to proceed with 'The Major's horse took fright, away he scoured over the heath. That gallant commander stuck both his spurs into the flank, and for some time held by his mane ; but in crossing a ditch, the horse reared up his head, gave the Major a dowse in the chops, and threw that gallant commander into a ditch near the Powder Mills' the officers were incensed to such a degree that they left the theatre in dudgeon, vowing vengeance. When I was undressed, and prepared to go to my own lodgings, I had information that a sergeant with five or six soldiers were in waiting, with orders, not only to beat unmercifully, but to duck poor Major Sturgeon in the river ; so, instead of being lighted home, I acted as servant, after all my fatigue, and lighted others. I got to a house where Mrs. Price and a Mrs. Lewis lived, and ordered the account of the house to be brought there and settled. Mr. Littlehale, a friend of mine, well known at Shrewsbury, was there. Dame Price (my tragedy queen at Portsmouth in 1757) escorted us up- stairs ; the kitchen had an entrance on each side of the house. She had undertaken as my old acquaintance to look well to my playhouse doors, and with an observant eye mind all was honor bright, where that tempting situa- tion of taking money was transacted that essential article for real kings, queens, generals, fine gentlemen, and fine ladies; for be it known, there is as much anxiety and sus- picion on a benefit night out of London, and it is looked n 7 74 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. on as necessary to be as well guarded, as the bank of Eng- land when threatened with conflagration and a riot. Any gentleman who holds half an hour's noon conversation with an actor in the country, must have observed the following remarks and answers : ' The house on such a night was not well counted.' ' Such a night the house was not well gathered.' 'The checks were not right.' 'One of the doorkeepers was seen to let up several without taking any money.' 'Another doorkeeper took six shillings, but re- turned two to prove his honesty.' "These sayings are often without foundation, but I am afraid at times are known to be too true. So Mrs. Price's inspection into the deeds of the doorkeepers, with thinking eyes, was truly necessary ; but Mr. Littlehale and I had not regaled an hour before every window below stairs was sud- denly broken. The militia officers, at the head of some myrmidons, rushed into the house, and furiously demanded Wilkinson ; being assured I neither lodged nor visited there, they retired eagerly through the opposite door of the kitchen in determined search of their destined prey, having been at my lodgings first. However, on their departure I had that great restorative elixir, those golden drops, as Major O' Flaherty says, which healed all my grievances; for out of an old crazy tin and some wooden boxes I poured a plentiful libation of gold and silver .coin, the produce of Mexico and Peru, which presented as charming a lava as can be conceived. "After my incredible fatigues and a comfortable bowl, I got safely to rest, and late the next day attended my good friend Chace Price. He declared he saw me with the utmost regret and chagrin, lamented his early departure from the theatre, as had he stayed he would have effectually put a stop to such brutish outrage ; hoped I would think no more of it. If I imagined, he said, that the officers OLD YORK THEATRE. 75 bespeaking a play with his name at the head would be of service, he would exert all his interest. I told him the accidental affray the night before dwelt on my mind with very disagreeable reflections, as the consequence might have proved dangerous. As to the play the next night, I desired it might be understood I had no advantage from it, nor would I receive any ; but as it would certainly serve the company, I accepted it so far as a compliment, and my services that evening he might command. He replied, * he was obliged to me,' and ordered the players to per- form ' The Recruiting Officer,' as the scene lay at Shrews- bury, and desired I would repeat Young Philpot in * The Citizen.' He appointed Thursday instead of Wednesday ; as on the Wednesday he had a venison dinner, and devoted the day to his friends, amongst which number he honored me, and insisted on my dining with him at the Raven on that occasion. I made my compliments in return, and assured him I would attend his summons with infinite pleasure. I was on that day a little after my time, a. fault I have been often told of; but on his left hand, at the upper end of the table, the head seat had been purposely reserved for me, and the apparent intimacy and respect he honored me with made the officers stare and think they were in the wrong box, by the contempt they wished to have shown the player. The dinner was good ; the wine was good ; but Chace Price was superior to both. Mirth went round, enjoying the feast of friendship and the flow of soul. Sing- ing was mentioned ; Chace Price said humorously he must first have a rehearsal; for, as his friend Wilkinson was going to leave Shrewsbury in a few days, without one he should be imperfect and forget his part ; and begged the favor of me to repeat his favorite scene from the new farce of ' The Mayor of Garratt,' and if I would act the Major, be was certain be could recollect Sir Jacob Jollup, as he 7 6 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. had seen it that summer in London so often ; which was strictly true. His memory was excellent. " Well, we acted the scene, which was highly relished. The good-humored intention was smoked, and it ended with an afternoon and evening all in perpetual harmony ; animosity or discord was no more thought of." Such is a glimpse of an old provincial theatre which in "its day nursed many useful performers for the London stage. It had its use, too, in mollifying rustic manners, and imparting at least some elements of taste. In this ex- cellent school, and from such rude trials as have been just described, the comedian learned self-reliance, and found his self-conceit the bane of the rising actor wholesomely corrected. Thus prepared, he was ready, when the chance offered, to take a creditable position on the London stage. We shall now shift the scene to the great metropolitan houses, selecting each episode with a view to its being an illustration of some era in stage life and adventure. - CHAPTER IV. THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY.' 1750-80. A BEAUTIFUL woman whose chief attraction is in her beauty, is scarcely seen at her best upon the stage. This may seem a little strange, as it might reasonably be sup- posed that the position is peculiarly favorable to a display of natural charms. But more is requisite, as will be seen * Born 1731, died 1788. THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 77 from the system that has recently prevailed, when it has become fashionable for a patron to take a theatre specially for the exhibition of some fair enslaver, who would other- wise have no opportunity of exhibiting her gifts. A glit- tering framework is thus provided for the picture : in other words the theatre is beautified at a vast expense, and a piece chosen so constructed as to provide for the display of at least one magnificent dress during each act. This rather inartistic system, by a curious law of retribution, is de- structive of itself and its principles; for the beautiful woman, who has thus secured an advantage denied to the claims of her own gifts, is thrust into a situation of con- spicuous responsibility which she has not strength to support, and the result is failure. This is owing to the ludicrous contrast between the pretentious and glittering surroundings and the feeble talent that is thus unduly adorned, while the experiment invariably fails, as many noble patrons have lately learned at a ruinous cost. It is curious that in France, where there is little regard for public decency, no such proceeding as this would be toler- ated, and playgoers would not allow their interest in the stage to be sacrificed to the partiality of a wealthy patron. In the last century, however, the beautiful woman found her way to the stage on more rigorous terms. The two great theatres of Drury Lane and Coven t Garden offered a long list of stock tragedies and comedies, each an impor- tant, well-tried piece whose merits had been set off by a succession of fine actors and actresses. These parts became favorite tests of the abilities of rising players much as Norma and Lucia, Gilda or Valentine, are attempted by candidates on the operatic stage. Such parts become gradually enriched by brilliant traditions, all the varied abilities of successive performers contributing. For one of our modern beautiful women, such a probation would 7* 7 8 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. be utterly disastrous, but in the last century it became an absolute necessity. She might have her patron who would help to secure the entree, but the ability must be forthcom- ing. And there followed this happy result that the stage was adorned with charming and attractive figures accom- panied with talents of the highest order, while the audience was gratified with the spectacle of beauty and wit united. Mrs. Woffington, Mrs. Hartley, Mrs. Baddeley, Mrs. Yates, and Mrs. Bellamy, all adorned the stage and at the same time entertained the public. The pictures of these ladies their superb dresses, handsome figures full of expression and grace are singularly interesting ; and certainly not the least attractive is the "blue-eyed Bellamy," whose curious story shall now be presented. She was the illegiti- mate daughter of the Lord Tyrawley who is mentioned in no very complimentary terms by Pope an old roue, who had served with some distinction in both diplomacy and in the wars. The young heroine, George Anne as she was christened, was brought up in a French convent, but her father, who had been appointed ambassador to Russia, an- nounced that he would not support her or her mother any longer. Thus abandoned, by a fortunate accident she at- tracted the notice of Rich, the manager of Covent Garden Theatre, who happened to be passing close to where some girls were rehearsing scraps of plays :- "Attracted, as he afterwards said, by the powerful sweet- ness of the Moor's voice, which he declared to be superior to any he had ever heard, he listened without interrupting our performance; but as soon as it was concluded, he en- tered the room, and paid me a thousand compliments on my theatrical abilities. Among other things, he said that in his opinion I should make one of the first actresses in the world; adding, that if I could turn my thoughts to the stage, he should be happy to engage me. THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 79 " Not a little vain of receiving these encomiums from a person who, from his situation, must be a competent judge, I went home and informed my mother of what had hap- pened. At first she was averse to my accepting the pro- posal, having experienced herself all the disadvantages attendant on a theatrical life; but Mrs. Jackson uniting her persuasions to those of Mr. Rich, she at length con- sented. She, however, complied only on conditions that the manager would assure her of his supporting me in a capital line. This Mr. Rich' agreed to do. " At the time I entered into an engagement with Mr. Rich Is wa just fourteen ; of a figure not inelegant, a powerful voice, light as the gossamer, of inexhaustible spirits, and possessed of some humor. From these qualifications he formed the most sanguine hopes of my success, and de- termined that I should immediately make trial of them. I had perfected myself in the two characters of Monimia and Athenais, and, according to my own judgment, had made no inconsiderable proficiency in them. The former was fixed on for my first appearance. " Mr. Rich now thought it time to introduce me to Mr. Quin, then the most capital performer at Covent Garden : and capital he was, indeed, in those characters which his figure suited. This gentleman, at that period, governed the theatre with a rod of iron. Mr. Rich, though the proprietor, was, through his indolence, a mere cipher. After waiting some time at the door of the lion's den, as the people of the theatre had denominated Mr. Quin's dressing-room, we were at length admitted. It is necessary here to observe that this gentleman never condescended to enter the green-room, or to mix with the other perform- ers, all of whom he was unacquainted with, except Mr. Ryan, for whom he entertained a particular friendship which lasted till Mr. Ryan's death. 8o THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. " He no sooner heard Mr. Rich propose my appearing in the character of Monimia, than with the most sovereign contempt he cried out, ' It will not do, sir !' Upon which the manager, to his infinite surprise, replied, ' It shall do, sir!' I was so frightened at Mr. Quin's austere deport- ment, that had he requested me to give him a specimen of my abilities, it would not have been in my power. But he held me too cheap to put me to the trial. After some further altercation had passed, which was not much in my favor, Mr. Quin at last deigned to look at me, saying at the same time, 'Child, I would advise you to play Serina before you think of Monimia.' This sarcasm roused my spirits, which before were much sunk, and I pertly replied, ' If I did, sir, I should never live to play the Orphan.' " It may be supposed that this conversation was not very pleasing to me. As for Mr. Rich, the opposition he met with seemed to increase his resolution, and taking me by the hand, he led me out of the dressing-room, assuring me aloud, that, let who would oppose, he would protect me; and would let every one in the company know that he would be the master of it, when he chose to be at the trouble. Before he quitted the scenes, he ordered the prompter to call a rehearsal of 'The Orphan' the next morning. When that hour arrived, the two gentlemen who were to play my lovers, Castalio and Polydore, in order to pay their court to Mr. Quin, did not think proper to appear. Mr. Rich, however, to convince them he would be obeyed, fined them more than the usual mulct. Even Serina, who was only an attendant upon tragedy queens, smiled con- temptuously on the poor Orphan. " Mr. Rich kindly endeavored, by every means in his power, to support me under this mortifying opposition ; and he took a very effectual method of doing it. The dresses of the theatrical ladies were at this period very dif- THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY, gl ferent. The empresses and queens were confined to black velvet except on extraordinary occasions, when they put on an embroidered or tissue petticoat. The young ladies generally appeared in a cast gown of some person of quality ; and as at this epoch the women of that denom- ination were not blest with the taste of the present age, and had much more economy, the stage brides and vir- gins often made their appearance in altered habits, rather soiled. As the manager had in his juvenile days made the fair sex his principal study, and found the love of dress their darling foible, he concluded that, as a true daughter of Eve, I was not exempt from it. He there- fore thought there could be no better method of putting me in a good humor with myself, and compensating for the affronts I had lately received, than by taking me to his mercer's, and permitting me to choose the clothes I was to appear in. " The following morning Castalio and Pol) dore attended the rehearsal, but my brother Chamont was inexorable. Mr. Hale mumbltd aver Castalio, and Mr. .Ryan whistled Polydore. This gentleman, from the accident of having been shot in the mouth by ruffians, had a tremor in his voice, which till you were accustomed to it, was very dis- agreeable. But from his utility in playing every night, the discordance of it grew familiar to the ear, and was not so displeasing. " Mr. Ryan might truly have been denominated, in the theatrical phrase, a wear-and-tear man ; that is, one who has constant employment, and fills a part in almost every piece that is performed. This frequently occasioned his coming late to the theatre. I have known him come at the time the last music has been playing ; when he has accosted the shoeblack at the stage door in his usual trem- ulous tone (which it is impossible to give those an idea of D* 82 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. on paper that never heard it, but those who have will easily recollect it) with ' Boy, clean rny shoes.' "As soon as this needful operation has been performed, he has hastened to his dressing-room, and having hurried on an old laced coat and waistcoat, not a little the worse for wear, a tye-wig pulled buckishly over his forehead, and in the identical black worsted stockings he had on when he entered the house, ordered the curtain to be drawn up. Thus adorned, he would then make his appearance in the character of Lord Townley ; and, in the very tone of voice in which he had addressed his intimate of the brush, ex- claim, Why did I marry ; was it not evident,' &c. And in the same harsh monotony did that gentleman speak every part he played. "It will likewise be seen from it, that the dress of the gentlemen, both of the sock and buskin, was full as absurd as that of the ladies. Whilst the empresses and queens ap- peared in black velvet, and, upon extraordinary occasions, with the additional finery of an embroidered or tissue petti- coat ; and the younger part of the females in cast gowns of persons of quality, or altered habits rather soiled the male part of the dramatis persontz strutted in tarnished laced coats and waistcoats, full bottom or tye-wigs, and black worsted stockings. "The dreaded evening at length arrived. Previous to it, Mr. Quin having in all companies declared it as his opinion that I should not succeed, Mr. Rich, on the con- trary, having been as lavish in my praise, the public curiosity was much more exoited than if there had been no contention about me. The curtain drew up to a splen- did audience, which seldom happened at Covent Garden THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 83 Theatre, except when a new or revived pantomime was represented. " It is impossible to describe my sensations on my first entrance. I was so much dazzled by the lights and stunned by the repeated plaudits, that I was for some time deprived both of memory and voice. I stood like a statue. Till compassion for my youth, and probably some preposses- sion for my figure, and dress t which was simply fltgaat, a circumstance not very customary, induced a gentleman who was dictator to the pit, and therefore ludicrously de- nominated Mr. Town (Mr. Chitty), to call out, and order the curtain to be dropped till I could recover my confusion. "This caused Mr. Quin to exult so much, that Mr. Rich entreated me in the most earnest manner to exert my powers. But his entreaties were ineffectual ; for when I made the next attempt my apprehensions so totally over- powered me, that I could scarcely be heard in the side boxes. The applause, indeed, was so universal, during the first act, for what did not reach the ears of the audi- ence, that, had I possessed my full powers of exertion, they could not have profited by them. '* The manager having pledged himself for my success, he had planted all his friends in different parts of the house, to insure it. But when he found that I was unable to raise my spirits, he was as distracted as if his own fate, and that of his theatre, had depended upon it. " He once more had recourse to persuasion and encour- agement ; but nothing could rouse me from my stupidity till the fourth act. This was the critical period which was to determine my fate. By this criterion was I, as an actress, to stand or fall. When, to the astonishment of the audience, the surprise of the performers, and the exultation of the manager, I felt myself suddenly inspired. I blazed out at once with meridian splendor ; and I ac- 8 4 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. quitted myself throughout the whole of this most arduous part of the character, in which even many veterans have failed, with the greatest eclat. " Mr. Quin was so fascinated (as he expressed himself) at this unexpected exertion, that he waited behind the scenes till the conclusion of the act ; when, lifting me up from the ground in a transport, he exclaimed aloud, ' Thou art a divine creature, and the true spirit is in thee !' The audience, likewise, honored me with the highest marks of their approbation. As for Mr. Rich, he expressed as much triumph upon this occasion as he usually did on the success of one of his darling pantomimes. "The performers, who, half an hour before, had looked upon me as an object of pity, now crowded around me to load me with compliments of gratulation. And Mr. Quin, in order to compensate for the contempt with which he had treated me, was warmer, if possible, in his eulogiums than he had been in his sarcasms." II. " I had, at this period, the happiness to acquire the ap- probation and patronage of two ladies of the first distinc- tion the late Duchess of Montague, then Lady Cardigan, and her Grace of Queensberry. Both these ladies favored me with their support, so far as to grace the theatre when- ever I performed an attention which was the more flat- tering, as the latter had not honored a playhouse with her presence since the death of her favorite Gay. " Some days before that fixed for my benefit, I received a message, whilst I was at the theatre, to be at Queens- berry House the next day by twelve o'clock. As I thought it likewise incumbent on me to wait on the Countess of Cardigan, who had honored me with equal marks of appro- bation, I dressed myself early, and, taking a chair, went THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 85 first to Privy Garden. I had there every reason to be pleased with the reception her Ladyship gave me, who joined politeness to every virtue. "But at Queensberry House, my reception was far otherwise. Her Grace was determined to mortify my vanity, before she promoted my interest. Quite elated with Lady Cardigan's flattering behavior, I ordered the chairmen to proceed to Queensberry House. Soon after the rat-tat had been given, and my name announced to the porter, the groom of the chambers appeared. I desired him to acquaint her Grace, that I was come to wait upon her. But how was I surprised, when he returned and in- formed me, that her Grace knew no such person ! My astonishment at this message was greatly augmented by the certainty I entertained of a ready admittance. I assured the domestic that it was by the Duchess's own directions I had taken the liberty to wait on her. To which he replied, that there must have been some mistake in the delivery of it. In this mortifying situation I had nothing to do but return home. Ludicrous and humiliating as the foregoing scene must be, I cannot avoid relating it, as it may serve as a lesson to many, who too readily give way to the im- pulses of vanity. Young minds are naturally prone to it. Mine consequently was. And this well-timed rebuke, how- ever grating, was the greatest proof of regard her Grace could have given me. " I went home with no very pleasing sensations, as I ex- pected to receive the taunts of a female relation upon the occasion, who had lately arrived from Ireland, and on whom my mother doted. As this person will be frequently mentioned in the course of my narrative, and was the cause of many of the inconveniences I afterwards suffered, it may not be amiss to acquaint you, that her deformed body was a fit receptacle for her depraved mind. 86 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. " Upon my entering the green-room, I was accosted by Prince Lobkowitz, who was then there in a public char- acter, requesting a box at my benefit, for the corps diplo- matique. After thanking his Highness for the honor in- tended me, I informed him that they might be accommo- dated with a stage box ; and sending for the house-keeper, desired he would make an entry in his book to this pur- pose. But how great was my surprise, when he acquainted me I had not a box to dispose of; every one, except those of the Countess of Cardigan, the Duchess Dowager of Leeds, and Lady Shaftesbury, being retained for her Grace the Duchess of Queensberry. I could not help thinking but the man was joking, as he himself had delivered me the message from her Grace the night before, and that I found to be a deception. He however still persisted in what he said, and further added, that the Duchess had like- wise sent for two hundred and fifty tickets. This made me more at a loss to account for the cavalier treatment I had received in the morning. " His Highness Prince Lobkowitz condescended to put up with a balcony for himself and friends; and I hastened home, at once to make known to my mother my good for- tune, and to retaliate upon my inimical relation. To add to my satisfaction, when I got home, I found a note from her Grace, desiring I would wait upon her the next morning. This being such an evident proof of my veracity, which it had given me inexpressible uneasiness to have doubted, I experienced proportionable pleasure from it. "I was, notwithstanding, so apprehensive of meeting with a second mortification, that I determined to walk to Queensberry House ; to prevent any person's being witness to it, should it happen. I accordingly set out on foot, and was not totally free from perturbation when I knocked at the gate. I was, however, immediately ushered to her THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 87 Grace's apartment, where my reception was as singular as my treatment had been the day before. Her Grace thus accosted me : * Well, young woman ! What business had you in a. chair yesterday ? It was a fine morning, and you might have walked. Yon look as you ought to do now (observing my linen gown). Nothing is so vulgar as wear- ing silk in a morning. Simplicity best becomes youth. And you do not stand in need of ornaments. Therefore dies always plain, except when yon are upon the stage.' '* Whilst her Grace was talking in this manner to me f die was cleaning a picture, which I officiously requested her permission to do ; she hastily replied, 4 Don't you think I have domestics enough if I did not chose to do it myself?* I apologized for my presumption by informing her Grace that I had been for some time at Jones's, where I had been nattered that I had acquired a tolerable proficiency in that art. The Duchess upon this exclaimed, 'Are you the girl I have heard Chesterfield speak of?' Upon my answering that I had the honor of being known to his Lordship, she ordered a canvas bag to be taken out of her cabinet, saying, ' No person can give Queensberry less than gold. There are two hundred and fifty guineas, and twenty for the Duke's tickets and mine ; but I must give yon something for Trawler's sake. 1 She then took a bill from her pocket- book, which having put into my hands, she told me her coach was ordered to carry me home, lest any accident should happen to me, now I had such a charge about me. "Though the conclusion of her Grace's whim, as it might justly be termed, was more pleasing than the begin- ning of it, and her munificence much greater than that of the Countess of Cardigan, yet I must acknowledge I was much better pleased with the reception I met with from her Ladyship, who honored me with her protection whilst I continued on the stage. 88 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. "My benefit surpassed my most sanguine expectations. And as I had by this time many who professed themselves my admirers, they had, upon this occasion, an opportunity of showing their generosity without offending my delicacy. "Among those who paid me the greatest degree of attention was Lord Byron, a nobleman who had little to boast of but a title and an agreeable face ; and Mr. Mont- gomery, since Sir George Metham. As I would not listen to any proposals but marriage and a coach,* Mr. Mont- gomery honestly told me, early in his devoirs, that he could not comply with the first, as his only dependence was on his father, whose consent he could not hope to procure ; and as for the latter, he could not afford it. Having come to this eclaircissement, he immediately retired into Yorkshire. The generous conduct of this gentleman (whose passion I was well convinced was sincere) in not attempting to deceive me, made an impression upon my mind greatly in his favor. "Lord Byron still pursued me; and as his vanity was hurt at my rejecting him, he formed a resolution to be revenged of me for my insensibility. His Lordship was very intimate with a person who was a disgrace to nobility ; and whose name I shall conceal through tenderness to his family. This nobleman was Lord Byron's confidential friend ; and to this friend Lord Byron committed the execution of his revenge. " His Lordship frequently called at Mrs. Jackson's, though much against my mother's inclinations. But as he had been constantly a dangler behind the scenes during her engagement at the theatre, and had occasionally given her franks, she admitted his visits. My mother had strictly enjoined me to break off my intimacy with the young lady * The reader will note the business-like character of this record. THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. gg who was the object of the Earl's pursuit, on account of her levity ; and because, though by birth a gentlewoman, she had degraded herself by becoming the companion of a lady of quality who had frequently eloped from her lord. "My mother at this period was become a confirmed devotee. Religion engrossed so much of her time, that in the evening she was seldom visible. Upon this account, and from Mrs. Jackson's accompanying me so frequently to Mr. Quin's suppers, that lady conferred a great part of the friendly regard she had once borne my mother to me. But alas '. I was not to profit long by this revolution. My happiness was to be as transient as the sunshine of an April day. "One Sunday evening, when this ignoble Earl well knew my mother would be engaged, he called to inform me that the young lady before mentioned was in a coach at the end of Southampton Street, and desired to speak with me. Without staying to put on my hat or gloves, I ran to the coach; when, to my unspeakable surprise, I found myself suddenly hoisted into it by his Lordship, and that the coachman drove off as fast as the horses could gallop. " My astonishment for some time deprived me of the power of utterance; but when I was a little recovered. I gave free vent to my reproaches. These his Lordship bore with a truly philosophic indifference, calmly telling me that no harm was intended me ; and that I had better con- sent to make his friend Lord Byron happy, and be happy myself, than oppose my good fortune. To this he added that his friend was shortly to be married to Miss Shaw, a young lady possessed of a very large fortune, which would enable him to provide handsomely for me. I was so struck with the insolence of this proposal that I remained for some time quite silent. 8* go THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. "At length the coach stopped in a lonely place at the top of North Audley Street, fronting the fields. At that time Oxford Street did not extend so far as it does at pres- ent. Here the Earl got out, and took me into his house. He then went away, as he said, to prepare a lodging for me, which he had already seen at a mantua-maker's in Broad Street, Carnaby Market, and to which he would come back and take me. He assured me the mistress of the house was a woman of character; and added, with the most dreadful imprecations, that no violence was intended. " His Lordship now left me. And as the fear of great evils banishes every lesser consideration, I determined to wait the result with all the patience I was possessed of. The dread of being left alone in that solitary place, was nothing when compared with my apprehensions from the machinations of two noblemen so determined and so powerful. Terror, however, so totally overwhelmed my mind that I remained in a state of stupefaction. " It was not long before his Lordship returned ; and with him came the person I least expected to see my own brother. Good heavens ! what comfort, at so critical a juncture, did the sight of him afford me ! I instantly flew into his arms; but was repulsed by him in so violent a manner that I fell to the ground. The shock of this unex- pected repulse, just as I hoped to have found a protector in him, was more than my spirits were able to bear. It deprived me of my senses. On my return to sensibility, the only object that presented itself to my view was an old female servant, who told me she had orders to convey me to the lodging which had been prepared for me. "The first thing I did was to make inquiry concerning my brother's coming so unexpectedly. I was informed by the old woman that he had bestowed manual chastisement upon my ravisher. But as he seemed to suppose that I had THE STORY OF GEORGE AXXE BELLAMY. 'I consented to the elopement, he had declared he would never see me more, but leave me to my fate. The woman added that be had threatened the Earl and his associate with a prosecution, which had so intimidated her master that he had given her orders to remove me out of his house as soon as possible ; as my being found there might make against him. " When we arrived in Broad Street, I discovered, to my great satisfaction, that the mistress of the house, whose name was Mirvan, worked for me as a mantna-maker, though I was till now unacquainted with her place of resi- dence. I told her my story simply as it happened : and my appearance, as well as my eyes, which were much swelled with crying, was an undeniable testimony of the truth of my assertions. " I afterwards learned the following circumstances rela- tive to my brother, about whom I was more anxious than for myself, as I had a great affection for him. We had long expected him to return from sea, he having been abroad for some years ; and by one of those extraordinary freaks of fortune which are not to be accounted for, he got to the top of Southampton Street just as the coach was driving off with me. I should have termed his coming providential, had he not suffered his suspicions to get the better of his affection, and thus counteracted the apparent designs of Providence in affording me relief. "He had reached Southampton Street, as I have just said, nearly about the time I was forced into the coach ; and ran to rescue the person thus treated, little imagining it was his own sister : but the furious driving of the coach- man rendered his designs abortive. Upon this he pro- ceeded to Mrs. Jackson's house, and had scarcely inquired for me, than that lady cried out, * Oh fly, sir, to her relief; Lord has this moment run away with her.' My 92 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. brother hearing this, concluded I must have been the per- son he had just seen carried off. But knowing it would be impossible to overtake the coach, he thought it more prudent to go directly to the Earl's house. Not finding him at home, he walked about within sight of the door, till his Lordship returned, when he accosted him in the man- ner before related. From the Earl of 's, my brother went to Marlborough Street to Lord Byron's; and accusing him of being concerned with the Earl in seducing his sister, his Lordship denied having any knowledge of the affair, which he solemnly asserted upon his honor ; declar- ing at the same time, as indeed he could do with a greater degree of truth, that he had not seen me that evening. " My brother, placing an implicit confidence in the as- sertions of Lord Byron, grew enraged against me, without making any inquiries whether I was really culpable upon this occasion or not. Giving me over, therefore, as a lost abandoned girl, he immediately set out for Portsmouth, and left me unprotected. This I may justly consider as the most unfortunate event I had hitherto experienced ; for, being deprived of his protection at a time when it was so extremely requisite to my re-establishment in life, I was left open to the attacks of every insolent pretender, whose audacity his very character, as he was distinguished for his bravery, would have repressed." III. After the scandal of this episode had subsided, the hero- ine accepted an engagement at Dublin ; and the picture of life and stage manners then presented is highly charac- teristic. The brutality of the fashionable gentlemen of the day is unpleasantly conspicuous : "As soon as I was recovered from the fatigue of my journey, I went to pay my respects to Mrs. O'Hara, Lord THE STORY OF GEORGE ANXE BELLAMY. 93 Tyrawley's sister, who had not seen me since I was an infant. To my great grief I found her blind. She was much pleased with my visit, bat she did not greatly ap- prove of the profession I had chosen. However, as I went by the name of my mother's husband, to which alone I had a right, being born after their marriage, my engage- ment in the theatrical line could not bring public disgrace on her family. She, notwithstanding, proposed herself to introduce me to all her acquaintance as hfr nifce ; which she accordingly did, as the acknowledged daughter of Lord Tyrawley. "Mrs. O'Hara kindly inquired into the state of my finances, which gave me an opportunity of making her acquainted with the Duchess of Queensberry's liberal ity to me, and likewise with the mortification I had received from her Grace at the same time ; with which she seemed much entertained. I even informed her of the event which had been the cause of so much unhappiness to me. It is an established maxim with me, never to rest satisfied with gaining the good opinion of any person by halves. In the afternoon the honorable Mrs. Butler and her daugh- ter were announced. Mrs. O'Hara introduced me as her niece, and added an euloginm which I by no means mer- ited ; and as this lady was a leading woman in the fash- ionable world, had great interest, and her house was frequented by most of the nobility, Mrs. O'Hara solicited her protection for me. Mrs. Butler was elegant in her figure, and had been very pretty, of which there were still some remains ; but the decay of her beauty appeared to be more the result of indisposition than age. Her daugh- ter was handsome, spirited, sensible, and good-humored. She was nearly of the same age with myself, and seemed, even at this first interview, to have contracted a partiality for me, which I reciprocally wished to cultivate. Before 94 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. the ladies took their leave, they engaged my aunt and me to come the next day to Stephen's Green to dine and spend the evening. " When I returned home, I found our fellow-traveler, Mr. Crump, tete-d-tete with my mother. She informed me that Miss St. Ledger, one of the three ladies I had become acquainted with some years before at Mrs. Jones's, had called and requested to see me the next morning, at Lady Doneraile's, in Dawson Street. Thus, from having no female acquaintance in London, except my own family, I was now en train to be introduced into the first circle in Dublin. The next morning I went to breakfast with Miss St. Ledger, by whom I was received with all that polite- ness she so eminently possessed, actuated by the cordial warmth usually felt by the susceptible on embracing a loved intimate after a long absence. She inquired in the kindest manner after Miss Conway ; and was much affected at hearing that her friend was in a declining state of health, occasioned by her constant attendance on the Princess of Wales, to whom she was a Maid of Honor, which prevented her from taking the necessary steps for her recovery. She pressed me to stay to dinner, but when I informed her that I was pre-engaged, and told her by whom, she politely said she was then happy, even in being deprived of my com- pany ; as the acquaintance of Mrs. J5utler was the most desirable of any in Dublin, and would prove most agree- able and beneficial to me. She at the same time much regretted that she was deprived of the pleasure of frequent- ing that lady's house, which was occasioned by some umbrage her aunt, Lady Doneraile, with whom she resided, had given her. "My reception at the Green, when I went to "dinner, was of the most flattering kind. It exceeded even my warmest hopes ; and Mrs. Butler avowed herself my pa- THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY 95 troness, notwithstanding she had not yet had an oppor- tunity of acquiring a knowledge whether I really deserved that honor. When I took leave, she obligingly requested that I would pass every hour, not appropriated to the business of the theatre, at her house; which you may be assured I did not fail readily to promise. "The theatre opened with eclat. And what was very fortunate for me, the Earl of Chesterfield was at that time Viceroy. Mr. Barry had made some figure on this stage the preceding winter, in the character of Othello; and upon my being engaged, the manager wrote to him to study that of Castalio, as he proposed I should early appear in 'The Orphan.' To add to our success, Mr. Garrick joined the company this season. Having some dispute with the proprietor of Drury Lane Theatre, and Mr. Rich declining to give him the terms he required, he came to Dublin. Three such capital performers as Garrick, Sheri- dan, and Barry, in one company, was a circumstance that had scarcely ever happened. I was obliged to appear almost every night; and sometimes in characters very unfit for me. The great applause that I received, however, spurred me on, and excited in me the strongest endeavors to deserve it. And that I might at once pay a proper attention to the duties of my profession, and have time to enjoy the society of my new friends, I scarcely allowed myself even that portion of rest which nature requires. A good constitution, however, and inexhaustible spirits, enabled me to go through the season. "After some time, the tragedy of ' King John' was pro- posed, wherein Roscius and the manager were to appear together, and play alternately the King and the Bastard. Upon this occasion Mr. Sheridan insisted on my playing Constance; whilst Mr. Garrick objected to it, as there would then be no person to play Prince Arthur, but the 9 6 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. late Mrs. Kennedy, at that time Miss Orpheur, who was nearly of the same age as myself, and from being hard- favored looked much older. "Upon Mr. Garrick's absolute rejection of my appear- ance in the character on which I had set my heart, and for the performance of which I had stipulated in my articles, I flew to my patroness, Mrs. Butler, to complain of the breach of them. Notwithstanding her partiality for Mr. Garrick, so highly did I stand in her favor, that she imme- diately sent round to all her friends, to request they would not go to the play the evening it was performed. Besides the consequence of family and fortune, this lady possessed very great power in the genteel world. To this may be added, that as she frequently gave balls, all the young ladies that were usually invited were always ready to oblige her in any request of this nature, to insure themselves a place at those entertainments. And every one of these readily obeyed, and spread abroad her injunctions. The house, on the night ' King John' was performed for the first time, was, of course, very thin. The receipts did not amount to forty pounds. "This was the first theatrical humiliation the immortal Roscius ever met with ; and he severely repented preferring Mrs. Furnival, who played the character of Constance, to my little self. But what completed- my triumph was, that when the same play was again performed, and Mr. Sheridan played the King, Garrick the Bastard, and myself Con- stance, more people were turned away than could get places; and the dispute relative to the characters which had lately happened made the audience receive me with the warmest marks of approbation. But notwithstanding this success, I was determined to return the mortification Mr. Garrick had been the cause of to me, the very first opportunity that presented itself; THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 97 and it was not long before one offered. This LITTLE great man was to have two benefits during the season ; and, that they might not come too near each other, it was agreed that he should have one of them early in it. He had fixed on 'Jane Shore' for his first benefit; and on application being made to me to perform that character, I absolutely refused it, alleging the objection he had made to my play- ing Constance, namely, my youth. Finding that entreaties were ineffectual, he prevailed on Mrs. Butler to make use of her interest with me ; sensible that I could not refuse the solicitations of a.lady to whom I was bound, not only by the ties of gratitude, but those of policy. And whilst he made this application, that he might leave no method of obtaining my consent untried, he wrote me a note at the same time, which occasioned the following laughable incident, and furnished conversation for the whole city of Dublin. " In his note he informed me, 'that if I would oblige him, he would write me a goody-goody epilogue; which, with the help of my eyes, should do more mischief than ever the flesh or the devil had done since the world began.' This ridiculous epistle he directed 'To my soul's idol, the beautified Ophelia;' and delivered it to his servant, with orders to bring it to me. But the fellow having some more agreeable amusement to pursue than going on his master's errands, he gave it to a porter in the street without having attended to the curious direction that was on it. The porter, upon reading the superscription, and not knowing throughout the whole city of Dublin any lady of quality who bore the title either of 'My Soul's Idol,' or 'The beau- tified Ophelia,' naturally concluded that it was intended to answer some jocular purpose. He accordingly carried it to his master, who happened to be a newsman ; and by his means it got the next day into the public prints. The E 9 98 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. inditer of this high-flown epistle, it must be supposed, was not a little mortified at its publication. Nor was my mother, who was always awake for my reputation, without her alarms, lest it should injure my character; but that, thank Heaven, was too well established to be endangered by so ridiculous an accident. " After a reconciliation between Mr. Garrick and myself had been effected, he visited much oftener at Colonel But- ler's than usual. The Colonel had a seat on the sea-coast, not many miles from Dublin ; and my mother thinking that bathing in the sea would be of great benefit to my health, she took a furnished house at the Sheds of Clontarf for that purpose. She fixed on this spot, that I might at the same time be near my much-loved companion, Miss Butler ; between whom and myself as inseparable a con- nection had taken place as if it had been cemented by the ties of blood. "At the conclusion of the season, Mr. Garrick prepared to return to England with the rich harvest that had crowned his toils. Mrs. Butler, who had a taste for wit, was as- fond of his company as her amiable daughter was of mine. Some days before Mr. Garrick's departure for England, as Mrs. Butler, her daughter, myself, and some other company, were walking on the terrace, we had the satisfaction to see the much-admired hero come gallopjng up to the house. He soon joined us ; and to the great regret of us all, par- ticularly Mrs. Butler, announced his intention of leaving Dublin the next day. Whilst we were engaged in conver- sation, the lady of the house went away abruptly ; but soon returned, bearing in her hand a sealed packet, which she delivered to Roscius, thus addressing him at the same time: ' I here present you, Mr. Garrick, with something more valuable than life. In it you will read my sentiments; but I strictly enjoin you not to open it till you have passed the THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 99 Hfll of Howth.' We all looked surprised at this extraor- dinary presentation, especially Colonel Butler's chaplain, who was one of the party. As the lady inclined somewhat to prudery, and had always appeared to be governed by the most rigid rules of virtue, we could none of us guess the purport of the present, though her conduct seemed to ad- mit of a doubtful interpretation. But Garrick, who was as conscious of possessing nature's liberal gifts as any man breathing, took the packet with a significant graceful air ; concluding, without hesitation, that it contained not only a valuable present (the giver having the power as well as the disposition to be generous), but a declaration of such tender sentiments as her virtue would not permit her to make known to him whilst he remained in the kingdom. " After dinner Mr. Garrick took his leave, and he was no sooner departed, than Mrs. Butler informed the com- pany that the contents of the valuable packet with which she had presented her visitor, were nothing more than 'Wesley's Hymns,' and 'Dean Swift's Discourse on the Trinity'; adding that he would have leisure during his voyage to study the one and to digest the other. You may be assured that we all enjoyed the joke. As for my own part, I could scarcely keep my risible faculties in any order, when my imagination presented to me Garrick's disappointment at finding the contents of the packet so very different from what he had concluded them to be. I must inform you that at our next meeting Kir. Garrick acquainted me, that upon opening the packet, and seeing what it contained, he was so much chagrined, that he, in the most heathenish manner, offered them up a sacrifice to Neptune. In plain English, he threw both Mr. Wesley and the Dean, cheek-by-jowl, into the sea. . . . "Early in the season (1746) the tragedy of 'All for Love, or The World Well Lost,' was revived ; in which ioo THE ROMANCE OF THE SILAGE. Barry and Sheridan stood unrivaled in the characters of Antony and Ventidius. The getting it up produced the following extraordinary incidents. The manager, in an excursion he had made during the summer to London, had purchased a superb suit of clothes that had belonged to the Princess of Wales, and had been only worn by her on the birth-day. This was made into a dress for me to play the character of Cleopatra ; and as the ground of it was silver tissue, my mother thought that by turning the body of it in, it would be a no unbecoming addition to my waist, which was remarkably small. My maid-servant was accordingly sent to the theatre to assist the dresser and mantua-maker in preparing it ; and also in sewing on a number of diamonds, my patroness not only having fur- nished me with her own, but borrowed several others of her acquaintance for me. When the women had finished the work, they all went out of the room, and left the door of it indiscreetly open. " Mrs. Furnival (who owed me a grudge on account of my eclipsing her, as the more favorable reception I met with from the public gave her room to conclude I did ; and likewise for the stir which had been made last season about the character of Constance) accidentally passed by the door of my dressing-room, in the way to her own, as it stood open. Seeing my rich dress thus lying exposed, and observing no person by to prevent her, she stepped in and carried off the Queen of Egypt's paraphernalia, to adorn herself in the character of Octavia, the Roman matron, which she was to perform. By remarking from time to time my dress, which was very different from the generality of heroines, Mrs. Furnival had just acquired taste enough to despise the black velvet in which those ladies were usually habited. And without considering the impropriety of enrobing a Roman matron in the habiliments of the THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. IQI Egyptian Queen, or perhaps not knowing that there was any impropriety in it, she determined, for once in her life- time, to be as fine as myself, and that at my expense ; she accordingly set to work to let out the clothes which, through my mother's economical advice, had been taken in. " When my servant returned to the room, and found the valuable dress that had been committed to her charge missing, her fright and agitation were beyond expression. She ran like a mad creature about the theatre, inquiring of every one whether they had seen anything of it. At length she was informed that Mrs. Furnival had got pos- session of it : when, running to that lady's dressing-room, she was nearly petrified at beholding the work which had cost her so much pains undone. My damsel's veins, un- fortunately for Mrs. Furnival, were rich with the blood of the O'Bryens. Thus qualified, she at first demanded the dress with tolerable civility ; but meeting with a peremp- tory refusal, the blood of her great forefathers boiled within her veins, and without any more ado, she fell tooth and nail upon poor Mrs. Furnival. So violent was the assault, that had not assistance arrived in time to rescue her from the fangs of the enraged Hibernian nymph, my theatrical rival would probably have never had an opportunity of appearing once in her life adorned with real jewels. " When I came to the theatre, I found my servant dis- solved in tears at the sad disaster, for, notwithstanding her heroic exertions, she had not been able to bring off the cause of the contest. But so far was I from partaking of her grief, that I could not help being highly diverted at the absurdity of the incident. Nothing concerning a theatre could at that time affect my temper, except the disappoint- ment I had met with in not appearing in the part of Con- stance, as before related. I sent, indeed, for the jewel?, but the lady, rendered courageous by Nantz, and the pres- 9* 102 1HE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. ence of her paramour Morgan, who was not yet dead, con- descended to send me word that I should have them after the play. " In this situation I had no other resource than to reverse the dresses, and appear as plain in the character of the lux- urious Queen of Egypt as Antony's good wife, although the sister of Caesar, ought to have been. In the room of precious stones, with which my dress should have been dec- orated, I substituted pearls, and of all my finery I retained only my diadem, that indispensable mark of royalty. " Every transaction that takes place in the theatre, and every circumstance relative to it, are as well known in Dublin as they would be in a country town. The report of the richness and elegance of my dress had been univer- sally the subject of conversation for some time before the night of performance, when, to the surprise of the audi- ence, I appeared in white satin. My kind patroness, who sat in the stage-box, seemed not to be able to account for such an unexpected circumstance. And not seeing me adorned with the jewels she had lent' me, she naturally supposed I had reserved my regalia till the scene in which I was to meet my Antony. "When I had first entered the green-room, the manager, who expected to see me splendidly dressed, as it was natu- ral to suppose the enchanting Cleopatra would have been upon such an occasion, expressed with some warmth his surprise at a disappointment, which he could only impute to caprice. Without being in the least discomposed by his warmth, I coolly told him, 'that I had taken the advice Ventidius had sent me by Alexis, and had parted with both my clothes and jewels to Antony's wife.' Mr. Sheridan could not conceive my meaning ; but as it was now too late to make any alteration, he said no more upon the sub- ject. He was not, however, long at a loss for an explana- THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. IO 3 tion ; for, going to introduce Octavia to the Emperor, he discovered the jay in all her borrowed plumes. An ap- parition could not have more astonished him. He was so confounded, that it was some time before he could go on with his part. At the same instant Mrs. Butler exclaimed aloud, 'Good Heaven, thewoman has got on mydiamonds !' The gentlemen in the pit concluded that Mrs. Butler had been robbed of them by Mrs. Furnival ; and the general consternation occasioned by so extraordinary a scene is not to be described.* But the audience observing Mr. Sheridan to smile, they supposed there was some mystery in the affair, which induced them to wait with patience till the conclu- sion of the act. As soon as it was finished they bestowed their applause upon Antony and his faithful veteran ; but, as if they had all been animated by the same mind, they cried out, ' No more Furnival ! No more Furnival !' The fine-dressed lady, disappointed of the acclamations she ex- pected to receive on account of the grandeur of her habili- ments, and thus hooted for the impropriety of her conduct, very prudently called fits to her aid, which incapacitated her from appearing again, and the audience had the good- nature to wait patiently till Mrs. Elmy, whom curiosity had led to the theatre, had dressed to finish the part. But the next night, either inspired with the brilliancy of my orna- ments, or animated by the sight of his Excellency Lord Chesterfield, who, together with his Lady, graced the theatre, it was the general opinion that I never played with so much spirit, or did greater justice to a character. The applause I received was universal. " A gentleman who stood near the stage door, took a very unallowable method of showing his approbation. * Remarks of this kind from the audience were part of the theatrical license of the time. The whole is a most curious picture. 104 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. Being a little flushed with liquor, or otherwise I am per- suaded he could not have been capable of the rudeness, he put his lips to the back of my neck as I passed him. Justly enraged at so great an insult, and not considering that the Lord Lieutenant was present, or that it v/as committed before such a number of spectators, I instantly turned about, and gave the gentleman a slap on the face. Violent and unbecoming as this sudden token of resentment ap- peared, it received the approbation of Lord Chesterfield, who rose from his seat and applauded me for some time with his hands ; the whole audience, as you may suppose, following his example. At the conclusion of the act Major Macartney came, by order of his Excellency, to Mr. St. Leger (that was the gentleman's name), requesting that he would make a public apology for this forgetfulness of decorum ; which he accordingly did. I have reason to believe that this incident contributed, in a great measure, to a reform that Mr. Sheridan, with great propriety, soon after made. Agreeable to this regulation, no gentlemen, in future, were to be admitted behind the scenes. . . . " Not long after as I was performing the part of Lady Townley, in 'The Provoked Husband,' I received a card from Mrs. Butler, wrote in a servant's hand, requesting me to come to her house as soon as I should be at liberty. As the note was delivered to me during. the performance of the play I had only leisure just to send verbally, with my compliments, that the fatigue of the evening would prevent me from being able to do myself that honor. " Had I attended to the circumstance of the card being written by a servant, I must have been convinced that something was wrong ; as my dear friend Miss Butler was always happy in seizing every occasion to write to me. It, however, passed unnoticed. Not long after, I received another note, informing me that I must absolutely come THE STORY OF GEORGE AKNE BELLAMY. 105 the moment I had finished, and even without waiting to change my dress. So very pressing an invitation I own excited my curiosity, and made me impatient for the conclusion of my business. " My task being done, I got into my chair in the same dress in which I had played the character of Lady Town- ley, and hastened away to Stephen's Green. As the dress I wore was a modern one, there was no great impropriety in my appearing with it off the stage. Just as I entered one door of the parlor in which Mrs. Butler and her female visitors were, the Colonel, and several gentlemen, who had just risen from their bottle, were ushered in at the opposite one. The company was numerous ; and the elegance of my dress attracted the attention of all the gentlemen; but not one of the ladies condescended to speak to me. Even the lady whose guest I was only deigned to welcome me, on my entrance, with a formal declination of her " A reception so different from what I had been accus- tomed to in that hospitable mansion, not only surprised, but greatly shocked me. In this agitation of mind, I made up to Mrs. O'Hara, who was present, ahd requested she would inform me what was the occasion of it. The answer I received from her was that a few minutes would determine whether she should ever notice me again. "A gentleman now made his aOree, whose figure tjgj[rr\ dress, and address exceeded everything I had ever beheld before. The ladies, notwithstanding, continued to look as serious and demure as a convocation of old maids met on purpose to dissect the reputation of a giddy, thoughtless young one. Nor did this beautiful stranger, with all his attractions, seem to be less neglected than myself. From being in such company, and in such a splendid dress, for my head was adorned with the jewels E* lo6 THE RQMANCE OF THE STAGE. of my patroness, the gentleman might naturally conclude that I was a person of quality. "From this motive, or some other, his attention ap- peared to be fixed on me, in preference to any of the other ladies; and he introduced himself to me with an air so easy and confident, that I knew immediately that he had traveled. He acquainted me that he was just returned from making the grand tour, and was come to take pos- session "of his estate, and settle for the remainder of his days in Ireland. We then entered into conversation on different subjects, in which I acquitted myself with more ease than I expected I could have done in a state of such suspense. " The test intended for the discovery of some dubious points, which will presently be known, having now been carried on as long as necessary, Miss Butler was sent to put a stop to our tete-a-tete, when my Ganymede, whose curiosity had been on tiptoe to find out who I was, went .to the upper end of the room to make the needful inquiries of the lady of the house. Having in a whisper asked the question, Mrs. Butler answered aloud, 'Surely you must know her. 1 am certain you know her ; nay, that you are well acquainted with her.' The gentleman, not a little disconcerted at this want, in a lady of fashion, of what is usually termed au monde, that is, among other things, re- plying to a whisper in an audible voice ; assuring her, still in a low tone, that he had never seen me before, and now felt himself greatly interested in the inquiry. ' Fie, fie, Mr. Medlicote,' returned my patroness, 'what can you say for yourself, when I inform you, that this is the dear girl whose character you so cruelly aspersed at dinner? 1 " I now plainly perceived, that this accomplished gen- tleman, vain of his attractive graces, had boasted, like too many others, of favors he had never received, not knowing THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 107 that he did so in the presence of my best friends, and that there was a certainty of his false assertions being detected. The pencil of Hogarth alone could justly depicture the confusion of the gentleman at this discovery of his treach- ery ; or of my petrifaction at finding myself the subject of his slander. It for some time totally deprived me of the use of every faculty. Till at length my patroness kindly relieved me from the situation in which I was ab- sorbed. Coming up to me, she took me by the hand, and with a smile on her countenance thus addressed me : ' My dear child, you have gone through a fiery trial ; but it was a very necessary one. This gentleman has vilely traduced your character. We were all perfectly convinced that you did not merit what he said of you ; but had he seen you first at the theatre instead of here, he would, doubtlessly, have maintained his assertions with oaths, and there would then have been no possibility of contradicting him, how- ever favorably we may have thought of you, notwithstand- ing.' Having said this, she embraced me in the most cordial manner. And as soon as I got from her embrace, I ran and threw myself into the arms of my dear aunt, who seemed to feel the utmost satisfaction at my triumph. "As for my traducer, it may be supposed he did not long disgust us with his company. Charming and accom- plished as he was, there did not appear to be a wish among us all to detain him. " In the morning, after a restless night, I found myself in a fever. My friends were greatly alarmed. Mrs. But- ler and her beloved daughter did me the honor to pay me a visit, and my absence from the theatre was considered as a general calamity. My indisposition increased ; and it was several days before I was able to attend at the theatre. When I did so, a disagreeable event happened, which re- tarded my perfect recovery, and, with some other con- loS THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. current circumstances, was the cause of my leaving Ire- land. " Mr. Sheridan, in consequence of the insult I had re- ceived from Mr. St. Leger, as before related, and on account of the inconveniences arising from the custom, had given a general order at the doors of the theatre, and notice in all public papers, that no gentleman was, on any account, to be admitted behind the scenes. It happened one night, just as I was so far recovered as to venture to the house, but not to perform, that an officer, who had more wine in his head than humanity in his heart, insisted on passing the sentry placed at the stage door. The poor fellow per- sisting in his refusal of admittance, the officer drew his sword and stabbed him in the thigh, with so much vio- lence, that the weapon broke, and left a piece in the most dangerous part. Hearing a riot on the stage, I ran from the box in which I sat, and flew in my fright to the next sentinel for protection. This happening to be the man who had been wounded, I found myself in a moment en- compassed by numbers, and was obliged to be a witness to the broken steel being taken out. The unexpectedness of this scene and the terrors I was thrown into by it, as I was not perfectly restored to health, were productive of a re- lapse. The man, however, happily recovered through the placidness of his disposition ; but having lost the use of his leg, the offender, who was a man of quality, provided for him for life. " I have already observed that Mr. Sheridan was held in high estimation by the people of Dublin. The young gen- tlemen belonging to the college looked upon him as a divinity. The ladies of his acquaintance flattered him ; and his own vanity misguided him." He revived the play of " ^Esop" for the new season. " There was no doubt but Mr. Sheridan, who must be THE STORY OF GEORGE AXXE BELLAMY. 109 allowed to be the best declaimer that ever trod oar stage. would have made a very capital figure in a character which was so conspicuously marked out for his talents, had not the performance been interrupted on the first night of its representation. The house was so much crowded, that a person, I will not so far degrade the title of gentleman as to bestow on him that appellation, finding himself incon- veniently situated in the pit, got over the spikes which divided that part from the stage. This removal received marks of approbation from many of the audience, who by no means approved of the new regulation, which debarred them from coming behind the scenes. Mr. Kelly (that was the person's name) was not a little pleased that he had escaped from his confined situation, and at the same time showed by his manoeuvre an appearance of courage, which he was conscious he did not really possess. "Elevated with his success, he made his way to the green-room. Having heard much of the liberties taken by the gentlemen with the performers, during the time that they were admitted behind the scenes, I had adopted Mr. Qnin's mode of confining myself to my dressing- room. But being apprehensive that I was not perfect in a scene which was mostly lines, and which I was to repeat in the next act, I went into the green-room to request Mrs. Dyer to run it over with me. " When I entered the room, I observed that lady to be giddy confused, and that she could not move out of an arm-chair in which she sat, from a man's impeding her. She whispered me as I drew near, that Kelly had most grossly insulted her. Upon which, not considering the brutality of a drunken man, particularly of an illiterate Irishman when drunk, I asked her why she stayed to hear him. I had no sooner said this, than I observed I had offended the brute, and accordingly ran out of the green- HO THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. room into my dressing-room, which adjoined to it. When I got in, I prudently locked the door, judging that a wretch who could dare to insult a woman with an indeli- cate .conversation, would dastardly strike or misuse any of the sex on a supposed offence. It was a very providential circumstance that I had pursued this step; for I had scarcely done so, when Kelly pursued me, and attempted to force the door; at the same time swearing vengeance against me. The noise which Kelly made at my dressing- room door alarmed the audience, and drew the manager to inquire into the cause of it. Finding Kelly thus riot- ously disposed, he desired him to quit the scenes. The other refusing, Mr. Sheridan ordered him to be turned out by force. He now found room in the pit, as several of the manager's friends, on hearing the disturbance, had left their places, and gone into his room to learn the occasion of it. The play proceeded till we were come to the first scene of the last act, when an orange or apple was thrown at Mr. Sheridan, who played the character of ^Esop, and so well directed, that it dented the iron of the false nose which he wore, into his forehead. " Mr. Sheridan was not only born and bred a gentleman, but possessed as much personal courage as any man breath- ing. It may, therefore, be supposed, that he would not put up with such an indignity. He went forward, and addressed the audience, or the person that was supposed to throw it ; but what he said, my fright prevented me from hearing. The curtain was then dropped, and the piece left unfinished. The foolish being who had occasioned this confusion, Kelly, now went to the manager's room to demand satisfaction. And this he immediately gave him in the most ample manner, with an oak stick which, as ^Esop, he had carried in his hand during the performance ; whilst Kelly, to the great entertainment of such of Mr. THE STORY OF GEORGE AffNE BELLAMY, m Sheridan's friends as were present, fell upon the ground in tears, crying out at the same time, that he should severely repent this usage to a gentleman. To the disgrace of the military (for he wore a cockade during this humiliating scene), Mr. Kelly had a sword by his side. " When the manager had given Kelly this severe correc- tion for his insolence and brutality, he suffered him to crawl away, for walk he could not, to Lucas's Coffee House. As soon as he got there, he claimed the compassion of the company ; and having informed them how ill he had been used, to interest them the more in his favor, falsely added, that Mr. Sheridan had had the audacity to declare that he was a better gentleman than any one who had been that night at the theatre. It is necessary to acquaint you, that Lucas's Coffee House is the place to which the Irish gen- tlemen usually resort to decide, in an honorable way, their quarrels. Whilst the combatants retire into the yard to acquire glory, the rest of the company flock to the window, to see that no unfair advantages are taken, and to make bets on which of them falls first. And of these combats, I can assure you, there are not a few; the Hibernians being extremely captious ; and very often ready to take offence where none is intended. You must ' speak by the card' amongst them, or a quarrel will ensue. They are possessed of many good qualifications, but this seems to be one of the foibles of the country. " It is not to be wondered at, that persons of this cast should be easily excited to enter into any proposal which seemed likely to be productive of a riot. More especially, as most of the frequenters of Lucas's at that time had a natural antipathy to all learning except that kind of knowl- edge which enabled them to distinguish good claret from bad. They therefore one and all agreed to sally forth, to lay siege to Smock Alley Theatre, and sacrifice the pre- H2 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. sumptuous manager of it for having forfeited the name of gentleman, by appearing upon the stage. They likewise had another excitement, which was no less powerful with persons of their liberal way of thinking ; and that was his having had the misfortune to have had a classical education, which he had greatly impro.ved by application and intense study. " Mr. Sheridan not supposing any persons could be found weak enough to abet such a cowardly being, imagined the affair was over at least for that night ; and he had re- tired, to enjoy himself with some of his friends. The theatre was also shut up. The heroes, however, made a brave assault against it, and strove to force the doors. But finding them too strongly barricaded to hope for success, they retired. " The next evening the ' Fair Penitent' was to be per- formed for the benefit of a public charity. Notwithstanding which, upon the appearance of Mr. Sheridan in the char- acter of Horatio, the Bucks, as they termed themselves, immediately arose, and cried, 'Out with the ladies and down with the house.' It is impossible to describe to you the horrors of a riot at a Dublin theatre. The consterna- tion and fright which it occasioned among the ladies, with whom the stage was exceedingly crowded, is beyond con- ception. Husbands and brothers were busily employed in taking care of their wives and sisters ; and all was a scene of confusion. " Mr. Sheridan was early advised by his friends to quit the house ; but he would not hear of it. However, when the rioters leaped upon the stage, and threatened his life, he found a retreat absolutely necessary for the preservation of it. Had he not prudently taken this step, those sons of Bacchus would certainly have put their threats into execu- tion ; for they broke open every door in the house, to find THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 113 the offender, as they called him. These dastardly ruffians broke open the wardrobe, and as they could not find the manager, they revenged themselves upon the stuffing of Falstaff, which they stabbed in many places. " In their researches they did me the honor of a visit. Two gentlemen of quality having joined the rioters out of curiosity, one of them Mr. Edward Hussey, now Lord Beaulieu, the other Mr. Mirvan, they came to the door of my dressing-room, and very politely told me, they were come to protect me from insult. But apprehending them, in my fright, to be leaders of the mob, and finding that the rioters were determined to leave no part of the theatre unsearched, instead of returning thanks for their politeness, as I should have done, I answered with some acrimony, ' that my room was an improbable place to find the person they wanted, as I certainly should not undress, was there a gentleman in it.' " Upon this Kelly advanced, and mistaking me. as I im- agined, for Mrs. Dyer, said I was the person who had occa- sioned all. the disturbance. And I don't know whether I should have escaped further insult had I not, in a resolute tone of voice, ordered them to quit the room. To this at length they consented, upon being permitted to lift up the covering of my toilette, to see whether the manager was there. As soon as they were departed I hurried to my chair, and Mr. Hussey had the humanity to walk by the side of it, to see me safe home. And I was never more rejoiced in my life than when I found myself secure within the doors. " The magistrates having reason to apprehend that greater mischief would ensue if the theatre continued open, ordered it to be shut up till the benefits commenced. The affair, however, did not end here ; for the College boys, as they are usually termed, in order to revenge the cause of theii 10* H 4 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. fellow student, as well as to show their resentment at being deprived of their favorite amusement, took it into their heads to pay Mr. Fitzgerald, Mr. Kelly, and several other ringleaders of the rioters a morning visit, and obligingly invited them to partake of a breakfast at their college ; where they bestowed as much cold water upon them from their pumps, as served to keep their heads perfectly cool to defend their cause against the manager, who had com- menced the same day a prosecution against them." IV. The heroine now prepared to fly from these troubles and to return to London. Connected, however, with her stay in Dublin was a little incident which introduces those famous beauties, the Gunnings, who were later to perform on a more brilliant stage. They had " cut" their humbler companion, and the actress was at no pains to conceal her resentment against the old friends who had neglected her. "After the account I gave you in my last, can you wonder, madam, at my being less pleased with the profession I was engaged in, than I was when youth and inexperience pre- sented to my view only the pleasing side of it ; or that I grew tired of a country where I was subject to such continual alarms ? " I am now about to mention an .incident in my life, which relates to persons who have made a very conspicuous figure in the great world. As I was returning one day from rehearsal, at the bottom of Britain Street, I heard the voice of distress. Yielding to an impulse of humanity, I over- leaped the bounds of good breeding, and entered the house from which it proceeded. When I had done this, led by an irresistible attraction, I entered without ceremony the parlor, the door of which appeared to be guarded by persons not at all suited to those within. I here found a woman of THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. II5 a most elegant figure, surrounded by four beautiful girls, and a sweet boy of about three years of age. After making the necessary apologies for my abrupt intrusion, I informed the lady, that as the lamentations of her little family had reached my ears as I passed by, I had taken the liberty of a neighbor to inquire if I could render her any service. "Mrs. Gunning, for that was the lady's name, arose immediately from her seat, and calling me by my name, thanked me for the offer of my assistance, complimenting me at the same time upon possessing such humane sensa- tions. She then informed me, that having lived beyond their income, her husband had been obliged to retire into the country, to avoid the disagreeable consequences that must'ensue. That she had been in hopes that her brother, Lord Mayo, listening to the dictates of fraternal affection, would not suffer a sister and her family to be reduced to distress ; but that his lordship remained inflexible to her repeated solicitations. The ill-looking men, I now found, had entered the house by virtue of an execution, and were preparing to turn her and her children out of doors. " Upon this, Mrs. Gunning and myself went upstairs to consult what was best to be done in so disagreeable a pre- dicament. We there determined that I should return home, and send my man-servant, who was to wait under the window of the drawing-room in the evening, and bring to my house everything that could be thrown to him. It was further agreed, that as my mother and I had more room than we could conveniently occupy, the children and their servant should remain with us, whilst she went to her husband to assist him in settling his affairs. The whole of our plan being carried into execution, Miss Burke, Mrs. Gunning's sister, a lady of exemplary piety, who had passed her pro- bation in the community of Channel Row, sent shortly after for the two youngest girls, and the two eldest were permitted, Il6 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. to my great pleasure, to remain at our house. As the beauty of these ladies has since made so much noise in the world, and has been so recently imprinted on the memory of every rank, it will be unnecessary here to give a description of them. I shall, therefore, only observe, that the eldest, Maria, the late Countess of Coventry, was all life and spirits ; and that Miss Betty, the younger, now Duchess of Argyll, &c., &c., with a longer train of noble titles than per- haps ever woman enjoyed before her, was more reserved and solid. " Here I must beg your permission to relate to you a singular anecdote concerning the ladies who have given rise to the foregoing reflection, and myself, which I have lately recollected. I say, beg your permission ; because, whilst the incident seems to carry with it the appearance of great credulity in me, the relation of it here will look as if I expected to find some degree of the same propensity in you. " But as the fact really happened, and I can vouch for the truth of it, I will give you the circumstances of it, just as they arose, without endeavoring to account for a prefer- ence, the verity of which has since been confirmed with the most extraordinary punctuality. Her Grace of Argyll, who was one of the trio, will, I doubt not, readily recollect the adventure.* " The eldest Miss Gunning, conscious of her charms, even at that early period of her life, and wishing to know whether they would procure her that elevation which her youthful vanity taught her to hope for, prevailed upon me to accompany her and her sister Betsy to a sybil, alias a * The point of this sarcastic reminder will be evident when it is remem- bered that "her Grace of Argyll" was living when these memoirs were published. THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY, uj female fortune-teller, who from some lucky discoveries she had made (probably from her having privately acquired a knowledge of the parties) was considered as an oracle throughout the whole city of Dublin. So great was the fame she had acquired by her reputed skill in prognostica- tion, that she was dubbed with the pre-eminent title of Madam Fortune, as if she was the blind directress of events herself, or her immediate representative. *' That we might avoid, as much as possible, giving the prophetess any clue by which to judge of our real situation in life, we all three habited ourselves in mean attire, and instead of going in the carriage, walked to her house. To add to the deception, I put on a wedding-ring, which I had borrowed of a friend for that purpose. " Upon Miss Molly's being ushered into her presence, she, without any hesitation, told her that she would be titled (SQ she expressed herself), but far from happy. When Miss Betsy appeared, she declared that she would be great to a degree, and that she would be happy in the connections which conduced to that greatness; but from a want of health (which alone can give value either to riches or grandeur), she would find a considerable abatement to that happiness. When your humble servant presented herself, she said I might take off the ring I wore, as I never was, nor ever would be married, unless I played the fool in my old age. To this she added, that opulence would court me and flattery follow me; notwithstanding which, through my own folly, I should be brought to indigence. " I will not, as I said before, pretend to account for this extraordinary instance of anticipating future events ; but a retrospection of the five preceding volumes of my life will prove that the old sybil happened to be right in her predic- tions of the future fate of my two visitants, as well as my- self. But so little heeded by me were the admonitions !i8 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. they ought to have conveyed, that I thoughtlessly ran on the rock I was cautioned to beware of, and unhappily split upon it. ... " During the winter, ' Romeo and Juliet' being bespoke by some persons of quality, Lady Coventry (late Miss Maria Gunning), with some other ladies of the first dis- tinction, were in the stage-box. I have already mentioned my intimacy with this beautiful woman, when she was a girl, and the circumstances which occasioned it. But I had not seen her since that time, except a few days before her marriage, when she did me the favor to call upon me, on a little pecuniary business. "In the scene where Juliet drinks the supposed poison, just as I was got to the most interesting part of that solil- oquy, it was interrupted by a loud laugh, which issued from the box where her Ladyship sat. The silent attention in which the rest of the audience were enrapt made such a circumstance the more striking. It had so great an effect upon me, that, being wholly disconcerted, and unable to proceed, I was obliged to request leave to retire till I could collect myself. The audience were offended at the inter- ruption this levity had occasioned, and insisted upon the ladies quitting the box, which they accordingly did. "A gentleman in the side-boxes reproached Lady Cov- entry with her rudeness and ingratitude. Upon which she was pleased to say she could not bear me since she had seen Mrs. Gibber. As this was no other than my brother, Cap- tain O'Hara, he aloud made her Ladyship a retort, but not the retort courteous. This added to mortify her vanity, and hastened her departure. The late Lord Eglington, one of the politest men of his time, who was of the stage-box party, came into the green-room to make an apology. And this he did by assuring me that no offence was meant to me; the laugh that Lady Coventry had broke out into THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 119 being involuntary, and excited by her twirling an orange upon her finger, and some ridiculous thing that was said upon the occasion. I admitted the excuse, and finished my part with as much approbation as ever. " The next morning my brother came, and informed me of what her Ladyship had foolishly uttered. L'pon which I rang for the house steward, and delivering him the note she had given me, when Miss Gunning, for the money she had borrowed of me a few days before her nuptials, I ordered him to go with it to Lord Coventry's for payment. " Quince waited till her Ladyship came in from riding ; when presenting the note to her, she returned it, saying, 'What! is it Mrs. Bellamy the actress?' To which my domestic, who daily saw me treated in a different manner by ladies greatly her superiors, answered that it was, and that I expected the money to be paid. Upon which, turn- ing upon her heel, her Ladyship said, ' If she is imperti- nent, I will have her hissed off the stage !' The man, un- accustomed to such treatment, replied, ' That continuing on the stage was a matter of indifference to his mistress ; but if she chose to perform, it was not in her Ladyship's power to prevent it.'- Having said this, he left the house, as he saw there was no probability of succeeding in his errand. He, however, had not got far, before a servant followed, and informed him that the money should be sent shortly. " But from that hour I never heard anything more of or from her Ladyship concerning the money. Indeed, I had not the least expectation of ever getting it again when I gave it her, nor should I have taken the note from her, had she not forced it upon me. Such a trifle, at that period, was of very little consequence to me. And as resentment never made me any long visits, finding my heart an unfit receptacle, I placed it to account with former favors, and I20 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. thought no more about it. I was much displeased with myself at having been hurt at a folly, of which her Lady- ship had given so many instances. Had I time and inclina- tion, I have room here to add a supplement to these remarks on the scarcity of gratitude, which Dr. Francis's grateful conduct excited. I shall, however, only refer you to them, and leave you to make the application. And to show how very different the lady's sentiments had formerly been, I send you a copy of a letter I once received from her, and which bears this singular address: 'To Miss Bellamy in England. 1 As it is much defaced by time,* there are several breaks in it, but it is given in its present state, and at the same time, verbatim et literatim. "'I Rec d my Dearest Miss Bellamy Letter at Last: after her long silence, indeed I was very Jealous with you, but you make me amen's in Letting me hear from you now, it gives me great Joy & all our faimely to hear that y r D r mama and your Dearest self are in perfict Health to be sure all y* Relations where fighting to see which of them should have you first and Longest with y m . I hope you are a most tird of england, and that we shall soon have your sweet company in Ireland, where you will be heartily welcome, it gives me vast pleasure to hear you haves thoughts of coming over, my Lady To be sure I dont wonder at it, for you know her heart and soul was rapit up in his, as to hows bing the next heir I believe it will be how my Lord pleases, he is in ye Country & my Lady is with us she cant go to her own house I belive she will go strait to england to Miss Bour, I was very unfortunate to be in the country when our Vaux Hall was, if I was in Town I sho'd be thear & I believe I should be much more delighted than at a publicker devertion, I am quit alterd since I saw you, * The original is in the hands of the publisher. THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. J2 i there is nothing I love so much as solitude ; I dont believe it was Mr, knox you read of at Bath, fot he is hear and pray write me word when you saw or heard from Mr. Crump. is out Town this tew months past ever)' in the Country, Dublin is y* stupites place in the world I hope ye winter will be more tho I see no great Liklihood of it, for I believe Shredian can get know- body to play with him is doing all he can to get frinds for him sef to be sure you have bread he is marrd for sirtain to Miss Chamberlan a sweet pare, "'Papa & mama & Miss Betty & Miss Kittys sincer love and comp 15 to y* & y* mama y* Littel Husband sends you ten Thousand kisses he whisses he had you hear to .gnc y" to you he says they W 1 be swe Lipes than on paper without making Comp* 5 he shakes me so I cant write Miss Bellamy will excuse this " ' I must bid a due & shall only say I am my D* your ever affec"*. " ' M. GUNNING. "Dublm August 31. " 'M B Judy begs leave to give her Comp 15 to you, &: is rejoyes'd to hear you are well, she is in a very bad state of health.' " Miss Wynne also records a special instance of their un- graciousness to an old Dublin friend. All accounts indeed show that the beauties were rather unamiable. Boswell's amusing scene at Inverary Castle with the Duchess of Ar- gyll who exhibited a resentment that was almost a viola- tion of the duties of hospitality is familiar to every reader. " The lady of quality" writes : "Mrs. Gunning consulted Sheridan as to what she should do with her two beautiful but penniless daughters. 122 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. He recommended that they should be presented at the Castle ; here a great difficulty occurred : by what possible means were they to procure court dresses? This Sheridan obviated : he was at that time manager of the Dublin Theatre, and offered them a loan of the stage dresses of Lady Macbeth and Juliet. In these they appeared most lovely; and Sheridan, after having attended the toilet, claimed a salute from each as his reward. Very soon after this a most diabolical scheme was formed by some unprin- cipled young men. They invited Mrs. Gunning and her two daughters to dinner, and infused strong narcotics in the wine, intending to take advantage of the intoxication which must ensue to carry off the two young women. Fortunately, Sheridan discovered their base designs, and arrived just in time to rescue the ladies. He lived to see one of these girls Duchess of Argyll, and the other Coun- tess of Coventry ; and, it is melancholy to add, lived to see his application for admission to their parties rejected. "Lady Coventry enjoyed one very singular triumph. Having one day casually mentioned to the king, that she could not walk in the Mall because the crowd who came to gaze at her pressed round her in a way that was quite alarming, his Majesty gallantly exclaimed that the finest woman in England should not be prevented from gracing the Mall. He desired that whenever he wished to walk she would send notice to the captain upon guard, and at the same time ordered that she should be attended by a sergeant's guard. She walked several times with this train : of course the crowd increased ; but they were prevented from pressing upon her, and her vanity, which was ex- cessive, must have received the highest gratification in this singular distinction."* * These stories of the Gunnings might be amply confirmed from con- temporary accounts. Horace Walpole states that they borrowed court THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 123 But Mrs. Piozzi tells a more curious story. " A Mr. Head," she says, "whose real name was Plunkett, a low Irish parasite, dependent on Mr. Thrale primarily, and I suppose, secondarily on Mr. Murphy, was employed by them in various schemes of pleasure, as you men call prof- ligacy : and on this occasion was deputed to amuse them by personating some lord, whom his patrons had promised to introduce to the beautiful Miss Gunnings when they first came over with intent to make their fortunes. He was received accordingly, and the girls played off their best airs, and cast kind looks on his introducers from time to time, till the fellow wearied, as Johnson says, and dis- gusted with his ill-acted character, burst out on a sudden as they sate at tea and cried, ' Catamaran ! young gentlemen with two shoes and never a heel : when will you have done with silly jokes now ? Leddies ;' turning to the future peeresses, ' never mind these merry boys ; but if you really can afford to pay for some incomparable silk stockings, or true India handkerchiefs, here they are now :' rummaging his smuggler's pocket ; but the girls jumped up and turned them all three into the street, where Thrale and Murphy cursed their senseless assistant, and called him Head, like lucus a non lucendo, because they swore he had none. The Duchess (of Hamilton), however, never did forgive this impudent frolic; Lady Coventry, more prudently, pre- tended to forget it." dresses from Peg Woffington, to attend a drawing-room at the Castle. Dublin, and writes thus of them in 1751 : " There are two Irish girls of no fortune, who are declared the handsomest women alive. I think there being two so handsome, and both such perfect figures, is their chief excellence, for, singly, I have seen much handsomer figures than either : however, they can't walk in the park, or go to Vauxhall, but such mobs follow them that they are therefore driven away." 124 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. V. Returned to London, the heroine was presently sur- rounded by admirers who besieged her with their addresses Mr. Metham, Count Haslang, one of the foreign ambas- sadors, Mr. Calcraft, Mr. West Digges (a well-known actor of the day, who was in some cloudy way connected with the Delawarr family), and even the Right Hon. Mr. Fox, afterwards Lord Holland. The lady, it must be said, was not very cruel to this varied list of worshipers, and chroni- cles her various embarrassments with the naivete of a perse- cuted maid. It is, however, a curious illustration of the tone of the times that she should have counted among her patronesses many ladies of rank and ton, though the warm interest that was taken in her might be accounted for by a certain simplicity of nature that was observed in her, com- bined with a sort of rustic piety that appeared to be genu- ine. This simplicity is seen in her singular account of an engagement she entered into with the most persevering of these suitors, the eminent contractor, Mr. Calcraft, who appears to have been a singularly odious character. She relates how this gentleman dispatched an emissary of his own with his proposals. " This gentleman went on to inform me, that Mr. Calcraft, in whose praise he launched out, had it not in his power to marry me immediately, as his dependence on Mr. Fox prevented him from doing so. But that the paper he held in his hand was the copy of a contract of marriage, in which Mr. Calcraft had engaged, under the forfeiture of fifty thousand pounds, to make me his wife, within the term of six or seven years ; in which time, from every appearance, there was no doubt of his acquiring such an independency as would enable him to avow his situation. But at present he could not suffer the ceremony to be performed, as his patron had enjoined him, TUB S7&SY OF GE&mGE AMOK BELLAMY. .- - : 125 be bad too great a wgud to bis bomr, wtedk be bad pledged to bis patroa, to pvdoBC evm BC at Ac expense ofit. Astbi^swRmaMiiasitaalia^liebadtdboa^ of tbs Method as Ibe oaly OK by wbncfe be conuM seoare . -.. ' '.:-_- - : " -- v ; : -; "I beaid, with patience, Mr. Gaand wyeat Ms T^O^S :7.i;.:-.f :'.- - .: : -TS-.-.: ::: :::: ::: -,- -.1 : ; ; ;._, - - ; . -- 90 tihun I expicsscd, in tbe stiKMBgESlt In MIV ; , BBT tiam to de fatter, at bis takiag tbe KBsenty of either Mr. Gaud or Mi|9tlf f tbe smiqssdL I ttlwam aoHBed boa, fbat I mas firamiy leaolivd mewr to Sbxnm am j - n _ a ii^-- ^_j fl njl lt.-ji. IL. coMHcnon wDDaisocvor^ ana cieieum GBC WBUKK IIOL nme Bneaor Mr. CaBoadft, bo was TisMy aftdted at my r i.- ; :- r ' ... - -------- imL "Bhe tboagbft of MIL - jiaiwfl t&4ltt Tig- 1BLtL tbe blow, tdhomi Zani^ SM Mr. Caioaft wnateti bis feefin^s Jim faa^ peneveved, amd n att ttastt, tthe I2 6 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. married a darling daughter to an hereditary prince. As for myself, I still, like the patriarch's dove, longed to re- turn to the home where all my happiness had so long been deposited ; and had I known the real situation of the man that had offended me, instead of waiting for his submis- sion, I should myself have produced the olive branch, and have sued for peace. When we returned to town, the con- tract was left with Mr. Gansel, as a place of the greatest security, and as being lodged in the hands of one of my most zealous friends." After suffering for some time from this man's ill-treat- ment, she naively professed to be amazed at the discovery that he had all this time been secretly married, and that her own extraordinary engagement became thus invali- dated. Harassed with anxieties, she was seized with a dangerous illness, and reduced to the point of death. That a contract of the kind had been entered into, there can be no doubt, as the incident presently became one of the scandals of the time. She printed an appeal to the public, with a copy of the engagement, which Mr. Calcraft suc- ceeded in suppressing at the time, though it appeared later. VI. The eccentric course of her adventures was diversified with little incidents that curiously illustrate the manners of the day and the customs of the stage." She thus tells the story of the "Chicken Gloves." " I must here entertain you with an humorous instance of my vanity's being humbled j and which, though it may extort a smile from you, had like to have cost your humble servant very dear. " Having received some ridiculous compliments upon the beauty of my hand, and my vanity not being a little aug- mented thereby, I determined to try every art in my power THE STORY OF GEORGE AKXE BELLAMY. 127 to render it more conspicuously white, and more worthy of the praises that had been bestowed upon it. Accord- ingly, in order to attain this grand point, which I then thought of the utmost consequence, I sent to Warren's, the perfumer, for a pair of chicken gloves. " When I had obtained these wonder-working coverings. I drew them on as I went to rest ; and with some difficulty prevailed on Clifford to fasten my hands to the bed's head, to accelerate the wished-for effect. Thus manacled, and pleasing myself with the expectation of finding my project succeed, I fell asleep. But, O dire to tell ! I had not become the vassal of Morpheus above two hours, when I awoke, and found that I had totally lost the use of my right hand. "Alarmed by the accident, I hastily called my maid, who lay in an adjacent room, to come and unshackle me ; and finding, when my arms were at liberty, that my appre- hensions were too true, I ordered her to send immediately for one of the faculty. In about half an hour, a gentleman came; and upon being informed of the terrible calamity that had befallen me, and the dreadful disappointment I had experienced, he, laughing, told me, that he would take such methods as should effectually cure my white hand. And this he executed according to the letter of his promise : for he applied to my arm a mustard blister, which extended from my shoulder to my finger's end. An application that was not only attended with excruciating pain, but was pro- ductive of great mortification ; for both the public and myself were debarred from the pleasure of viewing the beauty I so much prided myself in for a long time, as I was obliged to wear gloves during the remainder of the winter." Again ; the audiences of the time were more independent than they are at present, and took a more direct share in 128 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. the business of the stage. Our heroine had recently broken her arm "Mr. Rich," she says, "was very pressing for me to come to town. At length I found myself so well recovered as to attend the duties of the theatre. The first character I made my appearance in was that of Rutland, in the ' Earl of Essex.' When I came to the mad scene, I threw my- self on the floor as usual ; and, in order to prevent my late fractured arm from receiving any injury from the fall, I fell on my right side instead of my left. Mrs. Clive, who was in the boxes, observing this, her good-nature got the better of her recollection, and she cried out, ' O, she has broken her other arm !' The audience took the alarm, and, still honoring me with their favor, called out, with a kind con- cern, for the curtain to be dropped. But finding, by my agility in rising, that I had not hurt myself, they suffered me to proceed." Of all the queens of the stage, perhaps, there is no such dramatic figure as that of Mrs. Woffington. Her good- nature, her boldness, wit, dramatic talents, and beauty, combine to make her a most interesting character, and her story, a contribution to the romance of the stage. In Wil- kinson's Recollections she figures pleasantly, but the simple and graceful tribute paid to her by one of her own pro- fession has a deeper significance than, pages of lengthy panegyric. "To her honor be it ever remembered," says the Prompter of the Dublin Theatre, " that whilst thus in the zenith of her glory, courted and caressed by all ranks and degrees, it made no alteration in her behavior ; she remained the same gay, affable, obliging, good-natured Woffington to every one around her. She had none of those occasional illnesses which I have sometimes seen assumed by capital performers, to the great vexation and loss of the manager, THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. T2 g and disappointment of the public : she always acted four times each week. " Not the lowest performer in the theatre did she refuse playing for; out of twenty-six benefits, she acted in twenty-four, and one of the other two was for Mrs. Lee, who chose to treat the town with an exhibition of her own Juliet. Such traits of character must endear the memory of Mrs. Woffington to every lover of the drama."* But such a heroine, flattered, courted and perhaps a little spoiled, would naturally feel intolerant of a rival. She could put on scornful moods, when she thought a con- temptible mimic had dared to make free with her peculiar- ities, and she was not likely to be indulgent to a beautiful woman like Bellamy who disputed the throne with her. The former regarded her with the bitterest hostility, and the two ladies had an open quarrel which excited the amusement of the town, and set the pens of the wits at work. The story of their jealousies is most amusing. " Mr. Rich had been advised to revive Lee's tragedy of * Alexander,' as the character of that hero would suit the powers and show the person of Barry to singular advantage. The parts of the rival queens he judged would be likewise well filled by Mrs. Woffington and myself. The animosity this lady had long borne me had not experienced any de- crease. On the contrary, my late additional finery in my jewels, etc., had augmented it to something very near hatred. I had during the summer given Madam Montete, wife of the hair-dresser of the time, who was going to Paris, a commission to bring me from thence two tragedy * Hitchcock, T. ii_ 223. For a faDer account of Woffington the editor may be allowed to refer to his " Life of Garrick." which, with Ac sketches found in Tale Wilkinson's RecoBectkws given farther on. famish a picture of the! F* 130 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. dresses, the most elegant she could purchase. I have already observed, that the proprietor allowed me a certain sum to find my own habiliments. " My chargee d* affaire opened her credentials at Madam Bonfoy's, principal marchand du mode in that metropolis. I had requested this lady to consult Brilliant, who would consult Du Menil. She was likewise to take the joint opinion of all the people of taste there, upon an affair of such momentous consequence. The revival of * Alexander' furnished me with an opportunity of showing all my ele- gance in the character of the Persian Princess. "My royal robes in which I had represented the Em- press Fulvia, in Doctor Francis's ' Constantine,' to the great loss of the public, had not been seen by them. They were showy and proper for the character. But in these robes de cours, taste and elegance were never so happily blended. Particularly in one of them, the ground of which was a deep yellow. Mr. Rich had purchased a ^uit of her Royal Highness's, the Princess Dowager of Wales, for Mrs. Woffington to appear in Roxana. It was not in the least soiled, and looked very beautiful by day- light ; but, being a straw-color, it seemed to be a dirty white by candle-light; especially when my splendid yellow was by it. To this yellow dress I had added a purple robe ; and a mixture so happy made it'appear, if possible, to greater advantage. "Thus accoutred in all my magnificence, I made my entree into the green-room as the Persian Princess. But how shall I describe the feelings of my inveterate rival ! The sight of my pompous attire created more real envy in the heart of the actress than it was possible the real Roxana could feel for the loss of the Macedonian hero. As soon as she saw me, almost bursting with rage, she drew herself up, and thus, with a haughty air, addressed me: 'I desire, THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. I3I madam, yon will never more, upon any account, wear those clothes in the piece we perform to-night/ " Yon are too well acquainted widf my disposition, and so, I dare say, are my readers by this time, to suppose this envious lady took the proper way to have her request granted. I replied, * I know not, madam, by what right yon take upon you to dictate to me what I shall wear. Ar.d I assure you, madam, yon must ask it in a very different manner before you obtain my compliance.' She now found it necessary to solicit in a softer strain ; and I readily gave my assent. The piece consequently went through without any more murmuring on her part, whatever might be her sensations. "However, the next night I sported my other suit, which was much more splendid than the former. This re- kindled Mrs. Woffington's rage, so that it nearly bordered on madness. When oh ! dire to tell ! she drove me off the carpet, and gave me the coup de grace almost behind the scenes. The audience, who I believe preferred bearing my last dying speech to seeing her beauty and fine attitude, could not avoid perceiving her violence, and testified their displeasure at it. " Though I despise revenge, I do not dislike retaliation. I therefore put on my yellow and purple once more. As soon as I appeared in the green-room, her fury conld not be kept within bounds, notwithstanding one of the corps diplomatique was then paying homage to her beauty, and for the moment made her imagine she had the power of control equal to a real queen. She imperiously questioned me, bow I dared to dress again in the manner she had so strictly prohibited ? The only return I made to this in- solent interrogation was by a smile of contempt. It was not long before I had my plenipo likewise, the never-fail- ing Comte de Haslang, to whom I told the reason of my I 3 2 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. changing my attire, which was meant par oblique to her. Upon hearing which, she immediately sent for Mr. Rich ; but that gentleman prudently declined attending her summons. "Being now ready to burst with the contending passions which agitated her bosom, she told me it was well for me that I had a minister to supply my extravagance with jewels and such paraphernalia. Struck with so unmerited and cruel a reproach, my asperity became more predominant than my good-nature, and I replied, I was sorry that even half the town could not furnish a supply equal to the minister she so illiberally hinted at. Finding I had got myself into a disagreeable predicament, and recollecting the well-known distich, that 1 He who fights, and runs away, May live to fight another day ;' I made as quick an exit as possible, notwithstanding I wore "the regalia of a queen. But I was obliged in some measure to the Comte for my safety, as his Excellency covered my retreat, and stopped my enraged rival's pursuit ; I should otherwise have stood a chance of appearing in the next scene with black eyes, instead of the blue ones which nature had given me. "The next season Mr. Foote profited by this behavior of Mrs. Woffington, and produced a little piece, which he entitled, ' The Green-room Squabble ; or, a Battle Royal between the Queen of Babylon and the Daughter of Darius.' It may be supposed that after so public a rupture we never spoke. This taciturnity continued, till being upon her death-bed, some years after, she requested to see me. She then informed me, that she had once done me an intentional injury, by prevailing upon one of her lovers to show Mr. Fox a letter of mine which had accidentally THE STORY OF GEORGE AXXE BELLAMY. I33 fallen into her hands, and the contents of which would admit of a different interpretation from what it was de- signed to convey. Her malicious intention had not, how- ever, the desired effect, as that gentleman and myself were not upon the terms she suspected, or at least wished to have thought. I own I could not refrain from being much surprised at the wickedness and meanness of the intended injury. And though my humanity prompted me to forgive an offence which seemed to lie so heavy on her mind. 1 left the lady as soon as possible to reflect upon the illiber- ality of such a proceeding." Of such fashion was her strange life a mixture of pleasure, adventure, extravagance, and hardship. Bu: her fickleness had alienated many friends and patrons, and her love of amusement, pleasure, and recklessness made her neglect the stage. Then humiliations of all kinds set in ; she could hardly procure an engagement, and the once peerless heroine was contemptuously offered six pounds a week by Mr. Colman ! The first reminder of decay was her reception in Dublin. YIL It was the season of 1760 when the exciting contest between Barry and Woodward on one side, and Mossop on the other, was raging, and the great world of fashion was divided into two parties, each supporting a rival house, just as in the great struggle of the Opera Houses in the days of Mr. Lumley. Mr. Mossop, whose own story is of a tragic cast, hoping to turn the balance by bringing over the once attractive Bellamy, agreed to pay her the sum of a thousand pounds, which was utterly dis- proportioned to the value of her service. " He relied on the old tradition of some thirteen years before, when," says Wilkinson, "she was esteemed a first actress, was 12 1 3 4 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. looked at as a charming elegant young woman, and was the universal toast in Ireland." She candidly owns that there was, at first, disappointment and surprise at the change in her appearance, but hints that this impression was removed on the following day by repose. She admits, too, that she "was by no means so well received as she had formerly been." But this she fancied was owing to her formerly having had no competitor. " My arrival having been hourly expected, curiosity had induced many of the students of the College to watch for my coming. I accordingly found the door of the house, at which I was to alight, crowded with them, in expecta- tion of beholding a wonder. For it could not enter into the imagination of those young gentlemen, that any less than a perfect beauty had been so general a topic of con- versation, and the subject of so many poetical compli- ments from their predecessors. " One of my female domestics was tolerably handsome ; -she, therefore, at first caught their eyes ; but, as she had not the appearance of elegance which distinguishes the gentlewoman, the mistake was but momentary. At length I stepped out of the coach. The long expected phenomenon now made her appearance. But oh, how different a figure from what their imagination had depictured ! Fashion to yourself the idea of a little dirty creature bent nearly double, enfeebled by fatigue, her countenance tinged with jaundice, and in every respect the reverse of a person who could make the least pretensions to beauty. Such was I, when I pre- sented myself to the sight of the gazing crowd. And so great and natural was their surprise and disappointment, that they immediately vanished, and left me to crawl into the house without admiration or molestation. "I spent the evening at the Parliament House, where many of the seniors of the College, as well as the Provost, THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY, jjg were present. Others likewise came to see the fright which had excited the disgust of the curious in the morning. Nothing is so favorable to an object as exaggerated dis- praise. For, with only the assistance of ablution, and in the most simple dress (simplicity in my dress being, as I have already observed, my constant adoption, except when finery was absolutely needful ; and I always scorned to owe any addition to art, which I disliked as much in the adorn- ment of the person as of the mind), I made a more favor- able impression upon the company than could have been expected." But there was an observant performer playing in Dublin, who gives a truer account of what took place. He sketches the poor decayed creature, with a not unkind bluntness, but the contrast to her complacent account is very striking. "Mossop, as manager," writes Tate Wilkinson, "made his first appearance in Pierre, in 'Venice Preserved,' Bel- vedera, Mrs. Bellamy, being the first night of her perform- ing. Expectation was so great that the house filled, as fast as the people could thrust in with or without paying. On speaking her first line behind the scene, " Lead me, ye virgins, lead me to that kind voice," it struck the ears of the audience as uncouth and unmusical ; yet she was received, as was prepared and determined by all who were her or Mr. Mossop's friends, and the public at large, with repeated plaudits on her entree. But the roses were fled ! the young, the once lovely Bellamy was turned haggard ! and her eyes, that used to charm all hearts, ap- peared sunk, large, hollow, and ghastly. O Time ! Time ! thy glass should be often consulted ! for before the first short scene had elapsed, disappointment, chagrin, and pity sat on every eye and countenance. 136 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. " By the end of the third act, they were all (like Bobadil) planet-struck ; the other two acts hobbled through. Mossop was cut to the heart, and never played Pierre (one of his best parts) so indifferently as on that night. The curtain dropped, and poor Bellamy never after drew a single house there. She left Dublin without a single friend to regret her loss. What a change from the days of her youth ! and as an actress of note, her name never more ranked in any theatre, nor did she ever again rise in public estimation." Still the poor foolish lady launched out into fresh extrav- agance though she had left a load of debt behind her in London. Here is a specimen of what she exposed herself to. "My bill," she says, "for wine and other articles, had of Mr. Crump, amounted to ^400. "Though I received fifty guineas a week, yet through the extravagance of my servants, and my own thoughtless- ness, I had not a guinea beforehand. But, to my great surprise, I heard that Mr. Crump had failed : and Coates 4iad taken possession of his effects, books, etc. " ' Coriolanus,' was bespoke; and Mr. Mossop had the agreeable prospect of a subscription for six plays, which would enable him to pay the performers ; for not one of them was regularly paid but myself, though by what means he expended his money I could not imagine. As I went one day as usual to the rehearsal, I observed a mean-looking fellow run by the side of my chair. I called, in my way, upon a lady. Still the same man was my attendant. Having no suspicion of any danger from him, I attributed it to the beauty of my sedan ; which, indeed, attracted every eye. " I had some company at dinner, which made it rather later than usual when I set out for the theatre. As my chairmen entered Damask Street, the man who had fol- lowed me in the morning knocked at the front window of THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. I37 my chair, and, when I had let it down showed me a bit of paper. Upon my inquiring what it was, he told me it was a writ for the two hundred pounds I owed Coates, as suc- cessor to Crump's affairs, and insisted that I should go with him. I told him he should have the money, if he would go to the theatre, and that I would likewise make him a handsome present for the permission. But this he would not consent to do : as, he said, he had particular orders from the plaintiff to the contrary. " This being the case, I made a virtue of necessity, and went with him to a house in Skinner Row. When I got there, I sent for Coates, but he was not to be found. The officer now candidly told me, that the intention of taking me in the evening was to prevent my appearing at the theatre that night. He had been particularly warned, he said, not to arrest me in the morning, as they were well assured I should have paid the debt, and by that means have disappointed their purpose. It was two o'clock in the morning before the plaintiff could be met with, and as he had given orders that the affair should only be settled by himself, I was obliged to wait with patience his coming. Mrs. Molloy and Miss Ly'll visited me in my durance; and I believe the officer's house was never so graced be- fore. "Mrs. Usher had been obliged to read my part. As soon as the play was over, Mr. Mossop came to me. And I was vastly apprehensive that he would have caned Coates. This was what the man seemed to wish, for such a vulgar impertinent I never heard before. He had the impudence to tell us, that he knew he should easily have got the money, but he w'shed to prevent my playing that night. 'Everything,' continued he, ' is fair, where interests clash.' "When Mr. Digges (a new lover) found me in this sit- uation, he was like a distracted man. His first business 12* 138 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. was to give a most severe chastisement to Coates ; which, together with some other embarrassments in his private affairs, obliged him to leave Dublin." Such was a type of the life that was now before her. With the decay of her charms, came fresh debt and em- barrassment : arrests in the open street with protection, then secured by "being made housekeeper to Count Has- lang," whose suite as belonging to an ambassador enjoyed immunity from law process. Later came callousness, the result of such, struggles, the usual shifts and battles with creditors, the pawning or sale of jewels and dresses and, at last, final residence within the Rules. "As soon as Mr. Fox, and some other guests, who had dined with me, were departed, I prepared to go to his Excellency's to cards ; but, as I passed through Jermyn Street, I was overtaken by the wretch's brother, who, al- most breathless with running after me, informed me that a man, who came up at the same time, had an action against .me, at his sister's suit. The shock had such an effect upon me, that I dropped down speechless in the street. Two such insults, so quickly succeeding each other, were not to be supported. Had the latter come singly, I could have borne it with Roman fortitude ; but, united, they were too severe a trial. " Had I been able to preserve my reason upon this oc- casion, and been acquainted with the laws, I might have preserved my liberty, at least for that night : for it seems the fellows who arrested me had, in their great hurry, for- got the warrant ; without which, I find, the caption is not valid ; but, during my imbecility, one of them ran for it. " I was taken, during this state of insensibility, to the officer's house in Stanhope Street, Clare Market ; which happened to be the same where my brother, Captain O'Hara, was confined. It was so long before I came to THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 139 myself that the surgeon, who was sent for to bleed me, was apprehensive for my life. " The mistress of the house had some feeling; and seeing me dressed above the common line, though plain, and having besides conceived some partiality for me, not only on account of my being an actress, but as sister to her favorite captain, who had so often been her lodger, she paid me more attention than persons generally meet with in such places. She sent for my maid, and kindly pre- vented all noise and confusion in the house for five days, during which I remained in a state of silent insanity. My maid, to return the obligations she thought I laid under to all those who sent to inquire after me, took the servants that brought the messages, which were not a few, to the bar, and treated them with what they would have; and this made no inconsiderable addition to my expenses. " The sixth morning of my residence in this place, the woman of the house came up to me, and told me that the writ was returnable the next day, and if I did not eat and drink, and get a habeas corpus, I should be carried a corpse to Newgate. The name of that dreadful place made me tremble ; but, at the same time, it roused me as if I had been electrified. I immediately recovered from my stupid- ity, and asked her what was to be done. She informed me that it would be necessary for me to employ an attorney to procure a habeas for me, and also to send and engage a lodging within the rules of the King's Bench. She added that her son, who was an attorney, was below, and would be glad to serve me. She concluded by telling me that persons in the law never advanced any money for their clients; though indeed they did not expect to have their bills settled immediately, especially where it was safe, as it must be with a lady who had credit enough to owe one person twelve hundred pounds. I startled at the mention 1 4 o THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. of so large a sum, and desired her to explain herself; which she did by telling me that was the debt for which the execution was levied against me. " What was now to be done I scarcely knew. I had but a few guineas about me. "I now began to consider whom I could send to upon this emergency. I had known Mrs. Stacie, when her hus- band kept an inn at Stilton. They had since removed to the Bedford Arms in Covent Garden. Having conceived a very strong attachment for her, from frequently calling at their house at Stilton, I had promised to stand sponsor to the child she was pregnant with, upon my return from the north. I had not only performed this promise, but had been called upon to appear upon the same occasion to two others. " Upon the strength of this acquaintance, I immediately applied to her for twelve guineas. I thought that sum, with what I had, would be sufficient to pay the whole of my expenses here ; but, to my inconceivable surprise, they amounted to as much again ; so that I paid very handsomely for the civility the mistress of the house had shown me in keeping it quiet. "Mrs. Stacie came immediately on my sending to her, and could not refrain from tears at seeing me in such an unexpected situation. Her husband nad given her a bill for twenty pounds, which she let me have ; and upon hear- ing that I had obstinately refused all food, when she re- turned, she sent me a supper of all the niceties their house afforded. " In return for the civility the mistress of the house had shown me, I asked her to partake of the supper Mrs. Stacie sent me. She cheerfully accepted my invitation. During our meal, she enumerated all the persons of quality who had occasionally been her visitors. After supper, she asked if THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 141 she should entertain me with a song ; for she was reckoned, she said, to have a very fine voice. The oddity of her man- ner, as she made the proposal, joined to her masculine figure, had such an effect upon my imagination, that I in- stantly burst into a violent fit of laughter. The approba- tion we expressed gave her such sensible pleasure, that she concluded with telling me she was sure, as I was fond of music, I must be pleased with her voice. " The next morning Mr. Thomas, then Lord Mansfield's clerk, came himself with the tipstaff, to conduct me over to the warden. Mr. Marsden very politely met me at the door of his house, and conducted me into the parlor. My attorney having attended Mr. Woodward and Mr. Stacie there in the morning, to settle for the Rules, the Marshal knew of my coming, and I found everything usual for break- fast prepared against I arrived. " This grand point being settled, I went to a little vile lodging, which had been taken for me, at the house be- longing to the Windmill in St. George's Fields. For this wretched place I was to pay two guineas a week ; but the time to procure me a lodging had been so short, that the first which offered was fixed upon. "Mr. Marsden attended me himself, with great com- plaisance, to my new apartments ; and I was not a little surprised, upon OUT being seated, at his taking out a large purse of gold, and presenting it to me, with a request that I would make use of it for my present exigencies, and return it to him when convenient. "In the evening that gentleman came to pay me a visit; when be advised me to write, as soon as possible, to the Attorney-General, my much honored friend Mr. Yorke, to consult him upon my case. By Mr. Woodward not making me an ofler of his assistance at this time, I was convinced that Miss Wordley's supposition was well founded. Indeed, 142 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. her sagacity and superior understanding enabled her to see every event clearer, in all points of view, than most people. "The next day I desired her to take a letter to Mr. Yorke. My honorable (and now, alas ! my much regretted) friend immediately wrote me an answer, wherein he in- formed me, in the kindest terms, that he would pay every attention to the affair, and would do all in his power to extricate me from it. But as nothing could be done till November, he requested me to accept the inclosed bills, in lieu of what his loved sister, Lady Anson, had intended to bequeath me, had she not been taken away suddenly. He then advised me, if my creditor could not be prevailed on to compromise the debt, to stand trial ; when he was well assured, he said, a verdict would be given in my favor ; but as his Excellency Comte Haslang was advanced in years, it might continue pending over my head for some time. In how pleasing a manner was this favor conferred ! the delicacy and politeness with which it was accompanied gave it double value, and claimed my warmest acknowledg- ments. " Finding I must make up my mind to my present situa- tion, as nothing could be done for so long a time, I sent Miss Wordley to seek out another apartment ; for though, by Mr. Yorke's bounty, I found myself possessed of two hundred pounds, yet it was visible that the noble donor had sent me that sum, on purpose to enable me to compro- mise the debt with Mrs. Ray, should she consent to it. Miss Wordley accordingly fixed on two rooms adjoining to the Dog and Duck, at twelve shillings a week ; which were more eligible, better furnished, and much airier than those I was now in." Two rooms adjoining the ' Dog and Duck' ! To this condition was the beautiful Bellamy come at last. The rest of her life was of the same complexion ; begging THE STORY OF GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY. 143 complaint appeal to the public squalor destitution. A Benefit was arranged for her, and she appeared on the stage, an object more of curiosity than of interest. "I dwell for a moment," says the pleasant Reynolds, "on a last appearance which I witnessed namely, that of Mrs. Bellamy, who took her leave of the stage May 24th, 1785. On this occasion Miss Farren, the present Countess of Derby, spoke an address, which concluded with the following couplet : ' But see, oppress'd with gratitude and tears, To pay her duteous tribute she appears.' The curtain then ascended, and Mrs. Bellamy being dis- covered, the whole house immediately arose to mark their favorable inclinations towards her, and from anxiety to obtain a view of this once celebrated actress, and, in con- sequence of the publication of her life, then celebrated authoress. She was seated in an arm-chair, from which she in vain attempted to rise, so completely was she subdued by her feelings. She, however, succeeded in muttering a few words, expressive of her gratitude, and then sinking into her seat, the curtain dropped before her. Some begging appeals to her old friend Tate Wilkinson, "the Wandering Patentee," whose adventures we shall next follow, speak significantly of the straits and misery in which her life was destined to close.* * It is interesting to know that so far back as the year 1822, these me- moirs attracted the attention of M. Thiers, then a young writer in the Con- itittUiomnel. To a collection, entitled " Memoires sur 1'Art Dramatique," now a scarce book, he contributed a sort of abstract of " Mistress Bel- lamy's" story, in which he dwells on what he terms " the candor of a great soul, which, confident in the nobility of her intentions, revealed every questionable act of her life." Her memoirs, however, were believed to have been written to her dictation by one BicknelL 144 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. CHAPTER V. THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON.* I. " I, Tate Wilkinson, whose various stage adventures and sparrings have been permitted, and favored with accept- ance, more or less, in almost every principal theatre in the three kingdoms, as Drury Lane, Covent Garden, Hay- market, Smock Alley and Crow Street, Dublin, Bath, Edinburgh, Portsmouth, Winchester, Maidstone, Birming- ham, Chester, Bristol, Norwich, York, Shrewsbury, Rich- mond in Surrey, Exeter, Glasgow, Newcastle, Leeds, Lynn, Pontefract, Halifax, Doncaster, Hull, Wakefield, &c. am the son of the late Rev. Dr. John Wilkinson, who was educated at St. Bees in Cumberland and finished his studies at the university of Oxford, and who suffered trans- portation under the well-remembered Marriage Act in 1755. He was his Majesty's chaplain of the Savoy, also chaplain to his late Royal Highness Frederic Prince of Wales. I, Tate Wilkinson," (in this quaint fashion does the graphic but somewhat garrulous player commence his story), "was born October 27, 1739; and, by my father's sentence of transportation, was likely to have been irre- trievably ruined. I was, at that critical period, at the age of seventeen not brought up to any business or profession, of a very indifferent constitution, and neither mother nor son had the least independency. " Previous to this unfortunate event, my father and * Bom 1739, died 1803. THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. I45 mother had been connected with the most leading families, and were universally acquainted in London. Amongst our various visitors were Lord and Lady Forbes, from the sister kingdom. They were so attached to my father and mother, as to be almost inseparable. That intimacy subsisted on so strong a basis, and formed so firm a friendship that they used to call me their own boy Tate, and their dear George's only particular friend. They promised to fix me genteelly in life ; and were certain if George lived to be Earl of Granard, Tate would be well provided for. Airy castles too often gain belief and dependence, when of a sudden they disappear, and wake the deluded dreamer from his transitory vision, and in lieu present a true mirror in which he views his actual state." In the midst of a round of pleasant junketing, his father was brought to trial for his continued infringement of the marriage laws in the Savoy, and sentenced to transportation for fourteen years. "The time for his departure was early in March, 1757, and the last meeting between father, mother, and son was in that most dreadful of all places, Newgate ! We who had for so many years moved in a different sphere, and who were more than commonly united a description of it must here be omitted ; but if the sensible, feeling mind will take a short pause, and honor the ashes of the dead with a mo- ment's reflection and a tear of pity, it will be only paying a tribute due to humanity and mercy ; and from whence ideas will flow in painting the result of such a tragical, affecting scene, as imagination will easily describe much stronger than any words can possibly express. " My dear, benevolent, indulgent, gracious, and loving parent, farewell ! May your last blessing procure me, at least, a small portion of your wishes for my short remains of life. G 13 146 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. " When they reached the Downs, they could not proceed, the winds would not permit them ; from thence we received a letter containing an account of my father being but very indifferent, as the gout had made a severe attack in his stomach ; a complaint with which he was every year more or less afflicted in that dangerous seat of its residence. They were driven by stress of weather into Plymouth, where his enemy, the gout, assisted by the severity of the elements, seized this dreadful opportunity to league with Death and violently assaulted a mind and body already loaded with anguish, affection, and affliction, and by find- ing himself bereft of that assistance and tenderness from those he sighed for, but sighed in vain ! the merciless in- vaders proved too mighty for his fortitude ; the noble cordage cracked and broke ! Grim Death sat triumphant over his conquered manes ! "Before the end of this tragical story, I must relate that the captain of the vessel had my father privately interred at Plymouth, from whence, as fatality seemed to pervade the whole mysterious event, on the captain's returning to his ship, his boat was overset by a rough sea, the crew were saved, but the captain perished." The little boy had found his way to the theatre, and was encouraged to " take off" the peculiarities of Mrs. Woffing- ton, Quin, and other performers, which he did also to the delight of friends of the family. When he was left almost destitute after the death of his father, he still hung about the side scenes, evidently one of those forward, pert young fellows who extort a laugh, but about whom no good is prophesied. " My mother's friends were capable and willing to afford every support to enable her to keep up a decent appearance, both at home and abroad, by a respectable assistance; which, when so bestowed, will ever gladden the oppressed THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 14? mind ; bat not when offered as a supercilious gift as who should say, ' I am Sir Oracle !' How good I am I' " The stage my thoughts had not forgot, though I dared not avow my inclination for it, fearing my patrons and mother woold not prefer my being a player to that of an officer. However, unknown to them, I plucked up cour- age, and waited on Mr. Rich (the manager of Co vent Garden Theatre), and after rehearsing several speeches from Ricjiard III. he behaved very familiarly, and desire i me to hear HIM act Richard III., and, his acting over, I was without loss of time enrolled on the list of his pupils : but after die honor of *t*"K"g his levees, baring free admission behind the scenes, and receiving a few lessons from him, he, to my astonishment, declared I was incapable of becoming an actor. " I lived on hopes, however, dot Mr. Rich would ere long perceive my genius, which I assured myself was beyond compare ; and soon after, on my repeating the first speech of Richard in. one morning in the exact tone and manner of old Rich, he seemed delighted, and I judged all would soon terminate in the accomplishment of my wishes; bat the following odd accident frustrated all my hopes, and I innocently incurred the fixed displeasure of Mr. Rich. This total overthrow to all my expectations was occasioned by Mrs. Woffington. The cause was as follows : One day my old friend Captain Forbes had invited me to dine with him at the Bedford Arms, and after a choice dinner, with plenty of good wine, &rc., the Captain said, ' Tate T we will go to the play,' and added that he wished to go behind the scenes : but as I went there only on sufferance, I toid him it was not in my power to oblige him. 'If so,' said my friend George, ' we will not separate; for I will treat you to the boxes.' Being jolly with the bottle, I ********, and when arrived at die dteatie, I could not prevail on 148 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. him to sit anywhere but in the stage box. He was in full guard regimentals myself by no means dressed fit to appear as his companion ; but as he persisted and led the way, I followed, and in front of his Majesty's stage box we were seated ; and no more strange than true, the lower sides exhibited a beggarly account of empty boxes. "Being in such a conspicuous situation, the eyes of the performers from behind the scenes were instantaneously attracted on beholding a poor young lad a mere depend- ent (skulking nightly behind the curtain) placed in a stage box they were, therefore, astonished at my audacity in usurping and possessing such a particular seat of dis- tinction and a creature, too, that was destitute, and so- liciting for bread, they naturally concluded I had gained admittance by an order, and taken such a place by way of ignorant and impudent bravado, the which deserved chas- tisement. They sent and spoke to Mr. Rich, and it was agreed that Wilkinson should be instantly ordered from his improper situation. A messenger was sent to put this mandate from Mr. Rich in full force. The box-keeper came to me; and Captain Forbes warm with his wine, and the insult offered to his friend, soon convinced the official messenger of his mistake, and the box-keeper was sent back to assure Mr. Rich that Mr. Wilkinson was seated there by proper authority ; as Capfain Forbes, who was well known by being a constant box attendant at their the- atre, had paid ten shillings for admittance. This, I was well informed, caused a general green-room laugh of con- tempt at the expense of the poor poverty-struck gentleman in the stage box : but unfortunately Mrs. Woffington, who acted Clarissa, having been frequently told that I was re- markable for taking her off (as the phrase was, and is), came close to the stage box, finishing her speech with such a sarcastic sneer at me as actually made me draw back. THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 149 My unfortunate star sure was then predominant, for at that moment a woman of the town, in the balcony above where I was seated, repeated some words in a remarkably shrill tone, which occasioned a general laugh ; like electricity it caught Mrs. Woffington's ear, whose voice was far from being enchanting; on perceiving the pipe-squeak on her right hand, and being conscious of the insult she had then given apparently to me, it struck her comprehension so forcibly that she immediately concluded I had given the retort upon her in that open and audacious manner, to render her acting and tone ridiculous to the audience, as returning contempt for her devilish sneer. She again turned and darted her lovely eyes, though assisted by the furies, which made me look confounded and sheepish ; all which only served to confirm my condemnation. When the scene was finished, and she had reached the green- room, she related my insolence in such terms as rendered me a subject of abuse, contempt, and hatred with all the company; but of that circumstance I was quite ignorant: at the instant I had, it is true, observed, to my mortifi- cation, Mrs. WofHngton looked angry, but could not divine the real cause. " The noon following, when I attended Mr. Rich's levee, I was kept in waiting a considerable time ; but as that was, and is, the too common fate of distressed de- pendence, patience was my friend and companion. At last Mrs. Woffington passed through the room where I was thus humiliated, and without a word, courtesy, or bow of her head, proceeded on to her sedan, from which she as haughtily returned, and advancing towards me with queen- like steps, and viewing me most contemptuously, said * Mr. Wilkinson, I have made a visit this morning to Mr. Rich, to command and to insist on his not giving you any engagement whatever no, not of the most menial kind '3* 1 5 o THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. in the theatre. Merit you have none charity you deserve not, for if you did my purse should give you a dinner. Your impudence to me last night, where you had with such assurance placed yourself, is one proof of your ignorance ; added to that I heard you echo my voice when I was acting, and I sincerely hope in whatever barn you are suf- fered as an unworthy stroller, that you will fully experience the same contempt you dared last night to offer me.' With a flounce and enraged features, without waiting or per- mitting me to reply, she darted once more into her chair. I really was so astonished, frightened, and bewildered, that I knew not how to act or think, but was relieved from longer suspense and tedious waiting by a message from Rich, intimating that he could not see me at his levee, either that day or in future, or listen to any engagement whatever ; for my behavior was too gross and rude to be justified, and I must immediately depart; but the person added, I might continue the liberty of the scenes during the season, with this proviso, that I should not on any account take the freedom to speak to Mr. Rich. I wished not, nor had the power, to make an answer. " Provisions were short at home my good mother's poverty increased. One good advantage this distress pro- duced was, that what I should have devoured that day, with my noddle full of vanity, was reserved for the next my stomach being quite satisfied with grief, shame, and vexa- tion ; poverty pursuing my steps. My mother of course execrated Rich and Woffington ; wept over her darling boy, and flew to that Refuge, which she often declared always afforded her support, and had never forsaken her, even when sinking under the greatest affliction ; and that Refuge was a constant address to the Deity, and a trust in His Divine mercy. However, I would not give up the play that night, nor in a pet resign my permission of being THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. I5 t behind the scenes; but the theatre was no longer that earthly paradise I had formed, for the mist was removed, and I saw actors, actresses, and myself in a different mir- ror which convinced me what we all really were. " When I went into the green-room, an universal laugh of contempt ensued. Woffington, the queen bee of the hive, was there ; I had disturbed and offended her Majesty ; and therefore all her faithful servants, bee-like, joined to sting me, except Mr. Shuter, who saw my distress and good-na- turedly took me by the hand, led me to his dressing-room and desired me not to be cast down ; but observed I must not enter the green-room again, as they were one and all determined on my banishment. In such a situation, it will naturally be conceived I had a claim to pitv and some little protection, and that players must of course be the most cruel of all people. "Mrs. Woffington ever had a train of admirers; she possessed wit, vivacity, &c., but never permitted her lo%-e of pleasure and conviviality to occasion the least defect in her duty to the public as a performer. Six nights in the week has been often her appointed lot for playing without murmuring; she was ever ready at the call of the audience, and though in the possession of all the first line of char- acters, yet she never thought it improper, or a degradation of her consequence, to constantly play the Queen in Ham- let, Lady Ann in Richard III., and Lady Percy in Henry IV. ; parts which are mentioned as insults in the country, if offered to a lady of consequence. " Read this, ye heroes and heroines I She also cheer- fully acted Hennione, or Andromache; Lady Pliant, or Lady Touchwood ; Lady Sadlife, or Lady Dainty ; Angel- ica, or Mrs. Frail ; and several others alternately, as best suited the interest of her manager. " One evening, some few weeks after my late mentioned 152 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. disgrace, Mrs. Woffington was acting Lady Dainty ; I ventured, after much hesitation, to say to Mrs. Barrington, I thought Mrs. Woffington looked beautiful Mrs. Barring- ton tossed up her head and said, that was no news, as she looked so every night; at which she and Mrs. Vincent laughed : this occasioned Mrs. Woffington to turn her head, and condescendingly ask, what they were smiling at. Mrs. Barrington replied that the young man was saying that Lady Dainty looked beautiful that night, and added, she had told him there needed not that information, as she always looked so. Mrs. Woffington, viewing me disdain- fully, cried, 'Poor creature!' 'O God!' says I, 'what shall I do for bread ! I had better exhibit in a barn, but am, not sure if I can even get that situation.' My only comfort was my acquaintance with the facetious Ned Shu- ter; it grew soon to a strong friendship, for he took me to all his parties, and that made my time glide more pleas- antly. "Unfit for the stage, what could I do? My mother's existence was procured by the sale or pawning every trifle that could raise a few shillings ; and she, trembling to view the darkened prospect when the last resources were ex- pended, compelled me to wait on Mr. Rich once more, and solicit him to retain me on any trifling salary for the ensuing year ; but I received a short and peremptory ' NO ! You are unfit for the stage, Muster Whittington, and I won't larn you you may go, Muster Whittington ;' and he stroked his favorite cat. "Summer did not promise me better than the winter had done ; for with my bad reception I could not get a recommendation or probability of any engagement what- ever even in the country. Monday, May 17, 1757, 'As You Like It' was acted at Covent Garden, for the benefit of Mr. Anderson, Mr. Wignel, and a Mad. Gondou. I THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 153 was standing near the wing as Mrs. Woffington in Rosa- lind, and Mrs. Vincent in Celia, were going on the stage in the first act. Mrs. Woffington ironically said she was glad to have that opportunity of congratulating me on my stage success ; and did not doubt but such merit would insure me an engagement the following winter. I bowed. but made her no answer I knew her dislike to me, and was humiliated sufficiently, and needed not any slight to sink me lower. For then, and not till then, adversity had taught me to know myself. She went through Rosalind for four acts without my perceiving she was in the least disordered, but in the fifth she complained of great indis- position. I offered her my arm, the which she graciously accepted ; I thought she looked softened in her behavior, and had less of the hauteur. When she came off at the quick change of dress, she again complained of being ill ; but got accoutred and returned to finish the part, and pro- nounced in the epilogue speech, " If it be true that good wine needs no bush it is as true that a good play needs no epilogue,' &c., &c. But when arrived at 'If I were among you I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me,' her voice broke, she faltered, endeavored to go on, but could not proceed then in a voice of tremor screamed, 'O God! O God!' tottered to the stage door speechless, where she was caught. The audience of course applauded till she was out of sight, and then sank into awful looks of astonishment, both young and old, before and behind the curtain, to see one of the most handsome women of the age, a favorite principal actress, and who had for several seasons given high entertainment, struck so suddenly by the hand of death in such a situation of time and place, and in her prime of life, being then about forty-four. She was given over that night, and for several days ; but so far recovered as to linger till near the year G* I 5 4 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. 1760, but existed as a mere skeleton; sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. Vain is Beauty's gaudy flower!" II. " A Mrs. Wardale, anxious for my situation and welfare, had prevailed on the Honorable Miss Foley, sister to Lord Foley, to ask the favor of a letter of recommendation from her intimate friend, Lord Mansfield, to Mr. Garrick ; which his Lordship immediately complied with : so with those credentials I was to proceed on a visit the next day, and which I assure the reader seemed to require more than common fortitude. I marched up and down Southampton Street three or four times before I dared rap at this great man's door, as fearing instant admission might follow ; or, what appeared to me almost as dreadful, if graciously ad- mitted, how I should be able to walk, move, or speak before him. However, the rap was at last given, and the deed was done past all retreating. ' Is Mr. Garrick at home?' 'Yes.' Then delivering the letter from Miss Foley, with an inclosed one from Lord Mansfield, and after waiting in a parlor for about ten minutes, I was ordered to approach. Mr. Garrick glanced his scrutinizing eye first at me, then at the letter, and so alternately ; at last ' Well, sir Hey ! What, now you are a stage candidate ? Well, sir, let me have a taste of your quality/ I, distilled almost to jelly with my fear, attempted a speech from Richard, and another from Essex ; which he encouraged by observ- ing, I was so much frightened, that he could hot form any judgment of my abilities; but assured me, it was not a bad omen, as fear was by no means a sign of want of merit, but often the contrary. We then chatted for a few minutes, and I felt myself more easy, and requested leave to repeat a few speeches in imitation of the then principal stage repre- sentatives. 'Nay now,' says Garrick, 'sir, you must take THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSOX. 155 care of this, for I used to call myself the first at this busi- ness.' I luckily began with an imitation of Foote. It is difficult here to determine whether Garrick hated or feared Foote the most ; sometimes one, sometimes the other was predominant ; but from the attention of a few minutes, his looks brightened the glow of his countenance transfused to mine, and he eagerly desired a repetition of the same speech. I was animated, forgot Garrick was present, and spoke at perfect ease. ' Hey, now ! Now what all/ says Garrick ' How really this this is /'with his usual hes- itation and repetition of words) Why well well Do call on me again on Monday at eleven, and you may depend upon every assistance in my power. I will see my brother manager, Mr. Lacey, to-day, and let you know the result. ' " I now really thought Fortune had done with torment- ing me. Honored not only with the approbation, but friendship, of that great man, I was elated into a degree of rapture I had not experienced for a long time : and in truth I fancied that, should the infallible Pope Garrick quit the stage, either by death, choice, or accident, I should in a few seasons be able to supply the vacant chair : so light is vanity ! I did not walk, but flew to my lodgings, where my poor anxious mother sat trembling for the event. The noise I made in running up the stairs, and my countenance on entering the room, denoted in full evidence that she was to receive good not bad news. On my relating to her Mr. Garrick's kind behavior, and his assurance of serv- ing me, she concluded her son Tate's fortune was made : she blessed Garrick ! she blessed me ! and we were both for that day perfectly happy. " Mine and my mother's dinner that day (the 25th of May, 1757) was most luxuriant; and I can affirm that neither his Majesty nor any of his subjects dined with better appetite or greater happiness. 156 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. " On the Monday, I negligently slid up Southampton Street, not with the tottering attendant fear of the pre- ceding week. I was spruced out, knocked at the door with a degree of assurance, was instantly admitted, and not only found Mr. Garrick alone, but as soon as he saw me, he expressed a wish of impatience for my promised visit ; said he had heard a most favorable account of my mother, of whom he had made an inquiry, and should be glad for the sake of so deserving a woman to assist me to the utmost of his power. This was a cordial to my heart ; and I be- lieve it may be made a certain observation, that whenever young or old wait on a superior as a dependent character he or she is anxiously tremulous until satisfied whether the grant can be obtained or not. But now all appeared to me in a happy train. Mr. Garrick said, 'Young gentle- man, I have seen Mr. Lacey, and we are determined to put you on the books at thirty shillings per week the en- suing season. I will think of some line of characters for you to perform on the stage. My time is short, and not at my disposal this morning, as I must 'be at Hampton to dinner ; therefore, as I am on the wing, do oblige me with a repetition of what you recited last Saturday.' I readily complied, and executed it with spirit. From the imitation of Foote I proceeded with great alacrity to several others ; and when I came to those of Mr. Barry and Mrs. Woffing- ton, as Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, I was obliged to stop, he seemed so truly entertained. I thought it very com- ical, and that the joke might not be lost I laughed too ; but on the merriment ceasing, I perceived a concealed third laughter the Lady Teazle behind the screen, which greatly puzzled me; when on a sudden a green cloth double door flew open, which I found led to a little break- fast parlor, and discovered a most elegant lady no less a personage than Mrs. Garrick, who had, it seems, been pur- THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKIXSOX. 157 posely posted there for her secret opinion of my imitations of Foote; as Mr. Garrick always affected to pay great compliment to her judgment and opinion, and I really believe not all acted complaisance, but founded on real esteem. But like his brethren mortals, he had his frailties. " Mrs. Garrick apologized for her rudeness and intrusion confessed she had taken possession of that snug spot un- observed, at the desire of Mr. Garrick, as from his account of my imitations on the Saturday, she expected to be much gratified ; but when she heard the tones of Mrs. Woffing- ton, the ridicule was so strongly pointed that it was not in her power to restrain from laughter, by the pleasure and great satisfaction she had received. If it had happened otherwise, Mrs. Mouse would not have appeared, but kept snug in her hole. Perhaps female prejudice here might operate in my favor, as Mr. Garrick had previous to his marriage with Madam Violette, paid his devoirs to Mrs. Woffington. " Before I took my leave, I acquainted our Roscius with my intention relative to Maidstone, which he approved, and said practice would acquire me freedom and ease on the stage it was what he had done previous to his public appearance in London ; but the chief lesson he would give to a young man trying his fortune on the stage was sobriety. I made my bow and departed, not doubting but when the autumn approached, I should read my name in the news- papers, and (as the Apprentice says) stuck in large capitals, The part of OTHELLO, by a Young Gentle The young fellow was a free and mischievous creature who had been spoiled by the flatteries and laughter of friends. He was now as much elated as he had been de- pressed ; and probably had been cleverly taking off his new patron, or giving some grotesque description of the inter- 14 158 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. view ; for, on the season opening, he was somewhat taken down by the following summary treatment. " Early in September 1757, Drury Lane opened, and I attended, as being then enrolled on the royal list of his Majesty's company of comedians. On the rehearsal of ' Romeo and Juliet,' I was summoned on the stage by Cross the prompter, who said he had orders from Mr. Garrick that I should wait as a Torch Bearer in the last act, and also as a Waiting Gentleman in every play. On which Mr. Gar- rick advanced, and, before the company, said aloud, ' This, sir, is my command and if not complied with I shall take your coat off and do the business myself; and you, sir, will immediately be dismissed my theatre.' There certainly was a severity in this ; for though I stood astonished, grieved, and petrified at this sudden appointment, I had not refused ; and therefore the pointed manner in which he spoke, was tyranny, in a degree I never then had seen exercised without provocation." III. " The theatre being for the first month opened three nights in a week, my salary was only fifteen shillings as pay-house play, and when got to four nights, merely twenty shillings ; but that pittance was too material an object for me to think of relinquishing. I waited (as it is termed) in the 'Mourning Bride' the funeral procession in 'Romeo and Juliet' ' Macbeth,' and twice rode a hobby horse in the field of battle, when Garrick acted Bayes. The last week of Mr. Foote's playing in Drury-Lane, previous to his intended trip to Ireland, he was accidentally with Gar- rick. The conversation, as I was informed, by chance turned on imitation. Garrick said, " Egad, Foote ! there is a young fellow engaged with me, who I really think is superior to either of us at mimicry. I used to think myself THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. I59 well at it, but I actually give him the preference : he has tried to resemble me, but that will not do ; though Mrs. Garrick says she is sure he will be like me.' 'D n it!' says Foote, 'I should like to hear him.' Holland, with Garrick's approbation, came immediately to inquire for me. I was soon found in the green-room, and escorted to the manager's cabinet, assuring me that Mr. Garrick wanted to see me on particular business. My heart panted with fear, doubt, and hope, on this unexpected summons. After an awkward entrance, and a silence of a few minutes, my suspense was eased by Mr. Garrick very good-naturedly saying, that he had spoken well of me to Mr. Foote, and desired I would satisfy that gentleman with a taste of my quality such as first struck my fancy ; adding, that he ex- pected I would do my best in order to convince his good friend, Mr. Foote, that his assertions of my merit were not exaggerated. I complied, and (as the phrase" is) took off several performers Barry, Sparks, WoflSngton, Ridout, Sheridan, &c. received high encomiums and thanks made my bow and retired from the august assembly. " The next day my friend, Mr. Owenson, who was inti- mate with Foote, waited on me with that gentleman's com- pliments, intimating, that he was going to Dublin for a few weeks in five or six days' time. He had observed Mr. Garrick thought me only fit for his Hobby Horse in the ' Rehearsal,' and if I wished to be released from such tyranny, he would be glad of my company to Ireland at his own expense, and he would fix me on genteel terms with Mr. Sheridan ; that I should appear in Othello, and he would act lago. This was a cheering cordial elixir to my drooping spirits and to my still more drooping pocket. On the evening I met my Master Garrick at the theatre, who confirmed the above treaty, and said he was glad of an opportunity to serve me, and hoped it would turn out 160 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. advantageous. My equipment was poorly provided ; my old black was my only suit, a small pair of bags easily con- tained my wardrobe. My mother dreaded this long voyage, and being used to vexation and crosses, experience made her give me but little hopes from Irish hospitality, or the appearance of a shabby, distressed lad soliciting favors. "From lodging, livelihood, and support, all that my mother could spare to give me to supply my empty purse with was six shillings ; but luckily Mrs. Wardale, the lady of Carlisle before mentioned, hearing of my journey, and knowing mine and my mother's inability, presented me with two guineas. I took leave of my affectionate parent, met Mr. Foote at the Bedford Arms, and in one hour after set off with him in a post-chaise, and his servant on horseback. We only traveled that night to his little cottage at Elstree, in Hertfordshire. Two days after that, we dined at Kitty Keney's at West Chester, and the following day went with Capt. Bonfoy, who was then commander of the Royal Yacht, for Park Gate, as the Captain said he would sail that afternoon. Here we were detained with several persons of fashion, who had been impatiently attending on the ca- price of the wind. Mr. Hill, an elderly gentleman, Lord Macartney, Mr. Leeson, now Lord Milltown, and several others ; we all went on board, but all returned, as the wind continued obstinate. We all messed together ; for Foote's company, as he was well acquainted with each, was the only treat that truly dreary place Park Gate could afford. Our patience being exhausted, it was unanimously agreed that we should proceed to Holyhead ; horses were hired. This was early in November, and was not pleasing to me, who had never ridden twenty miles on horseback in my life; however there was no alternative, as I was become a de- pendent traveler, and must submit to follow. I thought we were all to have set off together ; they went at seven THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 161 o'clock in the morning, requesting Foote's company at each house they stopped at ; but Foote and myself remained behind, and on my asking him the reason of his delay, he answered, that it was a rule of his, and worth my observa- tion, that whenever he met with persons of distinction and fortune on the road traveling to small inns (as was, and is the case on the Welsh roads), he made it a rule always to be half a day behind or before them ; as, with all their politeness, they expected the best accommodations ; or if they were so kind as to offer you a preference, you could not in policy or good manners accept such an offer ; there- fore you never could on such a journey be well suited or attended, unless by being the stage, at least, before or after them ; and if going to another inn, the landlady of the neglected house would pique herself on her behavior, to convince her guests they had paid the compliment of preference not to her only, but for their own comfort and advantage. "Holyhead in Wales is eighty-seven miles from West Chester; there we were detained again some days, and strange but true, the high living with the persons at that place, and a severe cold, had kept me ill in bed most part of that day ; the wind changed, but it changed to a violent storm, and at nine at night, all dark and dismal, did we roll in the boat belonging to the packet, over waves most dreary to behold ; for the whiteness of the breakers shone double from the darkness of the night. When handed into the packet, I asked for a bed ; but they were all secured, not even one for Mr. Foote, as plenty of cash from the great people had made that request impossible to be com- plied with. The cabin was wedged like the black-hole at Calcutta. The tumultuous moving of the ship soon made my inquiries after a bed of down quite needless, for I sank on the boards, where my poverty bags were my only pillow, 14* 1 62 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. and there I lay tossed in the most convulsive sickness that 'can be imagined. I have seen many suffer by this sea malady, but never, I verily think, such an object of com- miseration as myself. The storm increased, but the wind was fair for Ireland ; as to death, I was so truly sick, that I was very indifferent whether I sank or swam. Mr. Foote was tolerably well, and walking most of the night from place to place. " Thank God, we arrived safe in Dublin Bay about twelve o'clock, and by one were taken in a Dunleary hoy to Dublin Quay; a coach conveyed us to a tavern in College Green, where we were regaled. I say we, though I continued very sick and much out of order. In about an hour Mr. Foote went to the lodgings provided for him, and left me to take care of myself. I inquired for a hotel, and was directed to one on Essex Quay, to which place I took coach ; where, overpowered with illness, sickness, and fatigue, I went to bed and lay till Monday noon, but in a comfortless state. I rang the bell for breakfast, but it did not afford relief; and about four o'clock in the afternoon, crawled to the house I remembered to have left the day before in College Green, where I had soup, chicken, and wine, and after sitting full two hours fancied myself better, owing to the momentary spirits the wine had given me. Paying for my repast, I inquired of the waiter where -Mrs. Chaigneau lived ; he replied just over the way. This was agreeable intelli- gence, as indeed that was the family, the reader I hope will kindly recollect, I so particularly mentioned in the first part of my history. Then my fluttering heart hoped welcome to the poor, the orphan, and the stranger; next the appre- hension of a rebuff occurred, but distress of situation pushed me on, and to the house, as directed, I went. When I had advanced with trembling and tottering steps to the corner palace, and inquiring if Mrs. Chaigneau was at home, I was THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKIXSON. 163 answered with an affirmative. I desired the servant to ac- quaint his mistress that a person from England requested to speak with her, and after waiting a few minutes (which my impatience doubled) a thin-looking lady entered the room, but I could not recollect a feature, or any likeness to re- semble the form I expected to behold ; but supposed time or illness might have made heavy inroads on the brittle frame. With the utmost agitation I presumed to inquire if her name was Chaigneau. The lady answered, 'Yes.' I then ventured to pronounce, ' Madam, I flatter myself you recollect me when you were in England ; my name is Wil- kinson, son of the late Doctor Wilkinson of the Savoy.' She answered, 'Indeed, sir, you are mistaken.' This was a thunder-stroke, as my fears intrepreted it a willful dis- claiming of her knowledge of me ; but I was after a pause relieved by her looking serious and repeating to herself ' Wilkinson ! Wilkinson !' and suddenly saying ' O, young gentleman ! I beg your pardon ; I believe I can now clear up this mfstake, in which we both are at present involved. I have often heard your father and mother mentioned in terms of the highest regard by my brother and sister Chaig- neau. You, as a stranger, have made a mistake as to the house. I am married to Mr. John Chaigneau, brother to Mr. William Chaigneau, and to whose house you have been wrongly directed. They live in Abbey Street. I not know- ing the way, she requested her servant might call a coach for me, which was instantly done (as there was then, and always is a stand of coaches in College Green). I was driven to Abbey Street, and on my road over Essex Bridge was vastly pleased at seeing the number of lamps, sedan chairs, carriages, hackney coaches, footmen with flambeaux, &c., as it appeared to resemble another London. When arrived at Abbey Street, and the awful rap was given, I was not only, from frequent misfortunes and disappointments, 1 64 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. all flutter, but found myself not well ; yet I gave myself the comfort to attribute it to fancied illness, proceeding from anxiety, distress, and unaccustomed fatigue ; and therefore hoped it would go off. The first answer to my inquiry at Mr. William Chaigneau's door from the servant was, that he could not tell whether either his master or mistress were at home or not, but would go and see ; he soon returned with an answer more potent than the first that they were both at home, and what was more fortunate, they were with- out company. I had no sooner entered the room where they were sitting, than than what ? why, to proceed re- quires the bestoi novel pens to present, fulfill, and do service to the scene that followed. This generous Mr. William Chaigneau and wife were on the list of the few instances where 1 Mutual temper with unclouded ray, Could make to-morrow welcome as to-day.' "Their pleasures were the same their affections were the same. Their instantaneous recollection of me the great intimacy between the families my father's death and calamities being so lately public, and now refreshed to their memory, revived the idea of their own distress from the loss of their darling child, the infant-marriage between me and that daughter, my present assured, unfortunate, helpless situation, with a look of desponding hope depend- ent on their feelings, all collected rushed on their alternate sudden thoughts with such quick transitions, as made them all combined too mighty for Mrs. Chaigneau's tender spirits ; indeed so powerfully, that the fictitious distress of Lady Randolph on the stage was by no means equal to her poignant sense of my misery and situation ; and it was act- ually some time before she could recover herself with any degree of composure to inquire what had brought me there, THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 165 or what could be done to serve me. Mr. Chaigneau was also greatly agitated ; but not to so extravagant a degree as my good benefactress, as she afterwards proved to the utmost extent. After a little composure, and my full rela- tion of what had happened to my mother and myself since the fatal marriage act passed, a comfortable supper was set on the table. After which pleasing ceremony, they assured me that every exertion in their power and all their friends and connections, I might as much depend upon as if the welfare of their own son was the person whose interest they were to plead for. " During a short interval I felt elated beyond myself, the transition was so wonderful : but, alas ! how fleeting are human joys as to pain, hope, or sorrow ! For soon after this pleasing unforeseen sensation of rapture, I suddenly sank into an heavy feverish languor, not in my power to uphold. Mrs. Chaigneau exclaimed, ' My God ! Tate is ill!' Her words were prophetic; I wished and tried to shake it off, but all in vain ; disorder and delirium grew too powerful, my head felt dreadfully deranged. My real friends, in every sense of the word, were alarmed ; Mrs. Chaigneau declared she could not permit me by any means to return to the hotel in such a state of apparent illness as I then seemed to labor under. They sent to the next door, engaged a comfortable lodging for me, and provided me with hock-wine, whey, and such accommodation as they thought immediately necessary. The ensuing day, instead of finding myself relieved, I was seized most dangerously by an outrageous miliary fever. " In that outrageous fever did I continue, and in a truly lamentable state, with a complication of distraction and agony, for near three weeks; blisters on my ankles, and every physical torture to increase my miseries. Mr. Chaig- neau often used to joke and say, what an expensive guest I 1 66 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. was to him for his old hock ; the quantity I drank in whey, by his account, was incredible. However Providence, aid- ing my youth, brought me once more into the world ; and here I must not omit my sincere and grateful acknowledg- ments to God. For, good reader, will you believe it, that all this time of my severe suffering, notwithstanding Mr. Foote must have heard I had left the hotel and tavern with evident marks of indisposition, he never once (to the dis- grace of Christianity be it asserted !) made inquiry whether I was living or dead ; or if living, whether I had decent necessaries. " Before I was able to go abroad, or even to leave my apartments, I sent my compliments to Mr. Foote, to ac- quaint him where I was ; for Mr. and Mrs. Chaigneau were so offended at such brutality of behavior towards me, that neither of them had given him any intelligence concerning me. Mr. Foote on my information, waited on Mr. Chaig- neau, and by way of apology, said he could not see me for three or four days for fear of catching the infection from the fever professed himself anxious to supply my wants, which he was informed was at that time quite unnecessary. After that he waited on me as my most anxious friend, and in about three weeks I recovered so fast, by the help of my good nurses, that I dined every day with my preserving angels at the next door; was attended every noon with jellies, &c. ; and what was more extraordinary, had my chariot every morning at the door to take my daily airing. O gemini ! a coach ! "As soon as I was able to be taken by my patrons a visiting, an elegant suit of clothes was provided for me, that I might be a credit, and not by my thread-bare appear- ance disgrace either my friends or myself. Mr. and Mrs. Chaigneau introduced me to all their acquaintance ; nor could they be pleased more, than by any act of kindness THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 167 that was bestowed on me. Their connections were par- ticularly numerous, Mr. William Chaigneau being principal agent to most of the regiments on the Irish establishment, and was consequently universally known, and likewise respected. " All the families in Ireland with whom my father and mother had formerly been intimate in London, proved by innumerable acts of generosity and true zeal for my wel- fare, that friendship is sometimes more than a name. On my visiting abroad, I was soon invited to Lord Forbes's in Stephen's Green, also to the Kellys', Alderman and Mrs. Forbes's, Acheson's, Collage's, John Chaigneau's, Coates's, Hamilton's, c., and received particular favor from those persons, as well as from Lord Clanbrassil, Lord Bellaraont, Lord Milltown, Mr. Hill, Miss Knoxes, &c. &c. At each of the above families', in the full meaning of the word, I had a home, and I never received a cool look unless for staying away, though a favor may be bestowed with an ill grace; and I will beg leave here to give an instance. Lord Forbes I had been used to see frequently in London, even from the time of my wearing frocks; and I am cer- tain his invitations in Dublin were intended most friendlv, and his will was ever to serve me ; but one day on dining with his Lordship, when several persons of quality were invited the bottle, our sun of the table after dinner moved quickly round, and as the wine circulated, not feeling any restraint, and his Lordship not being a stranger to me, I very heartily smacked my lips, and said, ' O my lord, this is excellent wine !' On which he paused, and looking full at me (by which means he drew the attention of the whole company), said, with a satirical smile, ' Pray, Tate, what or who has made you a judge of wine ? Never give your judgment in company as to wine ; for in a jxmng man like you it is not becoming or proper.' This effectu- 1 68 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. ally silenced me ; nay, it did worse than that, for it made me feel my inferiority, and I was abashed and unhappy till released that evening from the company of the great, and which two hours before had greatly elated me. . . . " Near Christmas I began to think of making my appear- ance on the stage. . . . " It was appointed for me to appear the Monday follow- ing in Mr. Foote's ' Tea,' in the character of a pupil under Mr. Puzzle, the supposed director of a rehearsal. Mr. Puz- zle, by Mr. Foote. He sent me a part called Bounce, but which I begged, as the time was so short, to decline ; and, as I did not attend any rehearsal, it was agreed that I should appear as Mr. Wilkinson (his pupil) when called upon, and repeat just what I could select to please myself not any regular character. "When the night came, Lord Forbes, Mr. Chaigneau, and all my friends, went to encourage and support me, and engaged all they knew for the same purpose. One lucky circumstance was my not being known as a performer, therefore I had their wishes and pity in a high degree but great fear of my not being able to succeed. The story of my distressed situation the blazoned Marriage Act my being a young gentleman my illness, &c. &c., were become topics of public conversation. As to intelligence, requested by critics from the players relative to myself, they neither did nor could pronounce, with knowledge, either good or ill. But I will rather suppose five out of six spoke to my disadvantage,*, from, the too general depravity of human nature ; as persons listen to satire rather than praise: it is more descriptive, displays the tripping tongue, and * This cynical remark will be noted as showing knowledge of human character. Indeed all his observations on the players' nature are well worthy of study. THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. X 6 9 suits conversation much better ; it gives energy to the in- formant, and quick ears to the languid. The bill ran thus : ' After the PLAY Mr. FOOTE will give TEA. Mr. PUZZLE (the Instructor) Mr. FOOTE. First PUPIL, by a YOUNG GENTLEMAN ( Who never appeared on any Stage before)? By eight in the evening I was in full dress behind the scenes; I had never been there before; the company were all strangers to me. Not knowing how to enter into conversation with the performers, and being announced as a pupil of Mr. Foote's, I did not receive any civility from them ; for, if I was a blockhead, I was not worth their notice ; and if an impudent imitator or mimic of their pro- fession, bred by Mr. Foote in the same worthy art, I was, in their opinion, a despicable intruder. I could conceive all this, and certainly my situation on this critical night was not to be envied, as their sentiments, though not avowed, were the result of nature. I, on reflection, soon grew weary of my solitary seat in the green-room, alone in a crowd ; and between the play and farce looked through a hole in the curtain, and beheld an awful, pleasing sight a crowded, splendid audience such as might strike the boldest with dismay. " The farce began, and Mr. Foote gained great applause, and roars of laughter succeeded. In the second act my time of trial drew near; in about ten minutes I was called 'Mr. Wilkinson! Mr. Wilkinson!' Had I obeyed a natural impulse, I was really so alarmed that I should have run away. But honor pricked me on there was no alter- native my brain was a chaos ; but on I went, and must have made a very sheepish, timid appearance, as, from fear, 170 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. late illness, and apprehension, I trembled like a frightened clown in a pantomime: which Foote perceiving, good- naturedly took me by the hand and led me forward ; when the burst of applause was wonderful, and apparently that of kindness and true benevolence; but it could not instantly remove my timidity, and I had no prompter to trust to, as all depended on myself. " Foote perceiving I was not fit for action, said to his two friends on the stage (seated like Smith and Johnson in the 'Rehearsal'): 'This young gentleman is merely a novice on the stage ; he has not yet been properly drilled. But come, my young friend, walk across the stage; breathe yourself, and show your figure.' I did so; the walk en- couraged me, and another loud applause succeeded. I felt a glow, which seemed to say, 'What have you to fear! Now, or never. This is the night that either makes you or undoes you quite.' And on the applause being repeated, I said to myself, ' That is as loud as any I have heard given to Mr. Garrick.' I mustered up courage, and began with Mr. Luke Sparks, of London (brother to Isaac Sparks, then in Dublin), in the character of Capulet : most of the gentlemen in the boxes knew all the London players, and no play in London was so familiar then as 'Romeo and Juliet.' They were universally struck with the forcible manner of the speaking, and the striking resemblance of the features ; a particular excellence in my mode of mimicry. A gentleman cried out, ' Sparks of London ! Sparks of London !' The applause resounded, even to my astonishment ; and the audience were equally amazed, as they found something, where they, in fact expected nothing. Next speech was their favorite Barry in ' Alexander' ; universally known, and as universally felt. I now found myself vastly elevated and clever : fear was vanished, and Joy and pleasure succeeded ; a proof what barometers we THE ADVEXTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 171 are ! how soon elated, and how soon depressed ! When quite at ease, I began with Mrs. Woffington in Lady Mac- beth, and Barry in Macbeth. The laughter (which is the strongest applause on a comic occasion) was so loud and incessant, that I could not proceed. This was a minute of luxury ; I was then in the region of bliss ; I was en- cored ; yet that lady 'had declared in London, on hearing I was to go with Foote to Ireland, Take me off! a puppy ! if he dare attempt it, by the living G d he will be stoned to death.' Here the lady was mistaken; for, on repeating the part, the second applause was stronger than the preceding. A sudden thought occurred ; I felt all hardy all alert all nerve and immediately advanced six steps ; and, before I spoke I received the full testimony of ' true imitation !' My master, as he was called, sat on the stage at the same time ; I repeated twelve or fourteen lines of the very prologue he had spoken that night (being called for) to the 'Author,' and he had almost every night repeated: I, before Mr. Foote, presented his other self; the audience from repetition were as perfect as I was ; his manner, his voice, his oddities, I so exactly hit, that the pleasure, the glee it gave, may easily be conceived, to see and hear the mimic mimicked, and it really gave me a complete victory over Mr. Foote ; for the suddenness of the action tripped up his audacity so much, that he, with all his effrontery, sat foolish, wishing to appear equally pleased with the audience, but knew not how to play that difficult part : he was unprepared ; the surprise and satis- faction were such, that, without any conclusion, the cur- tain was obliged to drop with reiterated bursts of applause. " When the farce was concluded, I had great congratula- tions paid seriously and ironically. Mr. Foote affected to be vastly pleased, but in truth it was merely affectation so differently do we feel for ourselves when ridicule is pointed 172 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. at us ; but he said, it was perfectly well judged to make free with him, yet he did not think it very like himself, for it certainly was my worst imitation, but he rejoiced at my good fortune. In truth, Mr. Foote got the cash, not me ; what I did was for him, as he acted on shares ; and the ' fuller the house, the greater was his profit. He was piqued and chagrined. "The conversation the next day, particularly of all my eager partial friends, was an universal cry of ' Foote out- done ! Foote outdone ! the pupil the master !' and this was greatly assisted by their agreeable disappointment ; for I do not believe any one of them, however warm they might have been in their wishes for my welfare, but trembled for the event ; they felt unhappy lest I should make a despica- ble attempt, and be universally disapproved ; and then reflected within themselves, ' Good Heaven ! what is to become of this poor youth ? what can he do for a subsist- ence?' After my performance, from the success I had met with, I could neither eat, drink, nor sleep that night ; pleasant dreams I needed not ; my waking thoughts were so much superior. "The 'Tea,' was acted in regular succession several nights, nay, it was commanded by the Duke and Duchess of Bedford ; his Grace was at that time Lord Lieutenant. "After the first night of my periormance, Mr. Sheridan appointed me a salary of three guineas per week, and re- quested, with my approbation (which was readily obtained), that Mr. Foote would write to Mr. Garrick to grant per- mission for my continuance in Dublin till the end of Feb- ruary. Foote was obliged to go England with all speed, as he had stayed beyond his time ; but I was left behind, waiting for Mr. Garrick's answer to Mr. Sheridan's request, but which soon arrived, and granted the petition requested by Mr. Foote." TH ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 173 One day when discussing a Benefit, the Manager suggested that the imitations would be more piquant if he made the actors of the theatre the subject of his exertions. The scene that followed was admirable. " I observed to him, that I had not had leisure to have paid a sufficient attention to that company, as objects for imitation ; besides, were I capable, if I should take that freedom, they would most likely not only insult me, but make it a plea to refuse acting for my benefit. That argument seemed with Mr. Sheridan to have but little weight ; he persisted angrily. I then intimated, that if I complied, I hoped he would not have any objection to my using his name, and that I did not do it of my own accord, but had his express command for that purpose. Mr. Sheridan seemed much vexed ; said that what he had asked me to do was to get me applause, and to serve me, not himself; but he should by no means consent to my exposing the peculiarities of his actors and actresses under the sanction of his desire and approbation ; he wished it to come before the audience as a sudden surprise, and as my own voluntary act, and after that had been done, he would have taken care to have had it so called for by the audience as to prevent a possibility of the performers' anger being of weight sufficient to prevent its repetition ; and the more it vexed the actors and actresses, the greater relish it would give the audience : that I believe was too true. " However, I continued my objection, but at last (like a fool in the knowledge of mankind and the human heart) a lucky bright thought, as I judged it, occurred to me ; and I said, 'My good Mr. Sheridan, I have hit upon the very thing to establish myself as a favorite with you, and the town.' He seemed all impatience to know what it could be. ' My dear sir, a thought has just entered my pate, which I think will draw money, and be of infinite service to myself.' ' What is it? What is it? 1 says Sher- 174 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. idan, with the utmost eagerness. ' Why, sir,' says I, ' your rank in the theatre, and a gentleman so well known in Dublin, on and off the stage, must naturally occasion any striking imitation of yourself to have a wonderful effect. I have paid great attention to your whole mode of acting, not only since I have been in Dublin, but two years before, when you played the whole season at Covent Garden Theatre ; and do actually think I can do a great deal on your stage with you alone, without interfering with any other actor's manner whatever.' "Hogarth's pencil could not testify more astonishment ; he turned red and pale alternately his lips quivered. I instantaneously perceived I was in the wrong box; it was some time before he could speak he took a candle from off the table, and showing me the room door when at last his words found utterance said, he never was so insulted. What ! to be taken off by a buffoon upon his own stage ! And as to mimicry, what is it ? Why, a proceeding which he never could countenance; that he even despised Gar- rick and Foote for having introduced so mean an art ; and he then very politely desired me to walk downstairs. Mr. Sheridan held the candle for me only till I got to the first landing, and then hastily removed it, grumbling and speak- ing to himself, and leaving me to feel my way in the dark down a pair and a half of steep stairs, and to guess my road in hopes of finding the street-door. " After this fracas he never permitted me to play, or spoke to me during my stay in Ireland (my own night excepted). I fixed on 'Jane Shore' and 'Tom Thumb,' for my play and farce, on the night allotted me, Saturday, February 25, 1758. "Mr. Chaigneau himself waited on Mrs. Fitzhenry to request her powerful assistance in Alicia, to which request she kindly assented. THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 175 " The rapid step from my late illness, extreme poverty, and friendless situation had taken such a turn, that with my coach, table acquaintance presents, and great benefit I thought my fortune made, and early in March, with true- felt gratitude, not from that day, week, or month, but never effaced to the present moment, now including above thirty-two years, I took leave of my good friends, in pos- session of two valuable gifts, health and wealth. Indeed to the wonderful care of these good and undescribable persons can I only attribute my existence, and also my wealth, as from that time, till encumbered with the cares of my present unpromising and perplexed state, I never knew, in the course of several years, the want of cash; which state of happiness my after frequent visits to Dublin made me, as a young man, in a kind of independence. " With now 1307. in that pocket which a very few months before contained only two guineas (and which I then termed a treasure) but good God ! what a change ! like a ten- thousand-pound prize to a cobbler I sailed from Ireland with a fair wind, attended by the waft of numberless good wishes for my safe arrival in Old England. "Soon after my arrival, I presented myself with as much duty as pleasure to my dear mother, as every son should and ought to do, and am certain the return was overpaid by her. Her joy, surprise, and a thousand etceteras which may be supposed and only affectionate and good mothers can feel such heavenly sensations : I do not speak from supposition, but can aver that though there was, is, and ever will be good parents, yet mine was really sprung from the tree called the Nonpareil ; and I can with truth boast I possessed one truly praiseworthy quality, and that was, being one of the best sons, not from any merit as a duty from myself due to my mother, but because I loved and revered her worth, and conversed with my true friend. 176 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. The giving to her an account of my riches, and my friends in Ireland, was a feast ; and my producing the i30/. bill was a dazzling sight indeed, though only in black and white letters." III. With this dangerous weapon of mimicry as stock in trade, the young man prospered in his career. His amus- ing gifts invaluable at a supper found him plenty of ac- quaintances, though not friends, for they involved him in many awkward positions. Nothing is more ludicrous than his sketch of Foote, and the trepidation and fury of the greet mimic, when he found his own arms turned against himself, with the description of the contest in Garrick's breast, between satisfaction at seeing an enemy ridiculed, and what he felt was his duty. Indeed in the exhibition of the meaner corners of human character Wilkinson is excellent. When he returned to town Mr. Garrick determined to bring the two mimics out in their Dublin entertainment, which was thus advertised : "'DIVERSIONS OF THE MORNING. Principal Characters, Mr. FOOTE, Mr. HOLLAND, Mr. PACKER, with others, And Mr. WILKINSON,' without my ' first appearance,' which certainly was unkind and unprecedented, as it did not introduce me to the candor of the public, which they ever grant to a young performer and novice on the stage. However, this is an after-thought ; for I was at that time highly gratified with the large letters in which my name was printed, a foible THE ADVEN7URES OF TATE WILKINSON. 177 natural to every candidate. Soon after this farce was known by the town to be in rehearsal, some Mrs. Candour gave my friend Mrs. Woffington the alarm, who still lived and existed on the flattering hopes of once more captivat- ing the public by her remaining rays of beauty (born to bloom and fade) ; and who declared she was astonished on hearing I had survived my presumption in Ireland, in daring there to take her off. " On deliberation she deputed Colonel Caesar to wait on Mr. Garrick. He said to Mr. Garrick, he should not be surprised if young Wilkinson had success on such an at- tempt ; but as the performance might render her, as an actress, ridiculous, his intention as a visitor to Garrick was to inform him, if he permitted such procedure or achieve- ment from Mr. Wilkinson on his stage, he must expect from him (Col. Caesar) to be seriously called upon as a gentleman to answer it. Mr. Garrick immediately not only acquiesced, but expressed a detestation of any such performance (bless his good-nature), and coincided in opinion that such an attempt on the merits of Mrs. Wof- fington's acting would be illiberal and unwarrantable in the highest degree. " The day before the piece was to be acted he summoned Foote and me, and related the above-mentioned partic- ulars, and informed us that his word and honor were en- gaged to Colonel Caesar that Mr. Wilkinson should not take the liberty to make any line, speech, or manner rela- tive to Mrs. Woffington, or presume to offer or occasion any surmise of likeness, so as to give the least shadow of offence, on any account whatever. This I subscribed to on Mr. Garrick' s commands, and Mr. Foote became my bail for the same for Garrick was really on this matter very uneasy with Foote, and Wilkinson, his d d exotics. " The ' Diversions of the Morning' was at length pro- H* 178 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. duced in October, and to an overflowing theatre. Curios- ity was universally raised to see Mr. Foote's pupil, as I was called, and to this hour by many believed. Mr. Foote's acquaintance were numerous, and of the first circles; and he took every precaution and care, for his own sake (for /ear of failure or party), to have me strongly supported, (and he blazed forth Wilkinson's wonderful merit, as on jmy success he intended what he put into execution, which was, to give me the laboring oar and make myself a num- ber of implacable enemies : and as to the money I brought, he judged it only safe and fit for his own emolument. " In the second act of the farce he, by his pupils, called me on as Mr. Wilkinson Mr. Wilkinson ! I was received with every pleasing token by the first audience in the world for candor and liberality for such London certainly is when unbiased ; it most assuredly commands and deserves that appellation. The scene between Mr. Foote and myself went off with great eclat; on my departure from the stage, while he did his puppets, etc., the audience grew very im- patient by seeing my exit, and judged that was all the new actor was to do ; and, feeling a disappointment, from mur- muring they grew impatient, and at last burst out into vehemently asking for Wilkinson, and desiring to be in- formed if that was the only performance they were to expect from that young gentleman. This loud interruption was not paying him his accustomed attention, and he seemed much nettled ; however, he bowed, and said the new performer was only retired for a little respite necessary for his following part of the entertainment. This answer was approved, and Mr. Foote was proceeding, but the little clamor had reached and disturbed the minds of the gods, and John Bull, as well as their godships, thinking Mr. Foote meant to deprive them of part of their rights, though they could not tell what, as they had not all heard THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 179 Mr. Foote's apology distinctly, again repeated, 'Wilkin- son ! Wilkinson !' Foote at this second interruption grew really offended, and having secured the lower house, he stopped and said to Mr. Manly (Holland, who was on the stage with him), ' Did you ever hear such fellows ? D n it, they want the fifth act of a play before the second is over !' And as what he said generally passed current, this occasioned an universal roar, and all went on peaceably, and with great good-humor, till the appointed time for my second entrance, which was near the conclusion the people eager to applaud they knew not why or what, but full of expectation that some strange performance was to be pro- duced and, indeed, to give an account of the approbation, the sudden effect, the incessant laughter, would argue so much of the fabulist, and of dear self, that it would surfeit even me to read ; and if so, how would an entire stranger feel ? why treat it with an angry or contemptuous opinion ! Therefore let it suffice, that everything succeeded that night that could gratify the pride, vanity, and most sanguine wishes of a young man greedy for fame. " The next night the house was jammed in every part the morning of which it was strongly rumored that the actors of Covent Garden were highly enraged that Mr. Sparks in particular was really disordered on the occasion. Mr. Holland called at the theatre, and informed Mr. Gar- rick and Mr. Foote, he had actually heard that Mr. Sparks was so much hurt and unhappy, that he had taken to his bed and was dangerously ill ; Foote immediately replied (in his laughing manner) that it could not be true, or, that it must be a d d lie ; for he had met his wife with two pounds of mutton-chops on a skewer for her husband's dinner. This impromptu occasioned a hearty green-room laugh ; for the actors in general disliked Foote at that time, and did not relish his writings on account of the freedoms l8o THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. he often took with the profession, as, when introduced, the actors and managers were generally mentioned in a degrad- ing light. Though he knew the public relished the severity, yet in fact it was not generous or neat to dirty his own nest instead of cleansing the theatrical stable; and his having been free with the performer's mode of playing had occasioned very little regard from any, and from several a fixed hatred. He had a number of enemies in private life. Indeed many domestic characters severely felt his comic lash, which was smarting to those on whom it was inflicted ; but still his universal acquaintance, his wit, humor, open house, and entertaining qualities raised him superior to his maligners, and in general he rolled in luxury and indo- lence. It would have been much more unfashionable not to have laughed at Foote's jokes than even at Quin's.* " This little piece went on in a most flourishing state till about the fifth or sixth night, when Mr. Sparks of Covent Garden Theatre felt himself so wounded by my attack on his acting (which truly was a very picturesque one, and those who remember him and me at that time will allow what I have here said), that he waited on Mr. Garrick, and requested he would not suffer him, as a man of credit in private life, and an actor of estimation in public, to be destroyed by such an illiberal attack on his livelihood ; and as it struck at his reputation, hoped he would not per- mit it in future as far as regarded himself, whom it had rendered miserable. Garrick said, ' Why now, hey, Sparks ! why now, hey, this is so strange now, hey, a why Wilkin- son, and be d d to him, they tell me he takes me off, and he takes Foote off, and so, why you see that you are in very good company.' 'Very true, sir,' says Sparks, 'but many an honest man has been ruined by keeping too good * An excellent bit of character drawing. THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 181 company ;' and then Sparks made his bow and his exit. Mr. Garrick, however, came to the theatre at noon, paraded with great consequence up and down the stage, sent for me, and when I obeyed the mighty summons he was surrounded by most of the performers. I fancied it had been some lucky, good-natured thought of his to serve me ; but why should I have imagined so, for he soon con- vinced me to the contrary, as he began a fiery lecture with, ' Now, hey d n it, Wilkinson ! now, why will you take a liberty with these gentlemen the players, and without my consent ? You never consulted or told me you were to take off as you call it : hey, why now, I never take such liber- ties. Indeed I once did it, but I gave up such d d impu- dence. Hey now, that is I say but you and Foote, and Foote and you, think you are managers of this theatre. But to convince you of the contrary, and be d d to ye, I here order you, before these gentlemen, to desist from taking any liberty with any one of Covent Garden Thea- tre ; and I think it necessary to avow and declare my ab- horrence of what jou have done, and at the same time to disclaim my consent or knowledge of it. I do not allow myself such unbecoming liberties, nor will I permit them from another where I am manager ; and if you dare repeat such a mode of conduct after my commands, I will fine you the penalty of your article' which was three hundred pounds. Here I felt myself in a fine predicament ; here was a sudden fall to all my greatness, and a haste to my setting. The actors and actresses, one and all, applauded the goodness of Mr. Garrick' s heart, and sneered at the lowered pride of an upstart mimic and his imitations. I was exceedingly embarrassed and mortified, when up came to me Dame Clive, who said aloud, 'Fie, young man ! fie!' and declared it was imprudent and shocking for a young fellow to gain applause at the expense of the players. 16 1 82 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. ' Now,' added she, ' I can and do myself take off, but then it is only the Mingotti,* and a set of Italian squalling devils who come over to England to get our bread from us; and I say curse them all for a parcel of Italian ,' and so Madam Clive made her exit, and with the approba- tion of all the stage lords and ladies in waiting, whilst I stood like a puppy dog in a dancing school when Mr. Mossop, the turkey-cock of the stage, with slow and haughty steps, all erect, his gills all swelling, eyes disdain- ful, and hand upon his sword, breathing, as if his respira- tion was honor, and like the turkey almost bursting with pride, began with much hauteur : ' Mr. Wilkinson ! phew !' (as breathing grand) 'sir, Mr. Wil kin son, sir, I say phew ! how dare you, sir, make free in a public thea- tre, or even in a private party, with your superiors ? If you were to take such a liberty with me, sir, I would draw my sword and run it through your body, sir! you should not live, sir /' and with the greatest pomp and grandeur made his departure. His supercilious air and manner were so truly ridiculous, that I perceived Mr. Garrick underwent much difficulty to prevent his gravity from changing to a burst of merriment ; but when Mossop was fairly out of sight, he could not contain himself, and the laugh begin- ning with the manager, it was followed with avidity by each one who could laugh the most and all anger with me was for a few minutes suspended. And certainly Mos- sop's Don Quixote-like manner was irresistibly diverting, and pleased every one but me, who stood all their brunts, for I did not feel myself in a cheerful mood ; yet good- humor was so prevalent, that I could not refrain from smiling, and at this time can laugh very heartily whenever I bring the scene into my mind's eye. Presently entered * Mingotti was the Mara of that year. THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 183 Foote, loudly singing a French song to show his breeding, and on seeing such a group of actors on the stage, pro- nounced, like Witwou'd, ' Hey day ! what are you all got together here like players at the end of the last act !' then said he had called at Mr. Garrick's house, and was in- formed he should find him at the theatre ; for he wanted to fix on two or three plays wherein he would act on the nights of his 'Diversions in the Morning.' Mr. Garrick then assumed much serious consequence, and related to Mr. Foote the state of affairs that he had received strong representations from Covent Garden Theatre, and had, from motives of humanity and consideration, resolved to put a stop to Wilkinson's proceedings, and that Mr. Tate must that night perform the part of Bounce only, and at his peril to disobey his orders ; and that after his exit as Mr. Bounce, the piece must finish with Mr. Foote's perform- ance, and no more Wilkinson. 'If, indeed now if Wil- kinson could have taken me off, as Mrs. Garrick says, why now as to that I should have liked it vastly, and so would Mrs. Garrick. But I again enforce Wilkinson's not appearing on my stage a second time ;' and to my astonishment Foote assented ; but had I been intimate or acquainted with chicanery and the mysteries behind the curtain of a London theatre (though to this hour I am not above half perfect), my wonder would not have been so great. "I went from the playhouse in dudgeon, and retired home with a heavy mind, though only three hours before I had left my lodgings all elate, and with a heart as light as a feather. As the evening approached, I went and pre- pared myself for Bounce only, according to order, and when Bounce was finished retired to the green-room ; but am certain both Mr. Garrick and Mr. Foote had planted persons in the house to call for Wilkinson, because Mr. 1 84 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. Foote had not gone through half his performance when the call for me was universal ; which could not have been the case, as it was a repeated piece, and the time not come for my second appearance as usual, had not subtlety been used in the business. The clamor continued when Mr. Foote retired from the stage, and Mr. Garrick ordered the lights to be let down, which consisted of six chandeliers hanging over the stage, every one containing twelve can- dles in brass sockets, and a heavy iron flourished and joined to each bottom, large enough for a street palisade. This ceremony being complied with, Mr. Garrick said it would, with the lamps also lowered, be a convincing proof to the audience that all was over; but this only served, like oil thrown on flames, to increase the vociferation. On Garrick's perceiving this, he came to me in the green- room, and with seeming anger and terror asked me, how I had dared to cause a riot and disturbance in his theatre, and send a set of blackguards into the house to call for me. All I could urge in my horrid situation was, asserting my ignorance of the matter, which was of no avail ; and while I was proceeding with my asseveration in piano, the forte broke out into outrageous tumult. What was to be done? I replied, I would run away; but that, Mr. Gar- rick said, as matters stood, could not be suffered. ' Foote ! Foote! Foote!' was echoed and re-echoed from every part of the house : he had been standing with the most perfect ease, and laughing all the time; but being thus loudly summoned, obeyed the call of duty, and on the stage instantly presented himself; and when there was in- terrogated why Mr. Wilkinson's part of the farce that had been so well received was omitted. Mr. Foote made an harangue, and observed, if honored with their patience to hear him, he would endeavor to explain, and he hoped to their satisfaction ; on this silence ensued. He said, he THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILK1XSOX. 185 was exceedingly sorry to have given cause for being called to an account for any motive of their displeasure. But very unfortunately what had only been humbly offered as harmless, had been basely misconstrued into wickedness : for Mr. Garrick and himself (Mr. Foote) had received remonstrances and cruel reflections from certain per- formers, alleging that they suffered in their reputations ; and as reputations were not slender materials, in conse- quence thereof Mr. Garrick and himself, from motives of generosity, had yielded to such importunity and allega- tions, and had cheerfully sacrificed that part of the enter- tainment ; as by so doing they added happiness and private peace to others, however beneficial the continuance of it might have been to the theatre ; and ardently hoped their conduct on the occasion, was such as merited not only the pardon, but the approbation of the audience, and which should ever be their study to merit and obtain. " This declamation, instead of pacifying, was treated with marks of anger and contempt, and an universal cry for Wilkinson! Wilkinson! On which Mr. Foote ad- vanced once more, and said, as for his own peculiarities, if they could afford the least entertainment, Mr. Wilkinson was at full liberty to exercise his talents to their utmost ex- tent ; and then added archly (for the which I have reason to think the manager did not find himself in the least obliged), he believed, nay was assured, Mr. Wilkinson might as far as respected Mr. Garrick, without any restric- tions, take the same freedom. The cry was for me imme- diately to appear, and that without delay; Mr. Foote promised I should be instantly produced, and took leave with a general plaudit. It may easily be supposed mine was a perplexed state, being in even- point circumstanced very disagreeably, and not a friend to speak to me. On Mr. Foote's return to the green-room, he laid hold of my 16* 1 86 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. arm, and said I must go on the stage that moment. ' And what must I do when I am there?' says I. 'O !' replied he, 'anything what you like; and treat them with as much of me as you please.' "Ay,' but says I, 'what does Mr. Garrick say? for without his orders I cannot proceed.' 'Hey why now hey!' says Garrick, 'why now, as they insist, I really do not see that I am bound to run the hazard of having a riot in my theatre to please Sparks and the rest of the Covent Garden people; and if they are not satisfied with your serving up Mr. Foote as a dish why, it is a pity, as I to-day observed, but you could give me; but that you say is not possible with any hopes of success. Why now haste they are making a devilish noise; and so, as you have begun your d d taking off why go on with it, and do what comes into your head, and do not in future plague me with your cursed tricks again.' So Sam Foote popped the Exotic on the stage ; there was no time to be lost, as they feared bad consequences. I was afraid to go on, but on the stage I was actually pushed by Mr. Garrick and Mr. Foote,- and my hair did stand on end like quills upon the fretful porcupine. The curtain was dropped, and the branches also down on each side. My fright was apparent, but Mr. Town soon cheered my spirits, as there was not one dissenting voice in the whole audience. I began, and very freely, with Mr. Foote, and then was for retiring, but the cry was, ' No, no go on, go on!' and many said aloud, 'D n it, take them all off!' I took the hint, and was encouraged at so furious a rate, that I went through a long course of mimicry with great eclat, having permission, as I thought. My distress of the morning all vanished, and was exchanged for the most de- lightful feelings in the evening; being all elated, and on a short reflection, relying on Garrick's declaration, as the words of truth, when he had twice declared nothing could THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 187 please him or Mrs. Garrick more than a well-executed likeness of himself as an actor. But note, good reader, in this point I had not acted with honor, but duplicity ; for whenever he had jokingly asked me ' What sort of a subject I could make of him?' I always answered, ' I never could form any resemblance whatever ; for his manner and tones were so natural, and his voice so melodious, that any imitation was impossible.' This he greedily swallowed and believed (charming flattery !) ; but in the close of my performance that remarkable night, the audience were won- derfully surprised and tickled on beholding so unexpect- edly a resemblance of the incomparable Roscius ; which increased my spirits to such a degree, that I determine to give the audience a good meal ; and, finding my first at- tack had made a favorable impression in their opinions, I advanced without mercy, cried havoc, and produced Mr. Garrick in three characters. And at the last line I made my finish and exit in his manner, with loud acclamations, and was all alive, alive O ! But for me personally to recite these peculiarities, would give a much better idea than even the ablest pen can possibly describe. "After this night all opposition or affront was dropped, and the enraged performers were advised to let me die a natural death, as the most prudent method ; for, by opposite means, they rendered Wilkinson popular, and by not taking umbrage he would sink into insignificance. The farce was continued and gained additional force ; and Mr. Foote, as he reaped the profit, was highly enraptured, and said Wil- kinson was very clever. He was the general, receiving high and honorary rewards, whilst, in fact, I was merely held in rank as a poor subaltern at low pay, for standing to be shot at. Mr. Garrick, who felt aggrieved from what he had himself desired me to do, and what I had acted by his request and permission, blamed mt (as is natural in most 188 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. cases) rather than himself, and not being my friend, it served to increase his spleen and dislike." IV. Not long after this scene he went down on an engage- ment to the Portsmouth Theatre, where a company of the usual bizarre elements had been hastily got together, among whom was a Miss Kitty White and her mother, a strange being belonging to the race of "actresses' mamas" and who is thus roughly sketched. "Mrs. White, the mother, was a most extraordinary character, and worthy o,f record ; far from wanting sense and observation, she was quick, lively, cunning^ and saga- cious, but had passions that outstripped the wind, yet good- natured at times. All this variety, as differently tuned for good or ill temper, was aided by the finest slip-slop collec- tion of words imaginable, that made her in truth, not only to myself, but to many others, an inexhaustible fund of entertainment, and she was to me beyond compare the most diverting old lady I ever met with. Whenever Bur- den, her son-in-law, gave offense, which was almost per- petually, she used thus to harangue her daughter: ' Ma'am, you have married a feller beneath you you played Lucy last night in the ' Minor' better than Mrs. Gibber could have done upon my soul, and yet this scoundrel would hurt such a divine cretur !' ' True, mama,' replied her daughter, ' but suppose he should in despair and rage cut his throat ?' 'Cut his throat ! let him cut his throat and go to the devil ; but he won't cut his throat, no such good luck. But I'll tell you what, ma'am, if you contradict me I'll fell you at my feet, and trample over your corse, ma'am, for you are a limb, ma'am ; your father on his death-bed told me you were a limb. You are pure as ermind, ma'am, except with Sir Francis Dolvol (Delaval), and you sha'n't live with your THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON, jgg husband, ma'am ; you have no business to live with your husband ; the first women of quality, ma'am, don't live with their husbands, ma'am. Does Mrs. Elmy live with her husband ? No, ma'am. Does Mrs. Clive live with her husband? No, ma'am. Does Mrs. Gibber live with her husband? No, ma'am. So now, ma'am, you see the best women of fashion upon earth don't live with their husbands, ma'am.' And thus concluded one of this good lady's harangues. In short, this old gentlewoman was the delight of myself and company, and to those in particular who knew her and her acquaintance was not confined. She pleased me so much that I should tire the reader with the subject, and make him skip from page to page, so will leave my dear Mrs. White for the present, proceed to busi- ness, and introduce, at some future opportunity, that lady into good company." Admiral Rodney and the fleet were now at Portsmouth, and in every audience there was of course a strong nautical flavor. Trying to gratify these patrons, the following little adventure befell Mr. Wilkinson. It is a perfect picture, and told dramatically. "On Monday, July 23, 1759, I acted Hamlet, Mr. Moody the grave-digger. As I was paying attention, in the fifth act, to Mr. Moody's grave-digger, Mr. Kennedy (the manager) plucked me by the sleeve, and said, ' Mind what you do, for Mr. Garrick is in the pit!' It rather alarmed me, but having time before my entrance to recon- noitre, and not finding any likeness, I looked upon it as a joke; and not hearing from any person that he had been ^een, and so well known, I went out to supper and stayed late. But the next morning I was waked by a messenger from the Fountain Tavern, with Mr. Garrick's invitation to breakfast ; I was of course astonished at such an unexpected visitant at Portsmouth, and wondered still more at the 1 9 o THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. occasion, which in my hurried thoughts I could not devise. I instantly returned an answer that I would with pleasure wait on him, hastily equipped myself, and entered the room that great personage then graced, made my bow, and re- ceived a very hearty and friendly greeting. Here was a change ! On this wonderful greeting we were the most cordial, good, easy acquaintance that can be imagined : we chatted agreeably, for he seemed as pleased as I really was at this astonishing alteration. "After breakfast we walked on the ramparts, and then went to the dock-yards ; he was in such good spirits that he ordered a bottle of hock to be made into a cool tankard, with balm, &c. It was at noon in the height of summer, and the heat was his excuse for so extraordinary a draught before dinner. "My reader may be certain that whenever Mr. Garrick chose to throw off acting and dignity, and was not sur- rounded by business to perplex him, he had it in his power to render himself a most pleasing, improving, and delight- ful companion. "Mr. Garrick's walking arm-in-arm with me was an honor I dreamed not of. He congratulated me on being so great a favorite ; and what he said was of much more service, he being so well acquainted with the leading peo- ple at that place, of which, by inquiry, he soon heard all particulars : told me he was on a visit at Dr. Carney's, a gentleman of eminence who lived at Wickham, about eight ' miles from Portsmouth, to the left of Portsdown, once a physician, but had given over practicing, his fortune being fully equal to ease and affluence. Mr. Garrick told me this visit had been for years promised, but not paid till now ; said that Dr. Garney was an old and intimate friend, and he should be there seven or eight days : Mrs. Garrick was there, and had sent him as a messenger, with Dr. Gar- THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 191 ney's compliments and her commands to insist that I would fix my own day, and give them the pleasure of my com- pany, which visit they would all return. ' So Tate,' says my kind Mr. Garrick, ' mind you are well provided, for we shall make it early in next week.' This obliging invi- tation I gladly complied with, dressed in my best, and even of that he took notice, and said all was well except my buckles, which being (in the present fashion) large and low on the instep, he observed were like a sailor's. I did not want for lace to make me a gentleman not absurd then but such a figure now would be laughed at as it passed along. " Mr. Garrick received me at the Doctor's more like his son than merely a common acquaintance to whom he meant only to be civil and well-bred. Nor was Mrs. Garrick a jot less kind ; she scorned to be outdone in courtesy, and met me with all that apparent regard as if a beloved rela- tion had just arrived from the East Indies. She was in truth a most elegant woman : grace was in her step. I was introduced to Dr. Garney, his lady, and son, and after that to company who were quite strangers to me. They appeared just like what were their universal well-known characters, everything that was good, with power and will to render their pleasant mansion a happy resort for their acquaintance. The situation was a little paradise in every respect that art and nature could contribute to make so ; it appeared to me to much advantage, as the four immediate miles from Portsmouth till you reach Hilsey barracks, the country is very indifferent, very dreary, and all confined ; for those four miles are regular fortifications, ditches with draw-bridges, &c. " My entertainment for the day (for I was at Dr. Gar- ney 's before twelve) was as if calculated to please a man of fashion. As to Mr. Garrick, he, being much the youngest 192 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. man of the two, took me (for two hours) to every part of the. house and garden that was worth observation, and to the high top of an observatory, built by the Doctor for study, curiosity, and prospect, and very near equal to that just mentioned of Portsdown. Mr. Garrick ran and skipped about like a lad of twenty. Indeed civility and kindness seemed the study of the day from him and the whole family, and were visibly the intention and practice towards me. " Mr. Garrick had heard my benefit was over; but when I informed him I was to have another, he strongly recom- mended my night to the patronage of that worthy family ; and said he would take it equally as an obligation conferred on himself, if bestowed on his friend Mr. Wilkinson (there was honor !) for I was a youth whose prosperity he had at heart, because I was deserving ; and added, unless that had been his opinion of me he had not invited or recom- mended me to the honor of Dr. Carney's friendship. After tea, coffee, &c., we finished the evening with playing at bowls on the green and in walking. I did not leave Wick- ham till ten o'clock at night, and received a general invita- tion to make that house my own, whenever convenience permitted or inclination prompted me. I remember when talking of plays that day after dinner, Mr. Garrick said that he never acted but to one bad house, and that was Abel Drugger, when there was not 4o/. in the theatre. " On my departure from this so truly agreeable day, never to be obliterated, Mr. Garrick jokingly said, he hoped there would not be any impropriety in bespeaking a play for Friday, ' and we desire, Wilkinson, you will fix on a favorite character, and do your best for the credit of both; and d n it, Tate, Mrs. Garrick expects you will have a dish of tea ready after her jaunt, by way of relaxa- tion ; and if you disappoint us, Dr. and Mrs. Garney, and all the party will be very angry ; therefore take care. All THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. '93 these requests I assured him should be complied with. He escorted me to my chaise, and for the second time in his life made me very happy; for I on my part never wanted gratitude or a pride to obtain his good opinion. But our state of mind so fluctuates that it is merely a common barometer ' Tis true, 'tis pity, and pity 'tis 'tis true. " I had promised more, much more than I could make good, for I had not the least doubt but any play I appointed would be granted servilely with a bow, when authorized by the name of Garrick. Here, however, I was mistaken, for the next day when I summoned the company, the three or four theatrical potentates in power pertaining to the petty state were very refractory, each wanting to be principal on the occasion ; and by a majority of votes I lost my lieu- tenancy ; nor was I myself, for Mr. Moody was not suffered on any account to be capital on this occasion. " A Mr. White was the yearly Garrick, whose fame sounded and resounded from the county of Devon to the bounds of Hampshire ; therefore neither he nor they would permit any display of mine, as each wanted to be a sur- prising actor, and be elected by due right of merit in Drury Lane house of lords and commons. Says the morn- ing gin and brandy-cag hero, with a face unknown to cleanliness, speaking g affectedly, and leaving out the lettei r, * Why is Mr. Wilkinson to appoint a play for this Mr. Ga ick? Who is Mr. Ga ick? Mr. Ga ick has no command over our company at Portsmouth' and with the utmost nonchalance said, ' Mr. Ga ick cannot, I think, be displeased with my Macheath, though I want no faiw from Mr. Ga ick' assuring himself thereby of showing even Garrick ' here you shall see what you shall see,' and by that performance be engaged at Drury Lane, and make king David tremble. " So Mr. White, who was lord paramount, after as much i 1 7 194 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. altercation as would settle an address to the Minister, fixed on the 'Beggar's Opera,' Friday Macheath, Mr. White', and Mr. Moody was permitted to have the honor of acting Lockit. I was allowed to give 'Tea/ and by particular desire, to please me, was added the ' Author,' Cadwallader by me of course. It was with difficulty I could reserve twelve good seats, as all the genteel people, on hearing that Mr. Garrick and his lady were to be there, had crowded early to the theatre. The first act was finished and no Mr. Garrick had appeared, and on the second act beginning,- the audience and the performers blamed me for having asserted a falsehood, and by way of a hum collected them to be disappointed ; and I really began to think it strange myself; but to my great relief and satisfaction, about the middle of the second act, in my party came, which was to me a gratifying triumph, as Mr. White was very angry at having played so much of his Macheath and Mr. Ga ick not present. They were soon settled and paid much at- tention, and very considerately and kindly Mr. and Mrs. Garrick and their party made a point of obliging me by conferring strong marks of approbation. " Mr. Garrick was so pleased with my friend Mr. Moody, in Lockit, that he sent for him the next morning and en- gaged him for the ensuing season, at a salary of thirty shillings per week, because, he told bini, he loved to encour- age merit .' Mr. Garrick, after the farce, came round and insisted on my supping with them at the Fountain Tavern ; the noble troop of strangers were much increased by the addition of several gentlemen, particularly as all the medi- cal people of consequence belonging to the place went to pay their compliments to their acquaintances, Dr. Garney and family, and also to Mr. and Mrs. Garrick. 'Mrs. Gar- rick very politely thanked me for my performance, which before so many people certainly appeared respectful, atten- THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON, 195 tive, and kind ; and I judged my fortune made. O fickle fortune ! , "About half-past twelve Mrs. Garrick was for retiring, and as one of Dr. Carney's friends had provided them beds (not suffering them to sleep at the tavern), Mrs. Gar- rick had to walk up the street to her destined apartment ; Mr. Garrick, who never failed in attention to his lady, would not trust her to the servant's care only, but would himself attend her, and then return back to the company. He observed I came that evening in a very large, handsome sea-captain's cloak, which he said he admired much, and he would with my leave wear it to attend Mrs. Garrick to her residence. All the ladies went at the same time to private houses, and the great little man wrapped himself in my then honored roquelaure. He soon returned, said he was pleased with his walk, as it had made him so well acquainted with my cloak, and which he thought would be so comfortable for the winter, that if he had one, many a walk should he take in it, instead of going in a sedan from Southampton Street to Drury Lane ; therefore requested I would not leave Portsmouth without procuring such another, and take it to London for him. "The evening was very chatty; he had all attention paid him, and in consequence showed himself to great advantage. He asked me if I had seen ' that d d Foote?' I answered *No.' To which he replied with vehemence, he hoped, for my sake, I never would, if I could avoid it, either see or speak to him again. What all this violent kindness proceeded from I never could account for. How- ever, I thought then, and do to this hour think myself highly obliged; for, to the observer, it bore every mark of sincere benevolence and regard. " It was three in the morning before the party broke up a very uncommon hour for him ; he took a most cordial 196 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. and friendly leave, and I was much pleased with my affable and agreeable entertainment, and wished him a good- morning, and a safe and pleasant journey to his seat at Hampton Court, for which place he was to set forward in two or three days. . . . " My second benefit was on Wednesday Douglas, Tea, and Lethe. I thought it would be rude and impolitic, when this ceremony grew near, if I did not, according to the repeated invitations I had received, wait on Dr. Garney at Wickham. I hired the handsomest horse I could, think- ing that a post chaise for the day looked idle as well as extravagant for a distance of only eight miles, though not a sailor in Portsmouth but would have proved a better jockey than myself. To make which clear, I must relate my John Gilpin's ride to Wickham, which has made me dread horseback ever since. I had seldom used myself to that mode of traveling ; for though I had frequently gone from London to Hampton Court and Richmond, yet it was generally in a post chaise, which ever was and is my favorite method of passing from place to place. " The ostler of the Fountain brought to my door a very fine-looking horse, and observing I wore spurs, said, ' Pray, Mr. Wilkinson, do you often ride on horseback ?' I assured him the contrary: 'Because,' added he, 'I beg then, sir, as you are not a jockey, that I may take them off, for the horse I have brought is so very spirited, it may be danger- ous for you to keep them on.' To this disarrangement I assented, and for the first mile, though hemmed in by the draw-bridges and going on gently, found it was very diffi- cult, either by giving the horse his own way or checking him, to keep him within the power of my art of horseman- ship, but entertained hopes when I got into the open road, by putting him into a canter, that I should do very well. By degrees the horse seemed wisely to comprehend that THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 197 his own self-will and sagacity were superior to his rider's ; my ignorance was manifest to the animal, and as he was folly convinced I assumed a government to which I was not by any means competent, he was determined on rebel- lion, and to himself usurped the reins of power. The renewal of it to my fancy, even now, makes me giddy, and I verily believe from that hour my brain was weak- ened, which must plead some apology ; and it is a remark of truth, that in almost every accident, whether by falls downstairs or in the street, from six years old my unfortu- nate head has always suffered. " After having achieved nearly two miles with safety, my Bucephalus set off like mad, I not being able by any means to keep my saddle, but sat in a state of fear and terror. In about half a mile, after he had got into this wild freak, in the narrow road, I met the London wagon, where with care there was scarce room to pass by it, but to which this dreadful beast rushed. The wheel stopped and checked my right leg and brought me to the ground, and on my fall the horse's hind foot struck my jaw, and made it bleed most plentifully. Providentially, the men stopped the wagon, but almost against their will, for they could not conceive, from the fury of the beast, and the sup- posed misguided rage of the rider, but I was some foolish mad fellow eager to show my horsemanship, neck or nothing. " The wagoners behaved with more civility than is usual for such animals ; for in general they certainly are merely such. They only damned me for a fewl; for they were right atre I man be mad to ride dumbbfast to fright the toagon tike. Bat when I declared my innocence, as to any intended violence on their carriage, and told them the real cause, they thought it a very good joke and pronounced ' I should never be a sportsman sufficient to win the King's plate at Newmarket.' 17* 1 9 8 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. 11 While I was wiping off the dust and blood, and was really much bruised, and with reason alarmed for had not the wagoners, from seeing Gilpin's certain danger, stopped the wagon, I must have experienced a shocking death, by being crushed under the wheels, near thirty years before this day of relation, or at best I could only have existed as a dreadful spectacle the gay mettled courser, having dis- engaged himself of his rider, was all the time feeding on such odd bits of grass as he could find. I was helped on his back, and reassumed the reins with as much ease as if no accident had occurred, and I had only mounted a lady's gentle pad. " The wagoners desired me not to ride again like a devil upon the king's highroad, for I might have seen wagon like, and at the same time have seen there was not room to pass it ; and poor beast was so quiet, it must have been all my fault. I bore this second lecture with patience, so thanked Mr. Wagoner, and proceeded on my journey ; for as to dwelling longer on my ignorance, it was sufficiently ex- plained, and would have only increased their contempt, not created pity, and therefore would be a loss of time to us all, as our journey's end was quite contrary to attain. "I determined to be very steady, and not venture on the perilous canter any more ; a gentle trot at the most was to suffice, and that with all precaution. We were jog- ging on, as if by mutual agreement, with great regularity and composure, when an officer, who was going to Hilsey barracks, cried out, 'Your friend SCOTT dines at Hilsey do come to dinner, Wilkinson,' and went galloping on ; my fiery-footed steed, scorning to be outdone in courtesy, obeyed the summons with the utmost swiftness, not by any means waiting to hear or consult my opinion as to the in- vitation, while, Gilpin like, I held by the pummel of the saddle out of breath, and expected every instant my neck THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 199 would be broke. I was at the last gasp with this devil of a horse; for the officer had no thought bat I was deter- mined to outride him and be at Hikey the first. I found pulling, or holding, like Major Sturgeon, by the mane, was all to no purpose, and every moment supposed I should be sprawling on the ground ; but on seeing the turnpike I cried out aloud, * Shut the gate ! Murder ! murder : For God's sake shut the gate !* At first they did not compre- hend me, but on observing my awkward manner of riding on this my flying-horse, and my continued cry of ' Shut the gate,' they did so before I got to it ; then another fear instantly arose, which was that of the horse's despising the barred gate and leaping over it, which if he had, there would have been one Major Sturgeon less in the theatrical world ; but fortunately the creature, either in pity to my fears or regard for his own limbs, or from the custom of stopping at the gate (which I cannot pronounce . halted there, and that suddenly, on a supposition, may be, that the King's duty was necessary to be loyally paid : to which he was possibly daily accustomed ; and to my aston- ishment, in the midst of horrors, he pleasingly surprised me by so doing, for be seemed equal to any mad exploit whatever. Here I stayed and got a glass of water, and from the turnpike for about a mile to the left, on the irregular paths of Portsdown, I expected be had settled to reason, and had tried my skill in horsemanship sufficiently : but on the up-hill and down-dale once more he began, and more swift than ever, without a chance of my meeting with any cottage, or modern shepherd or shepherdess, in case of accident or misfortune, having quite left the public road. For me to expatiate on the wonders I this day performed in the noble art of vaulting horsemanship, might make young Astley fearful of a rival, and dare me to a trial of skill. The sensible beast certainly knew what an insignificant 200 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. Major he had on his back, and determined to make a frisky day of it at my expense. I was in hopes, till he took his third unlucky frolic, all would have been well, and that the headstrong servant was sensible of the errors he had already committed, and I began to fancy myself an elegant prancer, when he rapidly flew with me to a precipice of very considerable height, where I thought he would, for his own sake, have stopped his career; but to convince me he was superior to fear, and scorned even imminent danger, down he plunged headlong to the bottom. "It needs not the traveler's talent to point mine out as a frightful situation in every respect, as myself and horse had taken the dreadful plunge; I in idea gave up the ghost, thinking all was inevitably over, and that there was not a possibility of life being preserved ; this was momentary. Ease from pain brings death, and so with me. It was, I guess, some minutes before I recovered from the shock of the fall, or to the least ray of restored senses ; but, thank God Almighty, they did return by degrees, though sickness was violent, the horse still lying on my thigh, my head was on the hilly part, and the horse's feet at the bottom, which kept part of his weight from crushing my thigh. "After finding I had so miraculously escaped with life, I was fearful, as my right leg and thigh felt so much stunned, that they were broken ; but by degrees, pulling at the rough hill gently, I got my left foot equal to push on the saddle and so relieved myself, but yet doubted whether I was not in the Elysian Fields ; I was in such a state of per- turbation and misery, with pain, sickness, and wonder, that it was a delirium. When I was more collected, I looked at the horse, as he lay almost lifeless, and by his not mak- ing any attempt to move, I feared his limbs had suffered, and that, I supposed, would make it an expensive ride, added to my surgeon's bill. Staying there would not do THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 2O i at any rate, so as soon as I was able to get on my legs I slid to the bottom, took hold of the bridle, and the horse with great difficulty arose, and was as patient as a pet lamb : I winded him round and round the rugged place as well and as gently as I could, till by slow degrees, aided by that sweet maid Patience, I got him out of the dreary depth, and once more attained a part appertaining to Portsdown Hills. Notwithstanding my third disaster, I again had courage to mount, being only about two miles from Dr. Carney's, and we proceeded with all the regularity and gravity of Don Quixote to the wished-for villa, and arrived at it after all my fatigues, troubles, and hair-breadth scapes, and falling headlong down the deep Tarpeian rock. The Doctor and his son were out, and not expected home till dinner. When I had related the story of my woes to Mrs. Garney, she was greatly alarmed, and wished much for the Doctor's returning that he might immediately bleed me, which she insisted was a ceremony necessary to be instantly performed. I agreed in opinion with her ; but as the Doctor's coming might not be for two hours, I retired to be brushed, washed, &c., which was absolutely needful, and it much refreshed me. I then desired the favor of a bottle of Madeira, but Mrs. Garney did not approve of it; and, instead of that potation, recommended more harts- horn and water; but I told her that I had, on my arrival, been well provided by her kindness with plenty of the watery element, and now really wished for something else, and thought Madeira would do wonders. She shook her head on hearing this, and went out of the room. As I was preparing myself for dinner, she politely sent me the Ma- deira, and I most eagerly drank a full tumbler of it, and it revived me wonderfully ; but prudence prevented my in- creasing the draught, for by my good will, as I was so thirsty and hot, and the Madeira had gone down so deli- i* 202 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. ciously, I could have finished the bottle ; but well it was I did not, for in my hurried state of spirits, and being bruised from head to foot, it might have proved a more certain road to death than any dagger I had ever struck, or any draught of poison I had ever swallowed, as a stage patriot, for the good of my country. " The Doctor and his son did not return till near four, above two hours after I had arrived on my prancing Bu- cephalus. I was well refreshed, and my face was in toler- able order, all considered, though it was much scratched and wounded. Mrs. Garney represented my story in most tragical colors ; which, had it been so well told before I had drunk the Madeira, she might have gained my consent for being bled, as I expected it after the violent fall I had endured : but on growing better, and thinking the Ma- deira had done everything that was necessary, all reasons or persuasions were in vain, for I obstinately refused, and said I wished for dinner, and that was preferable to being bled. At last the Doctor's kind intentions yielded to my petulance, and the sight of the good dinner seemed to be the most prevailing argument on all sides ; the lancets were changed for knives and forks, and I performed with those weapons more dexterously than I or any person at table expected. We drank Mr. and Mrs. Garrick's health. "The Doctor inquired when my benefit was; I told him : he asked for tickets, which I could not have thought of carrying there in my pocket, because a gentleman had invited me to dinner. However, he begged leave to pre- sent me with three guineas for three box tickets, which I was to send him. I accepted the king's pictures, and of course sent three scraps of paper in exchange. He desired I would come once more before I went to London : I ac- cordingly visited that pleasant, hospitable spot again, but THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 203 it was in a post chaise, not on horseback. No more of that no more of that. " On my return the horse either walked or went a gentle trot all the way to Portsmouth, and when in the public road, though several gentlemen were returning from their evening's ride, he was as easily conducted as if he had never been obstreperous. Every one was astonished when I related my adventures ; and, but that they had a good opinion of my veracity, and seeing the marks on my face, and my naming the wagoners and turnpike-man as wit- nesses, my story would not have been credited ; for the horse was so gentle, and so easily guided, they said that every one must conclude the rider was the most to blame. "The want of judgment in me might in part have been the cause ; but from the circumstance of the ostler's taking off my spurs, it was evident he treated his riders every now and then with a frolic ; and I guess his fall had made him feel pain, and find he was in an eiror when he cut that caper of enchantment which bereft me of my senses ; and had he not had that fall I think he would have finished my career, and effectually have prevented my ever seeing old Portsmouth again. "I do not recollect many particulars relating to this summer campaign worth setting down, so will suppose my Portsmouth engagement ended, and greatly to my advan- tage. But now, though not an old man, melancholy re- flection tells me that, were I to set my foot in that town, there is not one man or woman, gentleman or gentlewoman existing whom I should know. All gone ! gone ! But why should I moralize, reflect on, or regret the certain fate of all mankind? Is there a wonder in so well proved a certainty?" 204 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. V. Nothing is more pleasant than the shrewd old actor's re- marks on the habits and manners of his profession : and players of our day who are addicted to what they call "gagging" might profitably consider his reflections on the subject, as well as the amusing illustrations he furnishes. " Nothing but severe reprobation and anger will effectu- ally cure laughing at the audience, and entertaining them- selves with low jokes ; . . . and too often the manager is blamed for not preventing such impromptus, which is not in his power ; and even the females staring into the stage- boxes and smiling at their acquaintance, acting all to the pit, not directing their discourse to the person on the stage, and Horatio, though so enjoined to attend the business of the play, employs all that time by apparently numbering the house. If the actors wish for regard, they should treat the theatre each morning certainly with the same degree of respect they would observe in the most common school- room ; rehearse the play with serious attention, and not with riot and discord ; thereby giving the stage opponents such full scope to exclaim, that the theatre proves itself a school of anarchy and disorder by the perpetual slander many performers bestow on their colleagues ; for a rol. more in one house on a benefit than in another will raise a jealousy not to be subdued for a month. A little appli- cation to the study of authors and criticisms in general would mend many actors and actresses ; but rehearsals too frequently resemble a game at school-boys' play, and in- stead of preparing for the stage like gentlemen, they are acting in the style and behavior of Christmas street country mummers, "Do not let the reader conceive the theatre such a bear- garden as to render this picture necessary for the performers THE ADVENTURES QF TATE WILKINSON. 205 in the country in general. Far from it ; I am only speaking the sentiments of liberal minds, who are hurt at seeing such vulgar and unpardonable behavior from a few egregiously ill-bred, whom reasoning would only inflame and make their company still worse : and the audience have often too much patience when they pass over such repeated faults by too much indulgence, which the wrong-headed actor places lo approbation and his own merit. . . . "Actors should never run into debt (a hard injunction) ! for they may be assured a day of payment will be expected, and what is worse, that one such black sheep gives the idea of dishonesty to a whole troop; which is very hard, and might with propriety be thrown on any other profession, that many should be blamed for the faults of a few. " Running into debts that can be avoided lessens in every degree the actor's darling passion, that is, his ideal conse- quence ; and there is another that actors incur, which mani- fests negligence, and is, as Mr. Garrick told Shnter, not to be too comical. O comical actor I it is a debt and a dangerous debt, not easily forgot or forgiven ;for how can the performer think that though perhaps the town last night laughed and gave indulgence, that he is free t so far from it, he has lost the golden ore, their good opinion, and it will take a long time to regain it: for the actor is dreadfully -wrong who* thinks, be- cause himself and friends laugh at what is termed jokes out of all time, place, and character, it is forgiven in general, and not set down against him, and mentioned for a tweh:emonth at least by the judicious ; and though this may be cruel, it is in some degree just, and should not be so frequently de- served. I would have all thirst for applause, tut let the means pursued beprofessional and characteristic to deserve it. " In London an actor must be at least near right before he is established ; out of London an actor seldom gets into favor or popularity, but he too frequently in consequence iS 206 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. leaves the right road for the wrong, that is, he studies to quit nature, and endeavors to obtain false applause by any means, no matter how acquired : 'that is villainous,' and in the end it destroys the good seeds of promise and proves a pitiful ambition in the knave that uses it, be he a tragedian or comedian ; for the same ill-judged means may be prac- ticed as much almost by the one as the other. In the green- room the jokes on this occasion are 'bringing them down;' and 'we have been running our lengths.' " Laughing on the stage at our own witticisms is another lamentable, not comical fault : not that I would mean to be so rigid as not to allow for an accident, or once in a way, a well-timed joke, provided it suits time, place, and character. If the joke be ever so good, yet if the actor is performing as a Spaniard or a Frenchman, and reprobates either, all wit or sense is lost and the actor truly censur- able." As an illustration of the vice of such freedoms, he tells the following story, which is quite a little picture : "My engagement with Mossop having terminated, I intended soon leaving my old favorite spot, which was now become a home ; but was detained by Mrs. Abington's requesting I would stay and assist her in a scene of fun and humor for her benefit night, which she had complied with at the request of her really good benefactor Lord Miltown. Mrs. Abington had often entertained several genteel parties with some droll stories of a good gentlewoman she named Mrs. Fuz. I had been on parties with Lord Miltown and Lord Clanbrassil, when in high spirits and good-humor, and had diverted myself and the company with stories and anecdotes of my dear favorite old lady, Mrs. White, of whom the reader must by this time have formed some idea, by referring back to what I have before related of my darling old gentlewoman's singularities. THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 307 11 Mrs. Abington had promised Lord Miltown she would produce herself as Mrs. Fuz, and she would prevail on her friend Wilkinson to do the same, as Mrs. Jenkins (alias Mrs. White) ; which information his Lordship made known to all the families of distinction in Dublin : bat the peer did not reflect that those stories, told by myself or Mrs. Abington over the convivial table, gave a kind of explana- tory key to the strange characters ; and Sir Francis Delaval and Mr. Foote knew the mother and the daughters as well as myself; but on a stage, where few of the audience were acquainted either with the character that Mrs. Abington or I represented, the joke was as difficult to find oat as Mr. Bayes* laughing violently at his own Prince Volscius, where the joke lay in the boots. Her play was * Rule a Wife.' Between the play and force, an interlude called Mrs. Jen- kins and Mrs. Fuz. Mrs. Jenkins, Mr. Wilkinson; Mis. Fur, Mrs. Abington. Before the night came, we often entertained ourselves with extempore rehearsals, and con- ceived ourselves easy, perfect, and entertaining. Mrs. Jen- kins was dressed before the play concluded. Mrs. Abing- ton, after an epilogue of shrewd turn, and spoke with great point, retired to dress as Mrs. Fuz; our dress had been before well considered. It was a crowded house ; part of the pit laid into the boxes. Mrs. Abington had ordered an excellent supper, superbly lighted, &c., and had wrote a little introductory dialogue-scene in the street between two gentlemen, giving a description of a party they were that night invited to, and where two extraordinary charac- ters were asked for the entertainment of the lady's guests, at whose house the rendezvous was appointed; but each person was enjoined to lay their fingers on their lips, and not to laugh on any account whatever, but to pay every mark of attention and approbation, in order that the two ladies might with more unlimited freedom display their 208 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. different absurdities. After the dialogue was finished, the scene was drawn up, and discovered several well-dressed ladies and gentlemen at supper. Miss Ambrose was sitting at my elbow as the daughter of Mrs. Jenkins, who intended bringing her on the stage ; Mrs. Fuz was seated at one front corner of a long supper-table, and I was at the other: Mrs. Keif was at the head as lady of the ceremonies, which was the only good part, for there were the servants with wine, and she displayed on the occasion her being mistress of a good knife and fork. On being discovered, and look- ing scornfully at each other, our two figures had for some time a fine effect ; loud fits of laughter succeeded, and from these great expectations were formed. " Mrs. Fuz then desired Mrs. Jenkins to begin Mrs. Jenkins desired Mrs. Fuz would do the same and we found ourselves in an awkward situation : but after a few efforts the two ladies entered into a hobbling short con- versation, which was received very well, from the eager opinion that something better would follow, for the audi- ence were all eyes and ears ; but we soon flagged. Mrs. Fuz asked for a glass of wine Mrs. Jenkins upon my sould and I will have a glass of wind too. [One of the expres- sions used in this scene, and omitted here on account of its coarseness, shows on what license the actors of the day could venture.] That did not do, and the Abington began to feel it a service of danger, perplexity, and disgrace. Mrs. Jenkins called to her daughter to act Juliet, and observe her manner, and to stick hersel/ upon the stage as if she was chilled and stabbed throfout : but as she kneeled down to act Juliet, the strange old lady, Mrs. Fuz, got up, gave her a kick, ran away, and abandoned Mrs. Jenkins to the mercy of the audience ; I was well aware of what might be expected, and therefore lost no time, but arose and ran after her, crying out, 'Mrs. Fuz! Mrs. Fuz!' THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 209 The audience began to smoke the joke, and by their tokens of anger gave the necessary hint to the staring ladies and gentlemen on the stage, that a retreat would not be im- prudent if they regarded their safety; so they ran away also, which caused a laugh ; for it was evident when Mrs. Abington and I had eloped, they were ignorant what to do, not knowing but that we meant to return, for they were only desired to stay on till we finished, which the performers could not conceive would be so abruptly as we made it, but expected us to come back and make a con- clusion to our characters. "I hope Mrs. Abington has not forgot this, but will laugh at it as I do ; though it was truly awkward at the time, and it really drew Lord Mil town into disgrace, for he had said so much in favor of the promised scene, that it bad been the conversation of the preceding week. " When the curtain dropped, which was with loud marks of censure, the ladies universally arose, and, by way of joke, laughed and courtesied to each other, saying, ' Your servant, Mrs. Jenkins; your servant, Mrs. Fuz !' which I dare say vexed his Lordship much, not only for his own and the disappointment of the audience, but more so, as any failure of Mrs. Abington's was mortifying to him ; for he was then, and I am told is now, a most violently attached and true patron and well-wisher of hers." By-and-by he grew weary of this life, and as we have seen became a country manager. There his character assumed a new shape, and as he got old he grew eccentric, and wrote other volumes that unfolded these fresh experi- ences. Every player of eminence could retail stories of "old Wilkinson's" singularities. A young probationer, struggling on from one miserable barn to another, but who showed great promise, had written to offer his services to the York Theatre, and had but feint 18* 210 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. hopes of even a reply. To his delight he received a favor- able answer : " Hull, February loth, 1798. " Sir, As a man in the mountains and not known on 'Change, added to y r express desire of being here, con- vinces me you have misunderstood my meaning, for en- gaging you in June next. I shall want a comedian that can strike the audience well as to say, this will do, and then advance y r situation ; and as to coming into a first situation, and the business you wrote for, no such thing can be complied with. Mr. Emery is in full possession of fame and characters, so suit y r convenience as to staying away. . . . but you will have full scope until the end of October, and then I can judge of continuance or raising of terms, according to y r desert and success, for a good comedian only will do, if I can get him. " Yours, &c. "TATE WILKINSON. " Open at York on Thursday next. Mr. Mathews, Theatre, Carmarthen, Wales." " Sir, Don't let either of us place too great a reliance. I will engage you at i/. per week, until the first Saturday in June, 1799. But, to promise an increase of salary, and a certain line of business, where I have much at stake, would not be prudent on my part to give. Therefore, as to an additional salary, or a cast of parts unseen, unknown I cannot think of giving any such promise, as I must cast the parts as I judge. ( You may have great talents moderate, or indifferent all which must be judged by the manager and the public. Therefore, all the favor I have to ask is, whether you determine on being at York August the iSth. THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 2 II Don't neglect your interest ; bat don't let roe rely on your coming and then not make your appearance ; may be dis- agreeable not only at the time, but as to other engagements. Mr. Penson leaves me in August. " I am, Sir, wishing you every success, yours, &c. "TATE WILKINSON. " If you possess near the merit you lead me to expect, you must not fear a good engagement here, tkfrf, or any rohere. You are sure I wish you to please. No managers part with favorite performers, but he must wish the new ones to succeed. MATHEWS MR. MOUNTAIN (erased), JON. MATHEWS'S, MR. MOUNTAIN'S (erased), Bookseller, No. 18, Strand, London." Here will be noticed a special eccentricity of the mana- ger's, that of forgetting, compounding, or transforming proper names. The young man found the company at Pontefract, and in some trepidation waited on the manager. " Come in !" the visitor obeyed. " Tale was shuffling about the room with a small ivory-handled brush in one hand, and a silver buckle in the other, in pretended industry, whistling during his employment after the fashion of a groom whilst curry- ing and rubbing down a horse. It appeared that it was his custom daily to polish his own buckles ; for as these particular buckles were especial favorites, from having been the gift of his friend the immortal Garrick, and were worn constantly in his dress-shoes, he was chary of allow- ing others the privilege of touching them ; in fact, he never trusted them out of his own hands. It was a minute 212 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. at least before Tate took the least notice of the newcomer, who, in the short interval had opportunity to observe the ludicrous effect of Tale's appearance, which was indeed irresistibly droll. He was still in his morning's dishabille, his coat-collar was thrown back upon his shoulders, and his Brown George on one side, exposing the ear on the other, and cocked up behind so as to leave the bare nape of his neck open to observation. His hat was put on side foremost, and as forward and awry as his wig ; both were perked on his head very insecurely, as it seemed to the observer. " Mr. Mathews, after an unsuccessful cough, and a few significant hems, which seemed to solicit welcome and attention, ventured at last upon an audible 'Good-morn- ing, sir.' This had its effect, and the following colloquy ensued. ( Good-morning, sir,' said Mr. Mathews. 'Oh! good-morning, Mr. Meadows,' replied Tate, very dog- gedly. 'My name is Mathews, sir.' 'Ay, I know,' wheeling suddenly round, and looking at him for the first time with scrutinizing earnestness from head to foot. Winking his eyes and lifting his brows rapidly up and down, a habit with him when not pleased, he uttered a long-drawn 'Ugh!' and exclaimed, 'What a maypole! Sir, you're too tall for low comedy.' 'I'm sorry, sir,' said the poor disconcerted youth. " ' What's the use of being sorry ? You speak too quick.' The accused anxiously assured him that he would endeavor to mend that habit. 'What,' said Tate, snappishly, ' by speaking quicker, I suppose.' Then, looking at Mr. Mathews, he, as if again in soliloquy, added, ' I never saw anybody so thin to be alive ! ! Why, sir, one hiss would blow you off the stage.' This remark sounding more like good-humor than anything he had uttered, the comedian ventured, with a faint smile, to observe that he hoped he THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 213 should not get that one when Tate, with affected or real anger, replied, 'You'll get a great many, sir. Why, sir, I've been hissed the great Mr. Garrick has been hissed ; it's not very modest in you to expect to escape, Mr. Moun- tain.' 'Mathews, sir,' interposed the miscalled. 'Well, Mathews Mountain, ' ' No, sir ' ' Have you a quick study, Mr. Maddox?' asked Tate, interrupting him once more. Mathews gave up the ineffectual attempt to preserve his proper name, 'and replied at once to the last question, ' I hope so, sir.' ' Why' (in a voice of thunder) ' arn't you sure?' 'Ye-e-es, sir,' asserted his terrified and harassed victim. Tate shuffled up and down the room, whistling and brushing rapidly, looking from time to time with evident dissatisfaction, if not disgust, at the object of his scrutiny; and, after several of these furtive glances, he suddenly desisted from his occupation, and once more stopped abruptly before him. "All this was inauspicious; and, after the interview had lasted a few minutes longer, Tate strongly recommended the young man's return to his father, and an 'honest trade,' as he said. All that could be gained by Mr. Mathews was the manager's slow leave to let him enter upon his proba- tion and at least have a trial before condemnation." Nothing, however, could remove the manager's preju- dice, or better his opinion of the postulant, as will be seen from the following delightful and genuine communica- tion : " I am dangerously ill, therefore unable to attend to the- atrical grievances. After a 2 d and a 3 d time seeing y r per- formance, I aver' d and do aver that misfortune has placed an insurmountable bar as to the possibility of y r ever being capable of sustaining the first line of comic business. Mr. Emery I requested to inform you of the same at Wakefield, who was entirely of my opinion. For the paralytic stroke, 214 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. so far from a comic effect, renders y r performance seriously disagreeable. I told Mr. Hill that not all the Mirrors in the kingdom, in print or in glass, ever can establish you for a first comedian. If God wills it, it will be so, but no other order or interest can effect such a miracle. If you were to hear how you are spoken of (ask Mr. Jarman), you would not rely too much on y r unbounded applause at Hull. If you think the company is in general approv'd, you are mistaken ; am sorry to be told, quite the contrary. Y r Riindy is very bad indeed ; so is Motley. Rundy they have been used to see really well acted. . . . Do you think I engaged Mr. Hatton to hurt you ? On my honor, no. If you say, why add to my expense ? I answ r , necessity, and full conviction stared me in the face. Try by degrees to be useful, and by such means get into respect. Y r worth as a man (as far as I know) I much esteem ; but as a first- rate actor, you must try some more discerning leader, and officer some other troop. I think ' Feeble Old Men' is a cast you are most likely to be useful in. The pain I have suffered at my breast in scratching these lines is more piercing than what you feel at the loss of Frank. You have youth, sobriety, and assiduity, which sometimes does wonders. Wish Emery had been more open with you. I recommended the shop, as suited to you and Mrs. M.; but he said you were so stage-bitten it would only vex you. I can only say, Stay and be happy, or Go and be happy ; and ever be happy ; and wishing myself better, am y rs in great pain. ' ' TATE WILKINSON. ' ' His rambling style of talk was, however, his most amus- ing characteristic ; the most heterogeneous subjects being jumbled together, so as to make the whole almost unintel- ligible. Mathews was fond of giving one of these mono- THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 215 logues, from actual recollection, and it was curious and fair retribution that the successful mimic should at last come to furnish profitable subject for mimicry of others. His extraordinary habit of wandering in conversation, with at the same time the faculty he possessed of making, to a patient and experienced listener, his meaning finally understood, may be illustrated by a curious conversation which Mathews used to repeat with great effect. He was seated in his hall of audience in a great chair, in the same uncomfortable morning costume before described wig awry, hat, &c. At his feet reclined a little spaniel puppy, an acquisition made on the road. On the table before him lay Murphy's Life of Garrick, recently published, a phial of cough drops, a spoon and a wine glass, &c. Enter Mr. Mathfws. "Good-morning, sir; I'm glad to see you at home." Tate, in a creaking tone. " Oh ! good-morning ! Sit down." Mathtws. " I hope, sir, you've enjoyed your trip, and are not suffering from your exertions?" Tate. " Why, as for that, not but I'm glad I went, for the weather was very fine; and, if it hadn't been for the firing of the pistols (which you know will never do for Mrs. Townend), I should have enjoyed it very much ; but," he continued with gathering animation, " to be sure, Mrs. Siddons was all in all not but I have a great disgust of women with blackened faces ; it's never a pleasing sight ; and the Obi women were hideous. But then her dignity was indeed wonderful ! and if you ask me what is a queen, I should say, Mrs. Siddons ! Still, to come into one's room when one's asleep, and run all over the bed and over one's face ugh ! is more than any one would like, I imagine ; and I have a particular horror of rats ! At the same time, when they carry fire-arms about their 216 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. persons, and let them off close to your ear, all through a piece, it makes your head ache; and I've such a cough, that I can't get a moment's sleep when I'm upon my back; and what with Murphy's Life of Garrick I really have been a great sufferer all night. I've been recommended this bottle of drops to cure me, but I've been greatly dis- appointed in it. It's full of blunders and lies ; shamefully incorrect. I took three drops upon a lump of sugar, and it made me very sick. Not but Henry Johnston, who, by-the-by, is a remarkably fine young man ; but he doesn't know what he writes about J when he asserts that Garrick had never played before the King. Now, at the time 'The Chinese Festival' came out, Johnston surprised me very much with his strength ; for, in the first place, he threw little Lucky" (meaning Tucky), " the black boy, over a high bank, and carried Mr. Orford, who performed Captain Halpin" (he meant to say, Mr. Halpin, who per- formed Captain Orford}, "on his back into a cavern, lifting him up as easily as I lift this puppy, so you may suppose that he must be pretty strong ; he's thorough-bred, and he'll let you hold him up by the tail without squeak- ing, as you see ; but then, he's a fine pantomime actor, sir! Still, as I said to Mrs. Wilkinson, where is there to be found such another as Mrs. Siddons?" The death of this worthy old actcr and manager, which occurred in August, 1803, was thus described by one of his players : " The lamentable fact of which I have to inform you is no other than the departure of our dear and truly esteemed old Tate ; who, on Thursday afternoon a little after four, was relieved from the pain he had of late so severely en- dured, to receive the reward of his integrity, generosity, and solid virtue of heart. " But I shall not panegyrize a man whose good qualities THE ADVENTURES OF TATE WILKINSON. 217 were fully known to yourself. He was completely worn out, and though he did not expire till the taper of life had long blinked in the socket, his reason and the ruling spring of all his actions, his generosity and honesty, strongly evinced themselves even to his last moments ; and I fear his dissolution, though inevitably at hand, was somewhat hastened by an honest warfare in the cause of justice. Mr. Fawcett, who performed with us a week at Ponteftact, previously to his coming hither, had stipulated by leiter, that if the receipts at Pontefract should reach a certain sum, he should receive a compensation, but if not, he begged his services might be accepted for that week. The receipts were but poor, and of course nothing was offered Mr. Fawcett by our acting manager. On Wednesday night, Tate sent for Mr. Fawcett, and inquired of him if they had paid him for Pontefract. The reply was 'Lord bless you, as it was bad, I told you I should not take any- thing.' The old man, however, fell into a bitter passion, exclaiming, 'Not pay you! oh, if they don't pay you, they'll be robbers, cheats, plunderers; why should you not be paid?' Mrs. Wilkinson and John were accordingly summoned into his presence, and violently attacked. His passion was so extreme, that Fawcett left him in the midst of it : it continued, however, all night, and the next morn- ing, Swalwell called Mr. Fawcett in, and insisted on his taking 257. This, by-the-by, was the second agitation he underwent that night. "The farce on Wednesday was 'The Wags of Windsor.' Tate made many anxious inquiries how Mr. Fawcett was received, as he said he had his doubts of the farce doing well, on account of the great popularity you had gained in it. He was of course pleased to hear it went off well. At the conclusion, Kir. William Wilkinson went in to him. An inquiry was made how he liked Mr. Fawcett. The answer K 19 218 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. was evasive : ' Oh, I don't know, sir.' ' Don't know, sir ! and why don't you know? how did you like Mr. Fawcett in the part?' 'Oh, sir, he was very well. 1 'Why, what the devil do you mean by very well ? Why don't you give me your opinion why he was only very well ?' ' Why, sir, I hope I may be allowed to give my opinion ; I have seen Mr. Mathews in the part, and I give the preference to him.' ' Ugh ! here's a man ! everybody tells me the farce has gone off with unbounded applause, and my son comes and says Mr. Fawcett was only very well.' This was the first violent fit he underwent that night. "As the event of his death was made public directly, everybody heard it as they came from the race-ground. The poor old soul had some persuasion of his departure, and desired that the theatre might not be shut up that night, if he should die. We accordingly played to up- wards of a hundred pounds, though a general gloom over- spread us all. Yesterday's bills were prefaced as follows. 'York, 26th August, 1803. In consequence of (a ridi- culous expression, by-the-by) ' the death of Mr. Wilkinson, the trustees under his will most respectfully inform the public that they feel it to be their duty to continue the theatre open this evening, Saturday and Monday, when it will finally close until the winter season.' " Of the purport of his will, I cas only give you con- jecture and report. They say that he has enjoined that none of the performers shall be discharged without a suffi- cient reason being apparent. But all this is only vague as to its authority. The old man is to be buried to-morrow morning at seven o'clock at the Pavement church. Mr. Swalwell asked Mr. John whether it was wished that the gentlemen of the theatre should attend. A negative was given, and an intimation that there would be only two coaches, one for the four trustees, and the other for the GREAT DEBUTS. 219 three sons and Mr. Cummins. A general determination, however, prevails amongst us to see the last of our worthy old manager, every one being well convinced that 'we shall not look upon his like again.' "* Such was the close of the long and chequered life of this excellent old player. His managerial career ended as honorably as it had been begun and supported, and there is a touch of pathos in his loyal consideration for his actors his last wishes having a jealous regard to their interests. It is a pleasure to call attention to the merit of this obscure though worthy follower of the profession. CHAPTER VI. GREAT DEBUTS. GARRICK SIDDOXS KEAN. THERE is, perhaps, no situation in life so entrancing as one of those rare first nights, when some genius has ap- peared and carried away the audience in a whirl of success. For the time, it seems almost a glimpse of the supernatural, and the fortunate few who have enjoyed this feeling may fairly look back to that night as one of delicious enchant- ment. Associated with the London stage there would appear to be hardly more than three of these grand solemnities of which one only was the triumph of an untried debutant. Garrick may be said to stand alone, as offering the single instance of immediate success. He had indeed made an experiment at Ipswich, but had appeared only a few times. * The above extracts are taken from Mrs. Matbews* memoirs of her 220 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. It was at a sort of unlicensed theatre, whose rank was little above that of a music-hall of our day, that a young man, of short stature, whose name was suppressed, was an- nounced as about to make his "first appearance on any stage." The night was that of the ipth October, 1741. The audience was gathered from the purlieus of the East End, with a sprinkling of private friends. The play was "Richard the Third." " On that Monday night the performance began at six o'clock, with a few pieces of music. Then the curtain rose on 'The Life and Death of King Richard the Third,' and after the first scene, at that nervous moment, the new actor came from the wing. Macklin always talked fondly of this glorious night the delight he felt, the amazing surprise and wonder at the daring novelty of the whole, and yet, at the same time, the universal conviction of the audience that it was right. It was recollected, however, that when the new player came upon the scene and saw the crowded house, he was disconcerted, and remained a few seconds without being able to go on. But he recov- ered himself. No wonder it surprised that audience it was so new, and was all new. The surprising novelty was remarked, ' that he seemed to identify himself with the part.' They were amazed at his wonderful power of feature. The stupendous passions 01 ^Richard were seen in his face before he spoke, and outstripped his words. There was a perpetual change and vivacity. One effect at last overbore all hesitation, and the delighted audience found relief for their emotions in rapturous shouts of applause. It was when he flung away the Prayer-book, after dismiss- ing the deputation a simple and most natural action, yet marked with originality and then the audience first seemed to discover this was true genius that was before them. When he came to the later defiant and martial GREAT DEBUTS. 221 phase of the character, he took the audience with him in a tempest of enthusiasm. 'What do they in the North?' was given with such electric enthusiasm and savageness as to cause a thrill to flatter round the hearers: and when be came to the effective clap-trap, ' Off with his head ' his visible enjoyment of the incident was so marked that the audience burst into loud shouts of delight and approbation. What a night of delight to look back to !" On the following morning he awoke and found himself famous. His reception, said the newspapers, "was one of the most extraordinary and great that ever was seen on such an occasion." An old gentleman of Lichfield Mr. Swynfen wrote down to Lichfield, to break the news to the family, in a characteristic letter. " I was there" he says, " and was witness to a most general applause he gained in the character ; for I believe there was not one in the house who was not in raptures, and I heard several men of judgment declare it their opinion that nobody ever excelled him in that part." Mr. Pope certainly a man of judg- ment came to see him, and declared that nobody had ever equaled him, or would equal him. And for weeks after- wards the narrow streets of the obscure quarter were blocked up with the carriages of the nobility crowding to see him, and a dozen dukes were seen in the boxes of a night. More interesting, however, is the story of that true hero- ine, Mrs. Siddons, who, passing the ordeal of a stroller's life, was admitted to the country theatres, and engaged by Mr. Garrick on the report of Parson Bate, specially sent down. The story of her failure at Drury Lane is well known; for which the jealousy of the established actresses, her own timidity and youth, with an injudi- cious selection of characters, were accountable. Discred- ited, and refused a re-engagement, as one not likely to 19* 222 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. add to the credit of the house, she had to return to the country. "It was a stunning and cruel blow," she says, "overwhelming all my ambitions, and involving peril even to the subsistence of my helpless babes. // was very near destroying me. My blighted prospects, indeed, induced a state of mind that preyed upon my health, and for a year and a half I was supposed to be hastening to a decline. For the sake of my poor children, however, I roused my- self to shake off this despondency." In short, she recom- menced her country drudgery, and for several years labored hard, winning professional admiration and the esteem of friends. At last, in 1782, came the longed-for opportunity, and she was engaged at Drury Lane. It was a terrible experi- ment, she felt, for a second failure could not be redeemed. During the whole fortnight that she was in town prepar- ing for the night she was almost in a nervous fever. " No wonder," she says, " for my own fate and that of my little family hung upon it. I had quitted Bath where all my efforts had been successful, and I feared lest a second fail- ure in London might influence the public mind greatly to my prejudice, in the event of my return from Drury Lane, disgraced as I had formerly been." Presently the rehear- sals commenced. She herself gives a graphic picture of the days that intervened. " Who can -imagine my terror ?" she writes ; "I feared to utter a sound above an audible whisper, but by degrees enthusiasm cheered me into a joy- fulness of my fears, and I unconsciously threw out my voice, which failed not to be heard in the remotest part of the house, by a friend who kindly undertook to ascertain the happy circumstance. The countenances, no less than tears and flattering encouragements of my companions, embold- ened me more and more, and the second rehearsal was even more affecting than the first. Mr. King, who was then GREAT DEBUTS. 223 manager, was loud in his applause. This second rehearsal took place on the 8th of October, 1 782, and on the evening of that day I was seized with a nervous hoarseness, which made me extremely wretched, for I dreaded being obliged to defer my appearance on the loth, longing, as I most earnestly did, at least to know the worst. I went to bed therefore in a state of dreadful suspense. Awaking the next morning however, though out of restless, unrefreshing sleep, I found upon speaking to my husband that my voice was very much clearer. This of course was a great comfort to me, and moreover the sun, which had been completely obscured for many days, shone brightly through my cur- tains. I hailed it, though tearfully yet thankfully, as a happy omen, and even now I am not ashamed of this (as it may perhaps be called) childish" superstition. On the morning of the loth my voice was most happily perfectly restored, and again the bltssedsun shone brightly on me. On this eventful day my father arrived to comfort me, and be a witness of my trial; He accompanied me to my dressing- room at the theatre. There he left me, and I, in one of what I call my desperate tranquillities which usually impress me under terrific circumstances, there completed my dress to the astonishment of my attendants without uttering one word, though often sighing most profoundly." The night arrived. Everything was favorable. There was a vast house, crammed to the roof, an extraordinary excitement and curiosity. The best actors remaining of the best school were to play with her Smith, Palmer, Farren, and others. She had even the consoling support of old Roger Kemble, the old manager of strollers, who was utterly unnerved by the trial that was before his daughter. Her husband had not courage to be present, but wandered about the streets round the play-house. As she found herself on the stage she felt, she said, " the awful consciousness that one is the 224 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. sole object of attention to that immense space, lined as it were with human intellect from top to bottom and all around, it may be imagined but can never be described, and by me can never be forgotten !" She had no need to be apprehensive. It was one continued triumph. As the pathetic piece moved on there was that one centre figure taking enthralling possession of the audience. The tender- ness and exquisite sweetness of her tones went to every heart, the agony of grief and suffering thrilled all present. At times she had all men's eyes suffused with tears, and many women in actual hysterics. Towards the last act there was scarcely a speech of hers but what was interrupted by tumultuous and passionate bursts of applause, until the whole house seemed swept away in transport. From that moment her success was assured in the most triumphant way. " I reached my own quiet fireside on retiring from the scene of reiterated shouts and plaudits. I was half dead, and my joy and thankfulness were of too solemn and overpowering a nature to admit of words or even tears. My father, my husband, and myself sat down to a frugal meat supper in a silence, uninterrupted except by exclama- tions of gladness from Mr. Siddons. My father enjoyed his refreshments, but occasionally stopped short, and laying down his knife and fork, lifting up his venerable face, and throwing back his silver hair, gave way to tears of happi- ness. We soon parted for the night, and I, worn out with continually broken rest and laborious exertion, after an hour's retrospection (who can conceive the intenseness of that reverie ?), fell into a sweet and profound sleep, which lasted to the middle of the next day. I arose alert in mind and body." Her calm, steady constancy may be contrasted with the desperate straits and tempestuous victory of Edmund Kean. The history of his miserable struggle his privations, and GREAT DEBUTS. 225 gallant confidence in himself all through is familiar. One November night in the year 1814, he was playing at Dorchester. "When the curtain drew up," he says and the reader will again note in how natural and effective a style most players relate their experiences " I saw a wretched house : a few people in the pit and gallery, and three persons in the boxes, showed the quality of attraction we possessed. In the stage-box, however, there was a gen- tleman who appeared to understand acting he was very attentive to the performance. Seeing this, I was deter- mined to play my best. The strange man did not applaud, but his looks told me that he was pleased. After the play I went to my dressing-room under the stage, to change my dress for the savage" Kankon, a character in a panto- mime "so that I could hear every word that was said overhead. I heard the gentleman of the stage-box ask Lee, who was the manager, the name of the performer who played Octavian. ' Oh,' answered Lee, ' his name is Kean a wonderful clever fellow.' ' Indeed !' said the gentle- man. ' He is certainly very clever, but he is very small.' ' His mind is large ; no matter for his height,' said Lee. By this time I was dressed for the savage, and I therefore mounted the stage. The gentleman bowed to me, and complimented me slightly upon my playing. ' Well,' said the gentleman, ' will you breakfast with me to-morrow ? I shall be glad to have some conversation with you. My name is Arnold ; I am the manager of Drury Lane Thea- tre.' I staggered as if I had been shot. My acting the savage was done for. I, however, stumbled through the part." On catching sight of his eldest child, who was suffering from water on the brain, he checked his delight ; and he closes his narrative with the touching comment, "If Howard gets well, we shall all be happy yet." Within a week the child died, and though the grand K* 226 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. dream of his life was about to be accomplished, this loss seemed to make him indifferent. "The joy I felt," he wrote to Drury Lane, " three days since at the flattering prospects of future prosperity is now obliterated by the un- expected loss of my child. Howard, sir, died on Monday morning last. . . . This heart-rending event must delay me longer in Dorchester than I intended. Immediately I reach London I will again, I hope with more fortitude, address you." When he reached town his appearance, and some other reasons, discouraged the manager. He was treated coldly by actors at the single rehearsal which was hurried through on the morning of his performance. The stage-manager listened contemptuously to the new actor, and declared that "it wouldn't do." At the close all shrugged their shoulders, and announced that failure was certain. "The rehearsal concluded," says Mr. Hawkins, his biographer, " Kean returned home to enjoy with his wife the unusual luxury of a dinner. He remained at home until six o'clock, when the striking of the church clocks warned him that it was time to depart. Snatching up a small bundle containing the few necessaries with which he was bound to provide himself, he kissed his wife and infant son, and hurriedly left the house. 'I wish,' he muttered, 'that I was going to be shot.' With, his well-worn boots soaked with the thickly encumbered slush, he slunk in at the stage door as if desirous of escaping observation." Everything was against him. The night, as the whole day had been, was wet and miserable. He paddled through the mud and slush, and arrived, wet through, at the thea- tre, where he silently crept to a dressing-room, of which he was allowed only a share ; dressed himself, to the amuse- ment and even contempt of his fellows, who noticed that he was putting on a black, instead of the traditional red GREAT DEBUTS. 227 wig of Shylock. The stage-manager did not remonstrate giving him up as hopeless. He hardly spoke to him. Two good-natured actors Oxberry and Bannister alone gave him some encouragement ; the former offered a glass of brandy and water. When dressed, he went to the wing, and saw an empty, cheerless house in the pit, about fifty persons. Then the curtain rose. Soon the audience began to waken to enthusiasm, and by the end of the first act, there was an instinct behind the scenes that genius was present, and that a success was at hand. The players began to gather about him and congratulate, but he shrank from them with a look, and withdrew into concealment. From that moment the enthusiasm rose, the theatre began to echo with prolonged shouts. "What now," says Dr. Doran, in a spirited passage, "was the cry in the green-room?" The answer was that the presence and power of the genius were acknowledged with an enthusiasm that shook the very roof. " How the devil so few of them kicked up such a row," said Oxberry, "was something marvelous." As before, Kean remained reserved and solitary, but he was now sought after. Raymond, the acting manager, who had haughtily told him that his innovations would not do, came to offer him oranges. Arnold, the stage-manager, who had 'young man'd' him, came to present him 'Sir' with some negus. Kean cared for nothing more now than his fourth act, and in that his triumph culminated. As he passed to the sorry and almost roofless dressing-room, Ray- mond saluted him with the confession that he had made a hit ; Pope, more generous, avowed that he had saved the house from ruin." "The pit rose at me!" was his own description. Trem- bling with agitation and excitement, he took off the Jew's dress and resumed his old, old threadbare suit, turned dis- dainfully from the genuine applause of his fellow-actors, 228 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. and left the house. Through the wet and slush he rushed home, flew upstairs, and clasped his wife in his arms. He poured out the story of his triumph. "Mary," he cried, " you shall ride in your carriage ! And Charley, my boy," and he turned to his infant ''you shall go to Eton !" Here his voice faltered, and he murmured the name of the child he had so recently lost. There is nothing in the whole round of the plays so dramatic or so thrilling as this. CHAPTER VII. " THE ILL-FATED MOSSOP."* AMONG the actors with which the stage is crowded, a most interesting figure is that of Mossop, of whom perhaps little more is known, by the average light reader, than his name and rivalry with Garrick. His unfamiliar story must attract sympathy such sympathy as is extended to the proud, rude nature that resents neglect, but disdains to complain. It is one of the most painful histories con- nected with the stage. The success of Garrick, an officer's son, and the vast interest excited in the legitimate drama, seemed to draw a number of clever young men, of good birth and con- nections, to the stage. A long list in particular could be made out of the graduates and students of Trinity Col- lege, Dublin, who adopted the profession. Distinguished among these was Henry Mossop, the son of a clergyman, himself intended for the church, but who could not resist Bonn 1729, died 1773. "THE ILL-FATED MOSSOPr 229 the attraction of the "headlights," the now familiar foot- lights then not existing. He made his appearance in 1749, as Zanga, a "tearing" part full of rage and even ferocity, and became popular. In a short time later his reputation had got to London, and be was engaged at Drury Lane by Garrick, who cheerfully offered his stage even to such brethren as were likely to shine in his own line of character. Here his powers excited admiration and ridicule. He was certainly what is called " a fine actor," conscientious, well studied, full of the character and profession, with an overweening sense of his own dignity and abilities, which yet could not be styled vanity. He had a splendid eye and a good figure, and in parts where fierce rage and blatant power were required, was excellent. But the critics soon began to find amusement in his regulated atti- tudes and stage " drill," to which he devoted unwearied pains, while his favorite position, known as the "handle and spout," one arm extended, the other bent and resting on his hip, was unsparingly ridiculed. Churchill gives this admirable picture of him : plan. Stffl kept his eye fixed on his right-hand man. White die month measures words with cunning skffl. The right hand labors and the left lies stflL Wim sorted impropriety of speech He soars beyond the hackneyed critic's reach, To efiOuts *U*b emphatic state. If Tulst prindfals. migrated, KJte lackeys aui'. fees ran, CT, ftigfatthesooL"* He was unsparing of his labors, and one of his charac- ters was found written over with the most extraordinary * This admirable sketch appeals to the ear as well as to the eye, and we can almost hear die stiff, ragged actor dwelling slowly on each pronoun. 230 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. elocutionary directions, such as "G tone, with feeling, but low;" " Vast throbs of feeling;" and the words " new de- vice" are to be illustrated by " face full to audience. Side look. Cunning, fretful, and musing. Smiling inward." Enemies of Garrick, however, suggested to him that he was put in the background, that the manager was jealous of his talents, and purposely kept him out of the " lover" characters. His haughty, sensitive soul instantly saw a design, complete and insidious. Wretched scribes in the Press inflamed him by urging the same accusation. All the time he was figuring in Richards, Zangas, and other important parts. But he pressed for the lovers ; the mana- ger good-humoredly allowed him to make the experiment, which, as may be conceived, was a ludicrous failure, and which was naturally set down by the injured player to any cause but his own deficiencies. "Mr. Mossop's departure," says his champion, Wil- liams, " was partly occasioned by an affront he took from Mr. Garrick's appointing Mr. Mossop to act Richard, as we will suppose this night and his first and best char- acter, which stood well against Mr. Garrick's, though not so artfully and finely discriminated and at the same time the manager secured a command from the Prince of Wales for the night following ; so that when Mr. Mossop had finished Richard with remarkable credit in February, 1759, to his astonishment, the Mr. Palmer of that a"ge stepped forward and said, ' To-morrow night, by command of his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales (his present Majesty), King Richard III. King Richard by Mr. Garrick.' It gave a great damp to what Mr. Mossop had just finished ; it certainly was galling, and proved duplicity and ill-nature, as well as envy." In disgust he quitted the theatre, and in 1761 went to Dublin, where he determined to have a theatre of his own, "THE ILL-FATED MOSSOP: 231 where he could play lovers and such characters as he pleased. This opens a chapter in Irish stage history the struggle of Barry and Woodward against Mossop at Smock Alley Theatre, a battle that divided the city into parties, and was fought out to the ruin of all the combatants. Two prodigal managers Barry and Woodward were reigning in partnership at Dublin, and fancied that the whole field was secure for themselves. "The consternation," writes Tate Wilkinson, "at the news was extreme. Mr. Barry was then as passionate an inamorata as ever youthful poet fancied when he loved, and would have thrown immediate bars to the engagement with Mrs. Abington, had not a sudden and important matter of astonishment at that time started up to the amazement of every faculty of eyes, ears, &c. ; for Barry and Woodward, lulled in their long wished- for security, became the dupes of their own arts, and made the wandering prodigal (Woodward) begin seriously to reflect, and severely repent his foolish conduct in leaving his enviable situation in London, and above all the horror of losing what he had saved with so much care. This dreadful alarm was no less than the certainty of a report being confirmed as real, which at first they treated as unlikely, vague, and impossible; but it proved strictly true, that Mr. Mossop, from the encouragement and insti- gation of all his friends, and patronized by the Countess of Brandon, of powerful sway, with many leaders of fashion, had certainly taken Smock Alley Theatre on a long lease, purposing many expensive and gaudy alter- ations, &c., to oppose Crow Street, in the month of Oc- tober the ensuing season. Barry and Woodward (to prevent, if possible, this dreadful undertaking) made him liberal offers; nay, even humbled themselves before him, to entreat Mossop to name his own terms. All this only 232 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. increased his pride, and he spurned at every kindness or emolument submitted to his acceptance and consideration. They even offered him one thousand pounds in English, and two benefits whenever he chose to take them ; but all would not do, though they certainly would have been losers by his acceptance : but their situation was desperate ; therefore all they could do was right, if by any means they could have effectually prevented such an opposition. Mos- sop's pride and obstinacy were, however, bent on mon- archy, and so he was the cause of mutual ruin ; but he at last suffered in a peculiar degree of punishment. " He had saved a decent fortune, and .by the absence of Barry, could have commanded a first station in London at either theatre, whenever he pleased or wished a change from Dublin ; but his pride was predominant over reason, so he prostrated fame, fortune, health, and peace of mind head- long at the shrine of vanity, where sycophants hailed him with songs of triumph in full chorus, but his festal days were few and not to be envied." A history of the Dublin stage would be a piquant con- tribution to dramatic annals. Mossop insolently declared that there should be but one theatre in Ireland, and that he should be the sole manager. No expense was spared. Each side had their patronesses, Mossop' s being the Coun- tess of Brandon, Miss Caulfield, sisterto the Earl of Charle- mont, and Lady Rachael Macdonald. He was a gentleman by birth and had aristocratic sympathies; but he was above all sense of pecuniary difficulty, being absorbed in the lofty sense of his own talent. Now he could appear as a lover. The pretty English opera of "The Maid of the Mill" was put in rehearsal, with good singers : though the performers were a little puzzled as to who was to play the tenor. Near the day of performance, however, it was announced "the part of Lord Aimwell (without the songs /) by Mr. MOSSOP." "THE ILL-FATED MOSSOP." 2 33 Tate Wilkinson then gives this lively sketch of the state of things which presently followed : " This governor of restless players (Mossop) was not by any means blessed with a tithe of Mr. Barry's pleasing abilities as an actor, or generous qualities as a man or manager. Mr. Barry had certainly a most enchanting fas- cination beyond the general lot of mankind : as a proof, it was seldom either creditor or enemy left Barry in an ill- humor, however in other respects dissatisfied or disap- pointed. Mr. Mossop was overloaded with a quantity of combustibles, consisting of pride, insolence, arrogance, and gall. "Early in March, 1762, both the tragedy candidates, Barry and Mossop, had fixed on performing Othello on the same Monday for their benefit play. Mossop relying on his novelty, Barry on his long-established reputation, the partisans prepared for the battle ; bets ran high and furious, as in the present days for pugilism. Mossop' s holder of the stakes was the Countess of Brandon, heavy in demeanor, but alert in apprehension. Her ladyship solicited his Grace the Duke of Northumberland to command Mossop' s night, to which he generously assented ; but wisely contrived to occasion a cessation of hostilities between the two com- batants, by promising to Barry, that, provided he would postpone his night to the Tuesday, he would also command that evening's entertainment, by which means the town would be kept in good-humor, the particular friends of each rest satisfied, and, his Grace also added, he should (by such attention and compliance from Mr. Barry) not be deprived of the pleasure of seeing him in his favorite character of Othello, which always afforded him the highest satisfaction. Barry of course complied, and was not inwardly displeased that the critics (without a division) would have such an immediate opportunity to compare notes on the skill and 20* 234 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. superiority of the declared opponents. On this remarkable occasion each house was equally thronged, though Barry's, on the Tuesday, was the greatest receipt, as Crow Street was capable of containing more than Smock Alley ; other- wise party zeal, added to curiosity, raised auditors in such superabundance as would have filled Drury Lane and Co- vent Garden Theatres. As to victory, Barry's Othello was so meritorious as to make Mossop's viewed at a distance only; he was as much superior in the valiant Moor as Mossop would have been to Barry in Richard or Zanga. I sat, the evening of Mossop's benefit, in an upper box, where a lady who sat next me exclaimed on Mossop's first appearance, with an archness and humor peculiar to that nation, ' O ! faith, Mossop has got two eyes in his chest !' This shrewd remark was occasioned by his wearing a heavy embossed shape (fit for Brutus or Cato), a dragon's face on the breast, with two large glaring red stones for the eyes ; his face and wig being black, conveyed exactly what the lady had so ironically expressed. Mr. Barry, though mas- terly that night of controversy, had frequently shown him- self to more advantage, merely owing to his then taking too great pains in his favorite and much esteemed part ; which proves, that lucky accidents fortunately combined with nature will perchance strike out more beauties for an artist than all the most determined force of premedi- tation. " Mr. Mossop that year had an Italian opera company, which was of infinite service to him, but astonishingly hurt his own consequence : for, what with parties and other diversions of routs, assemblies, concerts, &c. with which Dublin in the winter abounds, and opposed by the forces of Woodward and Barry (for- they still maintained their fashion and good report), the great box nights were chiefly confined to those of the burlettas. That agreeable singer "THE ILL-FATED MOSSOP: 235 and actress Signora De Amid was the principal, and was almost adored ; she after that greatly succeeded at the opera house in London, as the first serious woman singer. These Italian comic operas were all the rage, and were supported at the following prices : boxes, pit, and lettices, 5*. $d. ; middle gallery, zs. zd. ; upper gallery, \s. \d. Dublin was then torn to pieces by the perpetual application for one theatre or the other ; it was reduced quite to a party matter. The Countess of Brandon would not be seen at Crow Street upon any account, but attended constantly at her dear Mossop's. Barry, I believe, had at least con- verted the ladies two to one in his favor. Barry's making love, when on the stage, left tender impressions ; but yet this play-begging at last grew troublesome, and ended with fatal circumstances, of which an exact account has before been given. " Mossop, when he had a good house, instead of endeav- oring to extricate himself in any degree from his multi- plicity of difficulties, grew desperate, and instead of paying either his tradesman or performers, flew to the gay circles, where he was gladly admitted ; and in order to mend his broken fortune by the chance of a die or the turn up of a card of which I believe he was ignorant, and unac- quainted with the necessary arts to succeed he has often left the theatre with a hundred guineas in his pocket, and returned home with an aching head and heart ; but his guineas, with debts of honor, were all left behind. The Countess of Brandon served him greatly, it is true; but often the money she occasioned being paid at the theatre returned to her own coffers. This was the universal opin- ion of Dublin, and is all I can allege in that case as to its authenticity ; and, as to Mossop's poverty, there needs no evidence for that unfortunate reality. This conduct, and a train of evils attendant thereon, soon preyed upon his 236 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. health, involved his talents with himself, and gave bitter sours to that temper which was, in its natural source, far from being one of the best. An instance of the poverty his performers were reduced to in 1764 I will, with per- mission, relate. " The ' Distressed Mother' was to be acted Orestes Mr. Mossop ; Andromache by Mrs. Burden (whom I have so often mentioned). The salaries had not been paid for several weeks, and she was in true character as the dis- tressed woman. With infinite difficulty she forced access to the general Mossop; for it was hard to accomplish admittance on account of many inconvenient reasons, un- less on a Sunday, and on that grand levee day perform- ers and tradesmen were too menial to be admitted. But with the force of a heroine, who dauntless surmounts all barriers and tyrants at will, so Mrs. Burden burst into the ' inmost recess of his prison house,' and when arrived at the royal hall, she was as determined to preserve character ; for at the awful voice of Mossop she, Andromache-like, was prostrate at the feet of her royal master, and uttered forth in tragic tones, ' O ! sir, for God's sake assist me, I have not bread to eat. I am actually starving, and shall be turned out into the streets.' " Mossop. (In state.') Wo-man ! you have five pounds per week, wo-man ! " Mrs. Burden. True, sir: but I have been in Dublin six months, and in all that time have only received six pounds. I call every Saturday at the office for my salary but no money, is the answer : besides, sir, your credit and your honor are at stake ; how can I play Andromache, the Trojan Queen, without black satin shoes? " Mossop. Woman, begone! I insist on your having black satin shoes for Androm-a-che. And, wo-man, if you dare ask me for money again, I will forfeit you ten pounds, "THE ILL-FATED MOSSOP." 237 wo-man. So ended that real tragical scene of penury and pomposity." There were endless stories rife in the city of his straits and difficulties, the most ludicrous of which was that of the actor, who, supporting him in his (histrionic) agonies, threatened to let him fall unless he promised that his salary should be paid. As Mossop hesitated, the actor, grown desperate, was about carrying out his purpose when the other consented. Difficulties and miseries of all kinds be- gan to overwhelm him, but there can be no doubt but that the patronesses "The Right Honorable Rooks," as one account calls them helped to pillage him. He plunged into law proceedings with his rivals, in which he spent some 2000, and had at last to barricade himself in his house against bailiffs. All this time, as may be seen from a letter in the Garrick Correspondence, he was indebted to his old enemy for money and many friendly acts of assistance, which he acknowledges. But the struggle could not be sustained ; the town at last grew tired, declaring that no one cared "a toss up, whether Mossop kicked Barry, or Barry kicked Mossop," and at last, bankrupt in fortune, and to some extent in reputation, he fled from the scene of so much disaster. After this came a speedy and mysterious descent. He found his way to London, where, humiliated, scornful, and prouder than ever, he disdained to ask an engagement from Garrick. The latter, whose theatre was well pro- vided, was perhaps not very eager to secure so disagreeable and difficult an auxiliary, and not unnaturally, and in the absence of a formal application, affected not to know that Mr. Mossop desired to be engaged. Here was ground for a grievance, and though sensible friends begged of him to be rational and submit, he discovered that this was the old envy revived, and that Roscius was meanly jealous and 238 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. afraid. It must and should come from him. Garrick of course, when the matter was made a point of submission on his side, declined to move. Some low parasites that were about Mossop inflamed the brooding actor's rage; and one more clever than the rest, David Williams, pub- lished an offensive pamphlet asking "why Mr. Mossop was not engaged," and "grossly taunting Garrick with his failing powers, the feebleness of his limbs, and his lack- lustre eye. But there was a greater change noticed in his haughty enemy. He was seen moping in lowly places, emaciated, shrunk away to half his former size his voice grown hoarse and almost inarticulate and half starved. It was known indeed that he had no money and was well-nigh destitute. But when friendly voices asked how his health was, the proud tragedian answered "that he never was better:" and when friendly hands offered relief, he replied haughtily that he wanted nothing. At last, in the year 1773, the following letter from a clergyman reached Mr. Garrick. It brought news of the wretched finale. "I found him," wrote the gentleman, "preparing for death with that extraordinary solemnity which accompanied all his important actions. He had gone through the gen- eral forms of the church ; but I believe only as religious and edifying forms, and unattended with any discourse on the state of his mind. His conversations with me were the most interesting that can well be conceived, and from the extreme dejection of my own mind, and the high and tragical tone in which he expressed himself, they made a dreadful impression on me. His religion was tinctured by the characters he had studied, and many of the attributes of God were the qualities of a Zanga or a Bajazet. Among other things which gave him uneasiness, and made him THE ILL-FATED MOSSOP? 239 greatly apprehend the displeasure of that God before whom he was going to appear, his behavior to you was not the least distressing. He accused himself severely of having attributed motives of conduct to you which he firmly be- lieved you to be incapable of. He saw that he had been deceived by an excessive pride ; and lamented the injustice he had done you not only in some pecuniar}- articles, but in giving ill impressions of your character to his acquaint- ance. The very night in which he died he renewed this conversation. He often cried out, * O my dear friend ! how mean and little does Mr. Garrick's present behavior make me appear in your eyes, to whom I have given so different an idea of him! Great God, forgive me : Wit- ness, my dear William, that I die not only in charity with him, but that I honor him as a great and virtuous man. God Almighty bless and prosper him forever '" Garrick wrote back : " I thank you for your most affecting letter. Your account of poor Mossop's death distressed me greatly. I have been often told that his friends never spoke kindly of me, and I am now at a loss what behavior of mine, from the first moment I knew him till the time of his death, could have given him that unkind and, I hope, unmerited turn of mind against me. Had I known his distress, I should most certainly have relieved it, he was too great a credit to our profession not to have done all in our power to have made him easy if not happy." This was the end of the ill-fated player, who expired in a mean lodging at Chelsea. Fourpence was all the money found, and the disgrace of a funeral at the expense of the parish seemed imminent. Mr. Garrick wished to save the remains of his old comrade from such an indignity ; but a man of fashion, and Bencher of one of the Inns of Court, interposed. This gentleman, who had taken no notice of 240 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. his unhappy nephew in his misery, now felt that the re- spectability of the family was in question, and defrayed the expenses of a moderate funeral. Such is the story of the unfortunate tragedian the proud "high breathing Mr. Mossop 1 ' 1 as Tate Wilkinson happily describes him. It makes what is perhaps the most touching episode in the annals of the stage. CHAPTER VIII. LOVE AND- DEATH UPON THE STAGE. THE instances of the elevation of actresses from the stage to be peeresses and ladies of title, are pretty well known, and have added to the dignity of the stage. Beyond the fact of the marriages themselves, which were in the nature of a surprise, there was not much romance involved, and indeed some of these episodes, such as that of Miss Farren, ended in prosy fashion by separation or divorce. The Duchesses of Bolton and St. Albans, the Countesses of Derby, Essex, Brunton, Harrington*, Lady Becher, make up the brilliant histrionic roll. To this category, too, belongs the well-known story of O'Brien, the handsome actor, with Lord Ilchester's daughter, Lady Sara Strang- ways, which has been told and retold. For the present, therefore, this ground need not be gone over again. But there are some episodes of less pretensions, though of more exciting character ; stories of passionate love and death more bound up with the stage and more fruitful of interest. LOVE AND DEATH UPON THE STAGE. 241 THE HANDSOME CONWAY. In the year 1810 the Dublin stage sustained the loss of a graceful actor named Holman, and then arrived, to supply his place, a young tragedian named William Augustus Con- way, who was six feet two inches high, and reputed, as well he might be, the tallest actor on the stage. It was a phe- nomenon to see this giant play Hamlet, and such characters, but he gradually made his way and became exceedingly popular. He was born in 1789, and had been sent out to Barbadoes, but had returned when eighteen years old, and had gone on the stage. For some years he held this high position until his reputation was made, and he attracted the managers of Covent XJarden. He was engaged there in 1813, as second to Kemble, beside whom he could make little imp'ression, and soon sank into obscurity. Presently came Miss O'Neill, and the tall tragedian was selected as jeune premier, or "lover," to play with her in all the pieces with which she was captivating the town. This contrast, however, did not add to his reputation, and the critics were fond of discovering deficiencies in the ensemble, which they maintained might be supplied by an actor more suited to her talents and style than Mr. Conway. Even with this chance offered, which would have inspired an actor of less capability than Mr. Conway, he could make no advance. The reason was no doubt that failing which often so mysteriously hinders the progress of an otherwise good actor or actress an inability to excite the sympathy of the audience, whom indeed they rouse in quite an op- posite direction. At this moment there are artists on the stage, capable, laborious, cultivated, who with every exer- tion can excite only what Lamb calls "imperfect sympathy," 242 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. which is but one remove from antipathy. A player infinitely their inferior utters some small phrase in a true and tender modulation, and the whole house appreciates. The cause is no doubt a certain over-consciousness and innate affecta- tion, such as makes bashful people hard and forward. Mr. Conway was besides a good-looking actor, and was sup- posed to be followed by a crowd of female admirers. This too always helps to raise a barrier between the player and his audience: the former, flattered by "the trunkful of letters" which the handsome actor always is ready to boast of, indemnifies himself by this feminine admiration for neglect upon the stage. The next step is to disdain the applause which he cannot procure, and a certain conceit and affected superiority. Some feeling of this sort was no doubt the cause of Mr. Conway's failure. Off the stage, he received homage enough to turn his head : while the ladies at least admired him in gallant parts, such as Falconbridge and Romeo. Donaldson the actor, however, declares that, apart from physical attractions, he was excellent in these characters. The story went that "a duke's daughter" had nearly lost her wits through the fascination of this captivating player.* Miss O'Neil, however, passed away; and presently came the great Kean, and the handsome William Augustus Con- way was quite extinguished. The truth was he was stung by the perpetual ridicule and banter showered on him by the Press, especially by the personalities of " The Mirror," which had selected him and Elliston as special butts. This journal, which was directed by the eccentric Hill, pro- * This is recorded in a characteristic sentence in the " Recollections of an Actor" (Walter Donaldson). " His power over the female heart is well known : and what it must have been may be surmised when the daughter of a duke went about raving mad for this Apollo of an actor." LOVE AXD DEATH UPON THE STAGE. 243 nounced that he had a " bad voice, which was elevated into a monotonous roar, and descended to a whisper;" that his countenance during the whole performance offered one unvaried gloomy frown, that recalled " Huntley" in a circus melodrama. These criticisms grew more and more offensive. " Mr. Con way," it was stated, " must always be tracing a circle with one leg while the other acts the part of a pivot: when he stoops to lift the child, he stretches his limbs with the air of a hisus natures engaged for exhibition, and clasps his hands to the measure of one two three, and a hop." This style of criticism, steadily pursued through a course of years, at last drove him from the London stage to the provincial theatres. Coming to Bath, he was destined to find himself the hero of a grotesque adventure which offered a curious con- trast to his previous honnts fortunes. There a supremely foolish old lady who was some sev- enty-three years old fell violently in love with him, and at the close of her days capped all the follies of her life. This was the famous Mrs. Piozzi, nee Salusbury, late widow of Thrale, and still later the infatuated adorer and wife of a singer and singing master. Mr. Havward, in his enter- taining memoirs of this lady, has seriously attempted to vindicate her character; yet the fact remains that during the lifetime of her first husband, she was a light, frivolous creature, though lively enough: that she broke with the truest and noblest of characters, Johnson, because he re- monstrated too warmly with her, for what seemed to him an unbecoming marriage; and that she vindicated his opinion of her judgment and conduct by offering mar- riage, when seventy-three years old, to an actor who might have been her grandson ! This well-born lady of old an- cestry and good estate, who first selected a brewer, then a singer, and finally a third-rate actor the two latter for 244 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. their personal charms and who, at the same time, had ex- periences of the best society in London, where she might have found the superior attractions of wit and refinement, must have had singular tastes. The tendency of the mind that is cultivated is to rise and not to sink. Infatuation is indeed the name for this new passion, if we may judge by the letters of one whom it is scarcely irreverence to call a very silly old lady. They are indeed a testimony to the sagacity of Samuel Johnson, now long in his grave, and whose unsparing severity on the eve of her second marriage they more than justify. She was not old enough to have this set to the account of age ; for during many years she was to be accounted the most amaz- ingly intelligent and vivacious old lady ever known. This pitiable story adds yet another instance of that compro- mising delusion, to which the most eminent seem to be the victims.* In the month of September, 1819, she thus commences her amatory strains : " Three Sundays have now elapsed since James brought me dearest Mr. Conway's promise to write to me the very next, and were it not for the newspaper which came on Tuesday the 24th August sending me to rest comfortable, though sick enough, and under the influence of laudanum I should relapse into my former state of agonizing appre- hension on your account ; but that little darling autograph round the paper was written so steady, and so completely in the old way, whenever I look at it my spirits revive, and hope (true pulse of life) ceases to intermit, for awhile at least, and bids me be assured we shall soon meet again. I * Of the genuineness of the following extracts there can be no question. Their authenticity is proved in a manner quite convincing ; but their style is even a better proof. The letters were found at New York. LOVE AND DEATH UPON THE STAGE. 245 really was very ill three or four days; but the jury of matrons who sat on my complaint acquitted the apricots which I accused, and said they (all but two) proved an alibi. Some of the servants, who were ill too, found out (that we had, in Bessy's absence, got some mildewed tea jthat lay in a damp closet at the last lodging. We are now jremoved to a palace, a Weston palazzino, where we propose receiving Mr. Conway." She could be very graphic and amusing, this old lady ; and one of the most curious features in her letters is a sort of badinage, assumed with great art, when she found her- self growing too ardent, and which seemed to plead deli- cately that she was privileged, and only half in earnest. That stroke of the "jury of matrons" is comic; and she rather indiscreetly alludes to "a superannuated beauty fifteen or twenty years younger than myself, but sick and dropsical; her legs hanging over her shoes." This, too, is artfully put, as who should say, "Good care and pres- ervation do not depend on age ; for here is a professed beauty far younger, and not nearly so well preserved." The young actor, however, flagged occasionally in his devotion ; was often ill, and did not write; and she would appeal to him pathetically : " I feel much more immediately and sincerely interested in our own meeting after such cruel illness and dangers, and a silence that has shaken my courage more than all the savage shoutings of this new-fangled reformation. Good- night ; and God bless my valued friend, for whose perfect recovery and long-continued happiness I will pray till the post comes in. Yes ; and till life goes out from poor H. L. P. I would keep up my spirits as you wish me and your spirits too. But how can I ? Send a newspaper at least. O, for a breath of intelligence, however short, respecting health and engagements !" 246 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. She did not, however, omit appeals of a substantial shape : " I wrote to find Mr. Davie Robinson, Villiers Street, in the Strand, and bade him, when he sent my stock of wine to Bath, put half a dozen bottles of the very same in a basket and deliver to Mrs. Rudd, 41 Gerrard Street, Soho." The basket unfortunately miscarried. Still " I wish my beloved friend to keep his spirits up, but have enough to do on his dear account to keep up my own. Yet shall not the one alleviating drop of comfort, as you kindly call my letters, ever fail. Mrs. Stratton saw the horrid paragraph inserted in the Courier she writes with all possible tender- ness, and, I really do believe, true concern. Mr. Bunn's elegant expressions of friendship pleased me too." Elegant expressions of friendship ! Here we enter on the senti- mental strain ; and indeed love-making or love-writing, at this epoch, seems to have followed the model of Yorick and Eliza : " Here am I, however, praying most fervently for your restoration to all that makes life desirable, and giving God thanks for the power He lends me of affording solace to the finest soul, the fairest emanation of its celestial origin that ever was inclosed in human clay. Such clay ! But we must all be contented to bear our cross. The paschal lamb type of our blessed Saviour was ordered to be eaten/' &c. This, too, is another expedient with elderly lovers to blend religion with their affection ; and as we have seen, the artful Yorick become paternal and highly clerical in his exhortations, but Mrs. Piozzi verges on the profane. As Christmas draws on she touches a congenial string : " Accept, dearest Mr. Conway, of a real Christmas pie : it will be such a nice thing for you when, coming late home, there is no time for a better supper ; but Bessy begs you LOVE AND DEATH UPON THE STAGE. 247 will not try to eat the crust ; it will keep for weeks this weather. The fleece should be a golden one, had I the magic powers of Medea ; but I do think I was baby enough to be ashamed last night of owning I had not three pounds in the house, except your money, laid by for my benefit- ticket, which shall be replaced before that day comes." But he got to Bath at last, and the following agitated letter must have made the invalid smile : "Half-dead Bessy more concerned at what I feel for you than what she feels for herself brings this note. Mrs. Pennington left me in real affliction ; and if she found no billet at the Elephant and Castle directed to her from Kingsmead, will carry home a half-broken heart. Let my maid see you, for mercy's sake. "' Lord, ma'am,' said she, ' why if Mr. Conway was at Birmingham, you would send me; and now he is only three streets off.' " (Artful maid ! Here also following the immemorial precedents ; aged spinsters and widows, from Mrs. Wadman downwards, always accepting such comfort from their familiars.) "Go I WILL," adds Mrs. Piozzi, in large capitals; "if I die upon the road, rather than see you swallowing down agony, and saying nothing but how well you are to everybody, when I know you are wretched beyond telling !" Instead of Bessy, James goes; and Mr. Conway was implored to let him at "least see and speak to you." Motives of delicacy would of course account for the substitution. Here, in another letter, it seems as if Mr. Sterne himself was beginning : " I would not hurry you for the world. Take your own time, and do it your own way ; or rather suffer nature to do it that has done so much for you ; more, I do think, than for any mortal man. See what a scar the surgeon, however skillful, would have made in that beautiful neck ; while nature's preparation, through previous agony, made 248 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. suppurating ease come on unfelt; and the wound heals almost without a cicatrix, does it not ? So will it be with the mind. My own hasty folly and my ' violent love outran the pauser Reason.' Whilst I am advising my beloved patient, however, to turn the torrent of his fancy toward the past occurrences of human life, the dear pathetic letter now in my bosom forced me on the same method this forenoon, when my heart really sunk at the thought of such, coarse conduct." This high-flown style is delicious; and " suppurating ease" is true medical sentiment. Mr. Con way had been con- temned by a young lady to whom he had paid attention, on the ground of his inferior station and birth. His pa- troness and admirer is furious, and refurbishes some of those old weapons with which she had defended her Piozzi. His family was superior to hers, "des deux cotes, je sais ce que je dis" She went to a party, and the image of the Adonis thus attends her: "Who, I wonder, was that tall man I met at my last party ? his aspect shocked and haunted me like a spectre, so apparently majestic in misfortune. The master of the house was pointing me out to him, as if to win his atten- tion ; but no look, no smile ensued. He was not like you, except his lofty carriage. Yet I kept on thinking, so will my Conway stand when next I see .him. It was an odd feel ; and your distress presented itself so forcibly to my imagination at the moment, that my mind instinctively understood all was indeed over." All this is incoherent and strange. Again the maid comes on the scene : " Bessy cries ; but begs me not to lose my life between my scorn of your tormentors, and tender- ness for your health." But it is not uncharitable to suppose that Bessy was look- ing for a substantial legacy. The old lady was presently LOVE AND DEATH UPON THE STAGE. 249 suffering all the torments of jealousy ; and certainly it is pitiable, if not laughable, to see the condition of the poor dame descending even to the meanness of depreciating a rival. Mrs. Piozzi writes with delight how she treated this family, who had dared to trifle with her Con way. It was probably the old story a young girl flattered at the atten- tions of a handsome young fellow unsuitable in station, and the object of her civility interpreting it as serious encouragement. " Now, however, I rise to say how the evening at Ecker- sall's passed off. Mrs. Stratton and her eldest grand- daughter came early ; so I returned their salutation much as usual only refusing the hands I could not touch and talked with Mr. Fuller about ancient Thebes, its hundred gates, &c. The young lady's airy manner such as you de- scribe rightly, contrasting with your own cruel situation quite shocked me. No crying, no cast-down looks, no whim- pering, as last year changeful as the weather or the wind, she seems at perfect ease. Mrs. Stratton not so. Waddling up to me in the course of the night, she said she wanted to talk with me. 'Impossible!' was the reply. * My life is spent in such a crowd of late.' ' But on a particular sub- ject, Mrs. Piozzi.' ' Lord, ma'am, who can talk on partic- ular subjects in an assembly-room ? and the King ill beside !' So there it ended ; and for me there it shall end." Mr. Conway could not have been in the least obliged to her for this championship. No doubt he would have been eager to know what Mrs. Stratton had to say. Her being "quite shocked" at the young lady's airy manner isjtrue old woman's spite. But presently she cannot contain her spite and jealousy : " 'Tis not a year and a quarter since dear Conway, accepting of my portrait sent to Birmingham, said to the 250 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. bringer, ' O, if your lady but retains her friendship O, if I can but keep her patronage I care not for the rest.' And now, when that friendship follows you through sick- ness and through sorrow now that her patronage is daily rising in importance upon a lock of hair given or refused by une petite traltresse hangs all the happiness of my once high-spirited and high-blooded friend. Let it not be so. EXALT THY LOVE, DEJECTED HEART, and rise superior to such narrow minds. Do not, however, fancy she will ever be punished in the way you mention : no, no ; she'll wither on the thorny stem, dropping the faded and ungathered leaves : a china rose, of no good scent or flavor, false in apparent sweetness, deceitful when de- pended on unlike the flower produced in colder cli- mates, which is sought for in old age, preserved even after death a lasting and an elegant perfume a medicine too, for those whose shattered nerves require astringent remedies /" Then she entered on a religious homily. It was preach- ing, she owned, but still it came from "a heart, as Mrs. Lee says, twenty-six years old, and, as H. L. P. feels it to be, all your own." She would " die to serve him ;" and sends a bottle of wine, also a partridge. "The Courte- nays all inquired for my Conway ; all who seek favor of me ask for you ; all but ." Which aposiopesis, of course, is for the benefit of the little traltresse. Her indefatigable arts in trying to propitiate him show ingenuity. She, as it were, flies up and down, driving a nail here, a nail there, into the coffin of his affection for her rival. Yet it is easy to see her uneasiness, as the ungrateful thought must have flashed across her at times, that she was too old for these dalliances. Her impulse then was to stifle any such asso- ciation in his mind by the judicious offering of wine, of a partridge, or, more frequently still, by taking and dispos- ing of tickets for his benefit. The mixture of flattery the LOVE AND DEATH UPON THE STAGE. 251 wish to make herself of importance, and, at the same time give turn the idea that his merits alone were the cause of the sale of the tickets this little contention of motives can be read plainly in the following : " I was happy to see my dear friend's handwriting, as soon as I came home, and the tickets. I must certainly have another box secured in my name, if you have no objection. You see by the in- closed how they will insist on coming to what they call my places. My Welsh friends, however, have more wit. Mr. and Mrs. Lutwyche gave me two bank-notes for two tickets, and they must have front seats in the nest lege to where I sit myself." It would almost seem that he was disappointed at her so cavalierly refusing to listen to what the mother of his beloved had to say, for the conversation came off later. Some of the passages are worth noting as touches of human character. This was at the end of February, 1820, and this is the last of these curious letters. It was rumored in Flintshire, Mr. Hayward says, that she proposed marriage to him, and that she offered Sir T. Salus- bury a large sum for the family seat in Wales, which she wished to settle on the actor. This Mr. Hayward dismisses as a mere rumor, not worthy of any serious consideration. It is admitted, however, that Conway showed the late Mr. Mathews a letter from Mrs. Piozzi, offering marriage.* But such proof is hardly needed any one who follows the details of her infatuation for Conway, will see that her in- flammable nature could not resist the passion which had taken possession of her. Within a month of her last letter, in May, 1821, this strange old lady died, aged eighty- two years. The young * See the " New Monthly Magazine. April, 1861. 252 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. actor pursued his stage career. It is not mentioned whether he "took," as the phrase runs, anything under her will. He certainly might have had reasonable expectations, even as compensation for the ridicule he must have endured in Bath circles. He pursued his theatrical course, but seems to have failed everywhere, or to have left an impression of what was neither satisfaction nor dissatisfaction, and which is about as bad as failure. Disgusted at this indifference, he went to America, and completed his series of failures out there. Too sensitive to laugh at newspaper squibs and critics, or even to learn the art of appearing indifferent, he sank into despondency, and became "serious." This again developed into a morbid dejection. On a voyage from New York to Charleston it was noticed how silent and dejected he was, and how, though the weather was raw, he persisted in wearing only the lightest summer apparel. On the 24th of January, 1828, when the passengers were going down to dinner, he told the captain " he should never want dinner more," and presently flung himself overboard. The body was never recovered. His effects were sold, and among them were the curious letters which may have excited the amusement and pity of the reader.* II. LA BELLE MISS HENRIETTE. In the year 1818, a tall handsome girl, announced as Miss Smithson, made her appearance in London, and was received with some favor. Her talents were considered not very striking, but she had a correct style, and showed evidences of study. She was indeed no more than a third - * They are published in a little pamphlet by Mr. J. Russell Smith, of Soho. LA BELLE MISS HENRIETTE. 253 rate actress, and her name is now scarcely familiar to any but the professed students of stage chronicles. She came from Ireland, where she had been carefully educated under the patronage of ladies of rank who took an interest in her. If the stage as a profession has been disparaged it is certainly the fault of its members j for society, even of the highest and most refined order, has always been ready to open its ranks to actresses who have made a reputation for genuine acting. There is even an anxiety to cultivate the acquaint- ance of legitimate performers, and a long list, from Mrs. Siddons at the beginning of the century, to Mrs. Scott Siddons in our day, could be made out in support of this statement. It is only when the stage is perverted to pur- poses of exhibition, as in the case of burlesque pieces of a vulgar order, that an exclusion is deservedly maintained. Miss Smithson soon, as the stage chronicles are careful to tell us, found a friendly patroness in Lady Castlecoote ; and further, whenever she had a benefit "the names of Mrs. Coutts, Lady and Sir Charles Doyle, and the Countess of Belmore regularly appeared in her books. ' ' Miss Smithson, therefore, might have perhaps been recollected as a correct, well-trained, interesting actress, esteemed by her audiences, as well as by a circle of distinguished friends and patrons. Most of these would have been surprised to hear that she was destined to be the heroine of a French melodramatic romance. In the summer of the year 1827, Laurent, an old clerk of the Galignanis, who had turned manager, and, from long training in the well-known library at the Rue Vivienne, had acquired a good knowledge of English and English manners, conceived the idea of bringing an English company to Paris. He was liberal in his offers, and determined to engage only good artists. He secured Abbott, a pleasant comedian, as stage manager and actor ; Listen, Charles Kemble, and 254 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. Miss Smithson ; with some others. He offered twenty- four napoleons a week to the leading performers, and paid the expenses to and from Paris of the whole party. There happened to be a gentle fit of Anglomania abroad, one of those attacks which agitate the emotional French : and this was in favor of the English company. Otherwise it may be said, without contradiction, that the English drama is on the whole unintelligible to the French. Of the better-known Shakespeare plays, such as "Othello" and " Hamlet," the story is familiar, and they are able to follow a good actor with some general perception of what he is about. Rage and jealousy is recognizable in all countries and all languages. Again, this performance was on the eve of the great romantic revival, and the young man Alexander Dumas, who was to be one of its apostles, was, as he tells us in his diverting memoirs, an assiduous visitor to the Favart Hall, where the performances were given. He was enchanted with the English plays and players; and con- fesses, which is a good deal from a Frenchman, that they had a vast influence on his own genius. The series opened with a performance of the "Rivals," in which Liston, as Acres, produced not the slightest effect. Not a smile was seen on the faces of the audience. The disgusted low-comedian, who at home could produce a roar by a single glance of his droll eye, refused to appear again, and went home denouncing the Frenchmen as " a set of jackasses." This was an inauspicious commencement. Sheridan's "School for Scandal" was later tried, but re- ceived with perfect gravity. The most amusing incident occurred at a later period, when Macready was engaged to perform Othello. This he did with such effect, that when the curtain fell, some forty or fifty of the audience leaped upon the stage and insisted on overwhelming the tragedian with their embraces. In their enthusiasm, they forgot the LA BELLE MISS HENRIETTE. 255 artificial character of the Moor's swarthiness, and many of the gentlemen showed on their faces tokens of the honor they had enjoyed. It was then thought that tragedy would be more effective, and Miss Smithson came forward in the agonizing character of Jane Shore. To the surprise of all at home, the chord was touched, the fair Smithson was discovered to be hand- some and interesting to have an exquisitely touching voice to be full of fire and real tragic feeling. The Parisians began to rave of "la Smithson," or "Smeet sown," as it no doubt became in their mouths, and the piece was performed five and twenty nights. In the vari- ous French memoirs and criticisms we come on allusions to this actress, who is spoken of with praises that we should have thought suited only to the talents of an O'Neill or a Jordan. In the Drury Lane green-room, where she had held rank as a decent "walking lady," there was much wonder at this success. In Paris, the Royal Family used to attend, and the Duke of Berry, who had picked up some English in exile, and could use English hunting oaths with good effect, was often found behind the scenes. But it was not in this august circle that her chief admirer was to be found. A young medical student of ardent spirit, with a passion- ate love for music, chanced to witness one of her per- formances, and was captivated by the "belle Henriette Smithson," who had played Ophelia. This was the young Berlioz, a wild and irregular genius, whose essays are as characteristic as his music. His love became a frantic passion. Already a composer, he found himself compelled to express his ardor in symphoniac "Deaths of Ophelia," and other Shakesperian subjects. His soul was possessed by the one subject, and could not find rest. Betimes he would fly from Paris to the country, and after wandering 256 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. about all day and walking miles, would hurry back in the evening to the theatre to witness the performances of his idol. His longing desire was to attract her notice : for up to this time he was but one of the indistinct atoms of an audience, and might have attended for weeks without his face ever attracting observation. In his desperation he contrived, though without money, to get up a concert for the performance of his works. But a disastrous failure was the only result, and his strange style seemed opposed to all canons of good music. Following the precedent of many an enamored apprentice or draper's assistant, he began to address letters to the object of his adoration, but these were of so frantic and extravagant a description that Miss Smithson strictly enjoined her maid to take in no more from that source. This mortifying rebuff, as may be imagined, did not cure him. By superhuman exertions he arranged a second concert, and contrived that it should be given at the very theatre where Miss Smithson was playing. Their names actually appeared in the same bill his for the morning, hers for the evening performance; this did honor to the perseverance of the love-sick youth. But it was only an apparent rapprochement. The concert succeeded, but Ophelia, it would seem, was not present, and was igno- rant whether it succeeded or failed. The following morn- ing he saw her get into her traveling carriage and set off for England. Thus did the romance appear likely to end. Distracted at this loss, he was thinking of some desperate step, when an ingenious friend furnished the strangest remedy ever dreamed of in the vagaries of the gentle pas- sion. This gentleman, who was a German pianist, drew his attention to a young actress of the Boulevards, who was the image of the absent Smithson. The idea was seized on by the deserted swain, who accepted this new object as a sort of image or deputy, and transferred his LA BELLE MISS HENRIETTE. 257 passion and attentions to her. The actress returned his affection. The lover presently obtained the "prize of Rome" at the Conservatoire, and had to set out for that city to pursue his studies. While there news reached him of the marriage of his deputy flame. In a new paroxysm of despair, he fell into fresh extravagance, and set off for France furnished with three pistols for the husband, the faithless actress, and himself. At Genoa he took a last look at a "Fantastic Symphony" which he had composed. and dissolved into tears as he thought of the works of which he might be depriving the world. This produced a gent e reaction, but a sudden paroxysm caused him to fling himself into the sea, from whence he was rescued with in- finite difficulty. All this might seem incredible but for the well-known and recorded extravagance of other French- men un.!er the influence of a passion which, in their country, cannot be called " the gentle" one. His letter to Victor Hugo detailing his rescue has been preserved,* and supports this account of the transaction. The "ducking," as it would be called in prose, seems to have restored him to his senses. He complains of having been " hooked like a salmon," spread for a quarter of an hour for dead in the sun, after which he had " violent vomitings for a whole hour." Calmer thoug'vs succeeded, and he resolved that he would live for the sake of his two sisters and for an. So he returned to Rome to finish his studies. Two years later lie was in Fans again, bringing with him the " Fantastic Symphony" which had been inspired by the enchanting Smithson. He chose his rooms exactly opposite those which she had occupied. He made some inquiries. Joy and rapture ! she was actually in Paris, now manageress of a theatre and about to resume her perform- u Les Contemporains." article " Berlioz.' 22* 258 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. ances ! He determined to resume his old passion and could do so under favorable auspices. He was now an artist. He resolved to try his fortune once more with a concert. A friend engaged to bring her, and he had the exquisite satisfaction of seeing her seated among the audi- ence. The "Fantastic Symphony" of this fantastic being, with all its groans and cries, and ejaculations of love, rage, and despair, produced the effect. We are told that the young actress seemed to perceive that she was the source that inspired these strange sounds. She was seen to weep; and the next day graciously consented that the eccentric young composer, who wooed in so strange a fashion, should be introduced. He almost at once proposed marriage. Some serious difficulties, however, interposed. Her parents naturally objected to an alliance which was so un- suitable in everyway. So wild and almost childish a lover would be likely to prove an undesirable husband for a decorous and well brought-up English girl. She too had her troubles. The speculation she had embarked in was a foolish one. Almost the first night she learned how tem- porary had been her attraction : and the fickle Frenchmen did not now care to go and look at la belle Henriette. The poor actress had to sink all her savings in this project and in a short time, was compelled to withdraw from the undertaking. She became bankrupt, and was left without a shilling. The young composer, however, to his credit, prosecuted his suit. The fair Henriette at last consented, and in the year 1833 they were married. But disaster seemed to pur- sue them : for only a few days after the ceremony she fell and broke her leg. It was found, too, that the heroine had brought him some heavy debts as her portion. But he behaved with gallantry and devotion, worked hard, gave concerts and lessons, and succeeded, by paying the "LOVE AXD MADNESS: 259 creditors a little, in inducing them to wait. Meanwhile his reputation began to spread ; but with that reputation came violent prejudices, which operated on his character and made him fierce and combative ferocious in his ani- mosities and excited hosts of enemies. The story of his musical life is well known to musicians and literary men. and has little to do with the present episode. It is awkward to have to tell that the result of this romantic and stormy courtship was unsatisfactory. The French writers say that the menage was an unhappy one, all owing to "la belle Smithson" whom he had so loved. She did not make him happy. Possessed by the demon of Jealousy, she disturbed the peace of the household, so that living together became impossible. In other words, the impulsive husband was liable at any moment to become the victim of some new passion which his English wife did not perhaps tolerate ; the hero of the three pistols, the drown- ing, &c., was most likely to be the disturber of the peace of the household. But in the year 1851, when she was seized with an attack of paralysis, it is recorded that nothing could exceed the devotion and attention of her husband. The same year she died, and thus ended a very curious and little known episode connected with a romance of the stage. III. "LOVE AXD MADNESS." A notorious and disagreeable character that figured in the fast life of the last century was the Earl of Sandwich. His private character was of the most abandoned sort. In his public capacity he was highly unpopular ; the nickname of "Jemmy Twitcher" showed in what contempt he was 260 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. held. His curious "shambling" walk was always being ridiculed ; even the poor old king, when his wits had gone beyond recall, was heard to repeat with a kind of imbecile chuckle the name of "Jemmy Twitcher." The most odi- ous feature in his career was his hypocritical disloyalty to Wilkes, with whom he had shared in many an orgy, but whose indecorums he stood up to reprobate in the House of Lords being shocked by his outrages against public morality. About the year 1762 this exemplary character, when making some purchases in a milliner's shop close to Co- ven.t Garden, was attracted by a very handsome girl who was serving behind the counter. This was a Miss Ray, a common laborer's daughter who had found her way to London from Elstree, and had been apprenticed to a mantle maker at Clerkenwell. From a picture of her by Dance, her beauty would seem to have been a little exag- gerated, and there was more an expression of interest than of beauty. This accords with her character, which was retiring and amiable. Within a short time the milliner's apprentice had left the shop, and had entered upon a reg- ular course of accomplishments, which was pursued for some two years, at the expense of her noble patron. It was discovered that she had a fine voice, and one of "Jemmy Twitcher's" redeeming points being a passion for music, she soon began to display her talent in a re- markable fashion, and became a singer of merit. She was now installed at Hinchinbroke, Lord Sand- wich's seat, where the lady of the house had to submit, with as good a grace as she could, to what was at the time a not unfashionable species of affront. It was, however, in some sense varnished over by the prosecution of musical entertainments, oratorios, &c., in which the intruding lady took her part, and indeed made an awkward position as "LOVE AND MADNESS." 261 little offensive as possible. For many years this relation continued. Miss Ray's musical reputation increased. The noble amateur was fond of giving entertainments, to which all the persons of fashion and position were eager to be invited, and where Miss Ray always took the part of lead- ing soprano. She received lessons from Giardini, then a singer of eminence, and also from Mr. Bates. Lord Sand- wich's concerts at Hinchinbroke show indeed that amateur music was then more advanced than would at present be supposed. The oratorio of ' Jephthah' was a favorite piece. The Duke of Manchester's military band made part of the orchestra. Mr. Bates led, while the noble host, as Mr. Cradock, a frequent guest, comically describes it, "took the kettle drums, to animate the whole. 1 ' The ' Non Nobis' was sung during dinner, and sometimes a glee. Miss Ray, it was admitted, was the chief attraction, and even the ladies were pleased to remark how little "she assumed" upon her situation. Lady Blake indeed was so far carried away by her interest as "to advance between the parts" (it is the fussy Mr. Cradock who tells us), and address some compliments to the fair soprano. It was noticed, however, that the retiring Miss Ray was really embarrassed at this attention. She wished for no recognition beyond a musical one, and the host was heard to remark to a friend that he wished a hint could be given to the lady of rank who had paid the attention ; " for," he added, " there is a boundary line in my family which I should not wish to see exceeded. This sort of thing might upset all our pleasant music meetings." However, when the Bishop of Lincoln (Dr. Green) was also impelled to go up to compliment her on her singing of "Brighter Scenes," or of ,' Shepherds, I have lost my love," or when Mrs. Hinchcliffe, a bishop's lady, protested "feelingly," "I declare I am quite ashamed to sit opposite to her and take no notice, she is so modest and 262 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. unassuming !" it showed that Lady Blake's indiscretion had been rather severely dealt with, and that "our pleasant music meetings" could not have been in any serious danger of being overset. A censorious public was, however, a little sarcastic on this toleration by bishops, and some indifferent verses were written on the subject : " When nobles and bishops and squires are so silly To attend the leve"e of Miss Ray and of Billy, . When to show most respect for the lord of the place is, By listening to fiddlers and praising his mistress. If this be the case, and you do not dissemble, The cause do you ask? To be sure it is Handel ; There's a lord beats a drum, not yet by it disgraced, Since a bishop, perchance, by Giardini is placed ; So the high and the low are all jumbled together In order that Jephthah may go off the better." A letter of hers which has been preserved shows that the education which her protector was said to have secured for her, was not of a very high order: " June 27, 1774. "Yesterday was favored with yours, which found me very unwell indeed, but I myself sent the score of Jeph- thah directly to Miss Davis. It would have given me great pleasure to have heard Miss Davis ; and I am very much obliged to you for all your polite attention to me. My opinion is that every person will be pleased and delighted with her. Though I cannot be present at your most re- spectable meeting, which I hope will be very full ; you will have my best wishes ; and that you may continue well yourself. Should you have any other commands pray let me know them, and they shall be readily obeyed." Some years passed by, when Mr. Cradock who was a sort of amateur litterateur, and assiduously strove to secure a portion of the spare moments of men like Goldsmith, "LOVE AND MADNESS: 263 Johnson, Garrick, and others was asked to vote for a candidate professor at Cambridge, a great friend of Lord Sandwich's, and on his return was pressed to stay at Hln- chinbroke. As he and his host were entering the house they met a couple of officers, who had come to call ; one of whom was Major Reynolds an acquaintance of Lord Sandwich, the other a Captain of the 68th Foot, who was recruiting at Huntingdon. The Major was asked to dine, and then begged to be allowed to introduce his friend Captain Hackman, who was also invited to stay. They had a small party at dinner the two officers, Lord Sandwich, Mr. Cradock, and Miss Ray, who came down attended by a lady friend. After dinner there was a rub- ber of whist. Captain Hackman from the first moment was quite fascinated by Miss Ray. He did not join in the game, but " requested leave to look over the cards." Lord Sandwich " retired early." The lady was indeed now titular mistress of the mansion, and, it may be pre- sumed, had by this time driven out the rightful hostess. This little entertainment was to prove the beginning of one of the most painful tragedies of the time. The officer had commenced life by being articled to a merchant, but soon exchanged this profession for the army. For the next three weeks after the dinner he was hanging about Hinchinbroke ; he used to meet Miss Ray on her rides about the place, and being good looking believed that he had recommended himself to her good graces. He felt, however, that he had nothing to offer in exchange for her present situation ; he was very poor, and his brother-in-law, Booth, was a humble tradesman in Cheapside. She was mother of a family, and had no inclination for following about a marching regiment. In this state of affairs he obtained an introduction to the Commander-in-chief in Ireland, and set off for that country, in the hope of ob- 264 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. taining some military preferment there. In this he failed, and the infatuated man, who had been a merchant's clerk and a soldier, now once more changed his profession, took orders, and became the Rev. Mr. Hackman and Curate of Wyveston in Norfolk. This, however, did not advance his suit, though he was more pressing than ever in his attentions. Miss Ray's situation now became embarrassing. It was thought she returned the affection of her admirer, and was eager to settle down respectably. Lord Sandwich was advanced in life. The customary "settlement," the object of a pru- dent ambition with ladies in her situation, had not been made ; and her children were not provided for. Her musical gifts, too, had so developed, that she was looking to an engagement at the opera, where an actual offer of ^3000 and a free benefit had been made to her. On the other hand, she felt the weight of her obligations to one who for seventeen years had been her friend and protector. Comparing her, indeed, with other ladies of her condition, she might be considered comparatively respectable, and perhaps more a victim than a sinner. She at last seems to have found the almost frantic advances of the Rev. Mr. Hackman too embarrassing, and amounting to an annoy- ance. She was anxious to check his importunities, to be rid of so dangerous a suitor, and at Jast refused to see him. Meanwhile Lord Sandwich was becoming highly unpopu- lar ; offensive ballads were sung under the Admiralty windows : and in a riot which arose owing to the Keppel acquittal, she and Lord Sandwich had to escape in the night from the Admiralty, and were in much alarm from mob violence. The unfortunate woman was indeed pre- pared for the catastrophe that was presently to follow, by presages in the shape of alarms, jealousies, indecision, and anxiety. A friend or companion was living with her, "LOVE AND MADNESS," 265 imposed on her, it was later stated, as a sort of duenna, by Lord Sandwich. The Rev. Mr. Hackman was in town, and living in Craven Street. He at last began to be persuaded that she had finally withdrawn her affections from him, and grew almost desperate. It was now April 17, 1779, and he had discovered that she was to go out for the evening. He tried to find out where she was going, but she refused to tell him. This filled the measure, and led him to resolve on his final purpose. He stationed himself in a coffee house at Charing Cross to watch, and saw her carriage go by into the Strand; he followed and tracked her to Covent Garden Theatre: where, with her friend Signora Galli, the singer, she occupied a conspicuous position in a front box. The opera was " Love in a Village." All through the night Mr. Hackman was flitting restlessly about the house, now in the galleries, now in the lobbies, frantically watching, and now retiring to the Bedford Coffee House to drink brandy and water. He saw a great deal that must have inflamed his fiiry; the "three gentlemen, all connected with the Admiralty, who came and occasionally paid their compliments to them." Mr. Macnamara, an Irish Templar, had also paid his respects to the ladies, and Miss Ray had been seen to " coquet with him." The opera came to a conclusion ; the lobbies filled, and the Piazza echoed, with the voices of chairmen and link boys calling for coaches. Miss Ray's carriage was waiting, and she herself was coming out. Mr. Macnamara, the Irish Templar, was at hand, and observing that she was somewhat crushed in the crowd, made his way to her and gave her his arm. The agonized clergyman had seen all her gayety her coquetry with the Templar, and her carelessness as to Jus absence. He had pistols in his pocket, but had certainly come out M 23 266 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. that night with no design against her. His purpose was to wait for her at the theatre door, shoot himself, and fall a bloody corpse at her feet. The spectacle of all that enjoy- ment, her smiles to the dashing Templar who was conduct- ing her out, filled him with a sort of frenzy. The unfor- tunate lady had her foot on the step of the carriage, when a man pulled her gown ; as she turned round, she felt a pistol touch her forehead. Another second and it was dis- charged, and the Templar saw her clap her hand to her forehead an amazing exertion, for the skull was later found to be divided into halves by the shot. The next moment the man had fired at his own head and was stretched on the ground. The unhappy lady had sunk down bathed in her blood, with which the Templar, as he attempted to raise her, found himself covered. The scene may be im- agined at once horrible and picturesque; the flaring torches the ladies in their dresses and ornaments the shouts for help the wretched victim in her finery, " Sig- nora Galli" bending over her and no doubt in hysterics and the murderer on the flags, frantically beating his own head with the butt end of his pistol, and shrieking "Kill me! kill me!" for the ball had only grazed the skull. "Thus," says the customary notice of the day, "terminated the existence of the beautiful, the favored, and yet the un- fortunate Miss Ray. . . . There was scarcely any polite art in which she was not an adept, or any part of female litera- ture (?} with which she was not conversant." Her conver- sation offered an "unparalleled delicacy which character- ized her through life. In short," goes on the obituary notice in a delicious passage, "we may pronounce Miss Ray to have been a very amiable and valuable character ; for the susceptible, even among the most chaste, will scarce think one frailty an adequate counterpoise to so many good qualities : but, by placing that single frailty to nature and "LOVE AND MADNESS." 267 her sex, must join in the general pity for so worthy and accomplished a woman." The body of " the lovely victim" was carried across the street to the Shakspeare Coffee House, where also the mur- derer was conveyed. An express was sent off to the Ad- miralty to Lord Sandwich, who was expecting her home to supper at half-past ten. As she did not arrive, he grew tired, and after waiting an hour, went to bed. He was roused up at midnight by his black servant, who came with the news. He was quite stupefied and overwhelmed by the shock or as the fashionable newspapers of the day expressed it more appropriately, " his Lordship fell into the most lamentable agonies, and expressed a sorrow that did infinite honor to his feelings: indeed, what feelings must that man have who would not be agonized at such a spectacle .'" The latter portion of the sentence, it will be seen, almost annuls the compliment in the first. Hackman's wound was dressed, and his pockets were searched. There were found two letters, one addressed to Miss Ray, containing a last passionate appeal, and fresh protestations of his attachment which showed that he had not made up his mind until perhaps he had reached the theatre, to take any violent step. The second letter was to his brother-in-law, Mr. Booth, in which he set out hi-resolution to destroy himself, and the cause. He could not live, he said, without Miss Ray. And since he saw that he was now excluded from the house, and that she persistently refused to see him, he had determined to de- stroy himself. He was besides overwhelmed with debt. He did not care to live, and wished his brother all the felicity that he himself dared not to hope for. It was inferred from these letters that he only intended to kill himself, and that he was driven by a sudden and uncon- trollable fit of fury to kill her. Beauclerk, discussing this 2 68 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. point with Johnson, urged that the two pistols were in- tended for himself alone one being kept in reserve in case the first missed fire or merely wounded. The proba- bility, indeed, is that he left his house with the intention of taking his own life ; and that what he had seen at the theatre and at the end of the performance, had suddenly determined him to add the other crime to the first. This seems to have been the view of Justice Blackstone at the trial. When Hackman was at the Shakspeare, he was asked by the Templar, the question that seems to be always rather indiscreetly put on such occasions, "Why he had done such a bloody deed?" and answered calmly that this was not the place for such questions. He then earnestly de sired to see his victim, supposing that she was still alive, and being told that she was dead, begged that her poor re mains might not be exposed to the view of the curious. Sir John Fielding, the blind magistrate, arrived, at five in the morning, and finding that his wounds were not serious, made out his committal to the Bridewell. He was at onc( carried to the prison ; and when he arrived there he broke out into frantic protestations of his attachment, and talked of his victim with all the extravagance of the maddest love. That day the news was all over the town. Parson War ner, perhaps the most disreputable member of his cloth in his day, was dining at "Harry Hoare's" with a jovial party, where all the talk was about Miss Ray. Knowing his friend George Selwyn's indecent curiosity or craze about such matters, he called at the tavern where the re- mains of the unfortunate lady were laid out waiting the in- quest, and did his best to get in and have a view of them ; so as to send a full account of the morbid spectacle. But he had no interest, he said, with the doorkeepers and "LOVE AND MADNESS: 269 money was refused. The newspapers, later affected to joke on Mr. Selwyn's interest in these matters, and declared that he was detected sitting at the head of the corpse, dis- guised in a mourning cloak. On the fourteenth day she was taken down to Elstree and interred in a vault there. Her father, to whom she had always allowed a small pen- sion, was still alive. Lord Sandwich retired to the coun- try, and indeed altogether from society. When he emerged, however, not being able to resist his favorite music, per- formers would awkwardly select airs in which the deceased singer used to distinguish herself, such as ' ' Shepherds, I have lost my love !" and though " Mr. Bates" saw the un- fortunate character of the melody, it was too late to rectify the mistake, and his Lordship was seen to retire from the party in great distress. The trial came on. The prisoner was determined to plead guilty, but at the last moment was prevailed on, per- haps by the entreaties of his sister, to enter the usual plea. The case was of course proved conclusively. He made a rather pathetic defense. He said he had no wish to live. " I stand here the most wretched of human beings, and confess myself criminal in a high degree : yet while I ac- knowledge with shame and repentance that my determina- tion against my own life was formed and complete, I pro- test with that regard to truth which becomes my situation that the will to destroy her who was dearer to me than life was never mine till a momentary frenzy overpowered me, and induced me to commit the deed I deplore. I have no wish to avoid the punishment which the laws of my country appoint for my crime ; but being already too unhappy to feel a punishment in death or a satisfaction in life, I submit myself with penitence and patience to the disposal and judgment of Almighty God." This was of course a pre- pared appeal, and has rather an artificial tone. On the 270 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. other hand, a person in such a situation may not be able to trust to a natural eloquence, and though the words may have been conned by rote, the sentiment might be perfectly genuine. He received sentence with calm composure, and Lady Upper Ossory was able to write for the satisfaction of her friend Selwyn, who was still greedy of particulars, "that Mr. Hackman's behavior was glorious yesterday /" This is good evidence of the "toadyism" with which the opulent bachelor was gratified, ladies of rank and condition being thus eager to cater for his unseemly mania. Lord Carlisle, who specially attended the execution in order to furnish particulars to his friend Mr. Boswell, was even more fortunate, and was privileged with a seat in the mourning coach opposite the prisoner. " I am this mo- ment returned from it," wrote the Earl. " Everybody in- quired after you, you have friends everywhere. The poor man behaved with great fortitude : no appearances of fear were to be perceived, but many evident signs of contrition and repentance. He was long at his prayers, and when he flung down his handkerchief for a signal for the cart to move on, Jack Ketch, instead of instantly whipping on his horses, jumped on the other side of him to snatch up the handkerchief, lest he should lose his fights, and then re- turned to the head of the cart ; then, with the gesture so faithfully represented by your friejid Lord Wentworth, Jehu' d him out of the world." It seems amazing that so indecent a tone should have prevailed among men of edu- cation ; it seems to have been part of a system, as Mr. Storer, another man of pleasure of the time, specially at- tended Dr. Dodd's execution, and wrote a lively account of the proceedings, also for the entertainment of his friend Mr. George Selwyn. Thus ended this tragical history. DEATH AT THE FOOTLIGHTS. 271 IV. DEATH AT THE FOOTLIGHTS. As death " visits with equal impartiality the palace .of the rich and the hovel of the poor," it is scarcely to be expected that he would stay his hand during the glittering reign of stage delusion. Considering that this covers a period equal to nearly a fifth part of the day, and that in a great city like London so many thousands are concerned in the business, that the conditions of performing imply labor and much excitement of the nerves and heart, while the heated atmosphere, glaring lights, &c., are scarcely favorable to health, it might be expected that theatrical life would exhibit a more than average death rate. Still, when we think that in spite of the numbers who night after night make up the audiences, how rare is an instance of sudden death, we might be almost tempted to assume that within those charmed portals life was tolerably secure, and that there death was no more a reality than the mim'c dissolu- tion witnessed on the stage. It would be scarcely fanciful to ascribe this immunity to a sense of absorbed interest the grateful occupation of the mind, which suspends, as it were, the advance of decay, or illness ; though no doubt many instances could be produced of sudden seizure or death after returning from the theatre. It is certainly pleasant to think that those skillful and hardworking enter- tainers whose life is devoted to the duty of increasing " the public stock of harmless amusement" should for the most part have found their occupation healthful, and in many instances have reached to an honorable old age. There can be no doubt that "legitimate" histrionic gifts, no matter how laboriously exercised, are favorable to length of life, 272 1HE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. and that the stage is about as healthful a profession as that of the lawyer. Many actors have been seized with mortal illness either on the stage or shortly after leaving it, and have survived but a short time. But the instances of death while actually on the stage are very few indeed. The "leading case" is of course that of Palmer, "Jack Palmer," as he was familiarly styled, one of the most airy and animated com- edians of the English stage the original Joseph Surface for whom the part, it is said, was written ; and whose nat- urally insincere character furnished the author with a good many artful touches. His acting too helped Lamb to illus- trate his favorite theory, that comedy should be pitched in a key somewhat above the tones of ordinary life and should not be an accurate reproduction of the manners and the humors of the day. Author and actor, it seemed to him, should pierce to the motives and universal princi- ples of human nature, of which such surface manifestations are merely results whereas the average realist is no more than a laborious, unintelligent copyist. This passage in the Elia Essays unquestionably contains the true principle of Comedy acting and Comedy writing, and accounts for the failure of so many intelligent writers of our time. Kotzebue's lugubrious play of " The Stranger," after furnishing occasion for another great "creation" to Kem- ble, had found its way to the provinces, and, in the year 1798, was being acted at Liverpool. Palmer was engaged, and with some inappropriateness had taken the part of the misanthropical hero. Still a comedian of genius might give a very satisfactory interpretation of a tragical char- acter, though an eminent tragedian would scarcely be at home in the comedian's part. In August the theatrical world was shocked with the following account of his sudden death on the stage, which went the round of the papers : DEATH AT THE FOOTLIGHTS. 273 " DEATH OF JOHN PALMER. "On the morning of the day on which he was to have performed 'The Stranger,' he received for the first time the distressing intelligence of the death of his second son, a youth in whom his tenderest hopes were centred, and whose amiable manners had brought into action the ten- derest affections of a parent. The play, in consequence of this, was deferred ; and, during the interval, he had in vain endeavored to calm the agitation of his mind. The success with which he performed the part called for a second representation, in which he fell a sacrifice to the poignancy of his own feelings, and when the audience were doomed to witness a catastrophe which was truly melancholy. "In the fourth act, Baron Steinfort obtains an interview with the Stranger, whom he discovers to be his old friend. He prevails on him to relate the cause of his seclusion from the world : in this relation the feelings of Mr. Palmer were visibly much agitated, and at the moment he mentioned his wife and children, having uttered (as in the character), ' there is another and a better world ? he fell lifeless on the stage. The audience supposed for the moment that his fall was nothing more than a studied addition to the part ; but on seeing him carried off in deadly stiffness, the utmost astonishment and terror became depicted in every counte- nance. Hamerton, Callan, and Mara were the persons who conveyed the lifeless corpse from the stage into the green-room. Medical assistance was immediately pro- cured ; his veins were opened, but they yielded not a single drop of blood, and every other means of resusci- tation were had recourse to without effect. "The gentlemen of the faculty, finding every endeavor in- effectual, formally announced his death ; the surgical opera- tions upon the body continued about an hour ; after which, M* 274 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. all hopes of recovery having vanished, he was carried home to his lodgings on a bier, where a regular inventory was taken of his property. Mr. Aickin, the manager, came on the stage to announce the melancholy event to the audience, but was so completely overcome with grief as to be incapable of uttering a sentence, and was at length forced to retire without being able to make himself under- stood : he was bathed in tears, and, for the moment, sunk under the generous feelings of his manly nature. Incledon then came forward, and mustered sufficient resolution to communicate the dreadful circumstance. The house was instantly evacuated in mournful silence, and the people, forming themselves into parties, contemplated the fatal occurrence in the open square till a late hour next morn- ing. Doctors Mitchell and Corry gave it as their opinion that he certainly died of a broken heart, in consequence^ of the family afflictions which he had lately experienced." This incident was shocking enough, but what pecu- liarly affected the public mind was the strange coincidence of its occurring after the utterance of the words " there is another and a better world." The party of the community who regarded the stage as a nursery of all that was sinful and demoralizing, seized the occasion to point a moral ; and were not slow to see in this visitation something of a judgment. It was thought that the actor who would talk with histrionic levity of that " other and better world" to which his profession could not lead him, was appropriately chastised at such a moment, and that his fate was a warn- ing. This view was urged in pamphlets and from the pulpit ; and owing to these exertions the story has become firmly established as a melancholy tradition of the stage. Much of this dramatic element vanishes when it is ascer- tained that the event took place at another passage of the piece. The words "another and a better world" occur DEATH AT THE FOOTLIGHTS. 275 in the second act ; the unfortunate actor had reached the fourth act, and was speaking about the children to Whit- field, who played Baron Steinfort. When he came to the words " I left them at a small town hard by," the memory of his own loss no doubt rushed upon him, and after some vain attempts to articulate the words, he fell lifeless on the stage. After all, there is something more pathetic in this version. Mr. Cummins, who, as we hare seen, was one of Tate Wilkinson's leading actors, and supposed at York " to read Shakespeare better than any man in England" (and in the provinces performers thus gifted are almost as numerous as that commonly met animal " the best horse in the king- dom"), has been already sketched. Indeed he was con- sidered at York to excel even Barry in sweetness of voice, but, encouraged by the applause of that town, he grew to roar and rant, so that when Kemble came to display his own more regular talents, be was told candidly by the gal- lery that " he cud na shoot oot laik Coomens." In virtue of his popularity he retained all the round of youthful characters, though of good age and great bulk. On the evening of June zoth, 1817, be was playing in "Jane Shore" at the Leeds Theatre, and in the last scene was uttering the well-known speech - Be wtaac far me. je celestial hosts, when he suddenly tottered, sank down and expired. The audience assumed this to be part of the piece, and applauded heartily. Perhaps the poor player's suffering at that mo- ment lent a realism to the performance to which in all his career he had never yet reached. When the news became 276 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. known the deepest sympathy was felt, and the whole town thrown into commotion. This instance would have been yet more favorable to the theory of " a judgment" put for- ward by the "saints," and have pointed a moral more effectively than the case of Palmer. An actor named Bond was, in 1735, playing the old man Lusignan, and while sitting in an arm-chair, had fervently uttered the blessing on his children, set down in his part. When Zara came to reply she found that he had expired in his chair. Peterson's end had nearly the same appropriateness as Curnmins's. In October, 1758, when he was playing the Duke in " Measure for Measure," with Moody, he came to the words " Reason thus with life : If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep ; a breath thou art " when he fell into Moody's arms and shortly after expired. He must have been a pleasant creature, to judge by the solitary recorded instance of his humor, which perhaps his sudden end caused to be remembered. He was pressing a brother actor for the repayment of a sum of two shillings, now long due : " Let a fellow alone," was the reply, " I am sure to pay you in some shape o r other." Peterson an- swered good-humoredly, " I shall be obliged to you to let it be as much like two shillings as you can." His friends placed on his tomb-stone, in St. Edmund's Bury, the last words he uttered. The latest instance of all is the recent one of Mr. Jordans, a respectable, painstaking actor, who, a few months ago, was struck down when upon the stage. Seizure by apoplexy or other illness on the stage, shortly followed by death as in the cases of Peg Woffington, DEATH AT THE FOOTLIGHTS. 277 Farren, Harley, Fulham at Dublin in the year 1826, scarcely fall within this category. The players were ad- vanced in life, and the stage was scarcely connected with the attacks. "The last night," says the quaint Wilkinson, "Frod- sharn ever spoke on the stage was in October, 1768. After playing Lord Townly, and though in apparent great spirits, he died within three days after : " ' Ladies and gentlemen, on Monday evening " Corio- lanus." To which will be added' (looking seriously, and laying his hand on his heart) ' What we must all come to ! ' which expression will serve as a pause to my imperfections and digressions, and afford my reader a leisure for five minutes' reflection." Several more instances could no doubt be quoted, but these will be found sufficiently typical.* * The reader may be referred, for some curious details of the life behind the curtain, to a series of interesting papers that have lately appeared in "All the Year Round," with the following titles: " Doubles," No. 222; " Theatrical Gagging." No. 271 ; " Goose," No. 200 ; " Come the Re- corders," No. 146 ; " Stage Whispers," No. 150 ; " In the Pit." No. 154 ; " Bill of the Play," No. 156 ; " Stage Banquets," No. 164 ; " The Super," No. 175 ; " Strolling Players," No. 182 ; and " Stage Wigs," No. 185. 278 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. CHAPTER IX. THE IRELAND FORGERIES. THE story of the Ireland forgeries is singularly interest- ing as exhibiting a tour de force second only to the more wonderful attempt of Chatterton. It wants, however, the romantic element, and the piteous issue which almost re- deemed the follies of the "marvelous boy," beside whose genius and poetical power, the efforts of his imi- tator sink into a vulgar imposture. The cynic, however, may find a satisfaction in seeing how the Shakespearian critics of the day were duped, such of them, at least, whose pretensions amounted to no more than a vague v enthusiasm, and vehement controversial ardor where their notes and commentaries were concerned. One Samuel Ireland, who had been a Spitalfields silk mercer, had been led to abandon his trade for what was supposed to be antiquarian and literary pursuits, but which was virtually th6 adoption of a new trade. He collected rare old English editions with a view to their resale at large prices, a taste for securing such treasures then be- coming fashionable. In these matters he had some knowl- edge, and a certain enthusiasm, which gave an interest and energy to his pursuit. He also devoted himself to the preparation of pictorial "journeys," illustrated by sepia lithographs, which occasionally turn up on stalls, and which were described at the time as "elegant Tours which may be regarded as works of standard taste." On one of his expeditions to Stratford he brought with him his son Wil- THE IRELAND FORGERIES. 279 liam Henry,* a lad of sixteen, whom the father's enthusiasm and the sight of the various relics of the place had inspired with quite a Shakespearian glow. By constantly dwelling on the subject, and living in a sort of Shakespearian atmos- phere, this feeling soon became a sort of morbid passion or mania so absorbing as to curiously extinguish' all feeling of morality or principle. The young Ireland had heard of Chatterton's story, then recent. The extraord n ry in- terest which had been excited by it had a strange fasci- nation for him. He himself was clever, skillful in shifts and devices of penmanship, and found himself irresistibly drawn to make attempts in the same direction. One tri- fling success was fatal encouragement. He possessed an old vellum-bound volume, with arms displayed on the covers, and a dedication from the author to Queen Elizabeth. A curious idea occurred to him. He mixed water with his ink to lighten the color, and on the fly leaf proceeded to compose and write a sort of inscription to the Queen ; as though the volume had been a presentation copy. He then brought it to his father, who, he says, was enchanted, and accepted it as genuine. This is his own story, but it will be seen later that it was currently believed that the father was privy to the whole imposture. Greatly encouraged by these praises, he was eager to go on : and the subject of his second attempt shows how reckless and daring he had become even already. He had noticed in a shop win- dow a small terra-cotta bust of Cromwell, which had been rather cleverly executed by some living modeler. He brought it home, pasted a piece of paper on the back with an inscription in sham " old writing" to the effect that it had been "a present to Bradshaw" from the Protector himself. His father again fell into raptures. It was ex- * Born 1775. died 1835. 2 8o THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. hibited to the curious. Some of the clever people presently discovered that "it was in the manner of Simon," an emi- nent sculptor of Cromwell's day. But what was regarded as making the authority of the bust certain, was that the handwriting at the back was pronounced to be " wonder- fully like Bradshaw's !" The young fellow determined to aim at higher game. It was now in the year 1793, and he was just eighteen. He cut off a sheet of parchment from an old deed, a binder whom he knew had shown him how to mix a more decep- tive kind of ink, and placing some writing of the period before him, he proceeded to prepare a lease between Shake- speare and one Hemminge, duly witnessed and sealed. To insure a difference in the handwriting he wrote the wit- nesses' name with his left hand. The seal was a more serious difficulty. He tried to melt down some of the seals attached to the old deed, but he found that, instead of softening, when he held them to the fire they were baked away into powder. His ingenuity suggested a better plan. He heated a sharp knife, sliced off the top surface with the impression, and, joining it to a piece of modern wax, inserted the usual piece of ribbon between to attach it to the deed. Having thus completed his task, he walked into his father's room, whom he was always thus surprising, saying, "Sir, I have a great curiority to show you," then drew it out, and laid it on the table with "There, sir, what do you think of that.'" The father was astonished and delighted. The curiosity was exhibited to the con- noisseurs, and pronounced genuine beyond a doubt. Even the seal (selected at hazard), which bore the impression of a quintain, was found to be a device in some way connected with the Bard, and in a short time it came to be stated with all gravity that this " was Shakespeare' 's favorite seal." No better satire than this, it may be repeated, could be THE IRELAND FORGERIES. 2 8l found on the state of self-delusion to which an immoderate passion may lead the collector. Mr. Pickwick's discovery is even less absurd. The enthusiasm continued to increase, and numbers ar- rived every day to inspect the newly discovered treasure. It was tested and criticised in every way, and when there was any difficulty started, it was met by some ready solu- tion. But already his discovery was bringing inconven- iences. He was pressed with eager questionings as to where the treasure had come from : where such a travraiUt had been more was certain to be : and forthwith a story had to be cautiously and ingeniously devised. The story was as follows: It seems there was an old gentleman of antiquarian tastes with whom he had become acquainted at a coffee house, and, who finding out that he had an anti- quarian taste, mentioned that he had a roomful of old papers, documents, &c., which he was welcome to exam- ine, and also to take away what suited him. The young man had gone, and speedily discovered the precious Shake- spearian deed. The old gentleman was a little surprised, but said he would not go back from his word. The young Ireland had also discovered some valuable family papers, and the old gentleman, grateful for the service, was glad to compliment him with a present. This cloudy story was accepted with all faith by the antiquarians, though not without impatience. What was the name of this wonder- ful being, whom they longed to invade ? That, however, he had been solemnly pledged never to reveal. Presently, no less personages than Dr. Parr and Dr. Warton became interested in the subject, and curious to see the relics. There was not much, after all, to show such important people : b t his father was pressing him to make fresh in- quiries and searches; such remissness was culpable. So within a short time a " Profession of Faith" of a Protestant 24* 282 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. character was discovered in Shakespeare's own handwriting This treasure, it was announced, Doctors Parr and Wartor were coming to see. He began to feel nervous, and would have given, he owns, anything to avoid the meeting. The document was inspected and read out, and to his amaze- ment the great Dr. Parr said gravely, "Sir, we have very fine passages in our Services, but here is one who has dis- taficed tts a///" No wonder that his vanity was inflamed by so genuine a compliment. His work taken for Shake- speare's and by such judges ! After this it is to be feared that not many antiquaries are able to withstand the seduc- tion of an antique diction, or of antique writing, material, and other delusive elements. Again the amateurs were pressing him to make fresh searches. His indifference was impatiently tolerated, and he was almost forced to manufacture a few trifles to stay their appetites. He discovered " the witty conundrum of Shakespere to Maister Cowley," a bit of nonsensical dog- gerel, in which, to his surprise, the admiring commenta- tors discovered much point and significance, though, as he confesses, he had no distinct idea in his head. Growing bolder, he next discovered "a letter to Anne Hathaway," and as he was completing it, it occurred to him that a lock of hair would be a dramatic inclosure. He bethought him of such a souvenir given him by an old flame. The modern thread with which it was tied up was a difficulty ; but his artful enthusiasm was prepared, and he drew a thread out of the tapestry in the House of Lords, which was ancient enough. The hair was unanimously pronounced to answer to the traditions of the Shakespearian hair, was reverentially kissed, and portions of it set in rings. All this time, however, he had a presentiment of danger. Mr. Albany Wallis who was Garrick's solicitor, and a shrewd intelligent man discovered among some old deeds, THE IRELAND FORGERIES. 283 a signature of John Hemminge's, Shakespeare's lessee. He sent for Ireland and showed him that the signature did not in the least resemble the fictitious one. Here was an awkward discovery. The young man felt his heart sink, but had composure enough to say that it was very strange, but he thought that he could clear the matter up. As he was walking home he devised a scheme: then sat down, and from memory imitated the signature that had just been shown to him and attached it to a receipt. He then re- paired to Mr. Wallis and told this story : He had been to the old gentleman, and related the curious discovery that had been made, when the latter "shook his head with meaning, and smilingly said, 'Take that to Mr. Wallis.' " How could Mr. Wallis know that there were two Hem- minges, "one of the Globe, the other of the Curtain Theatre"? The Globe actor was distinguished as "tall John Hemminge," the Curtain actor as "short John." This elaborate falsehood was hurriedly fabricated during the few minutes that he was walking home ; and it shows that his mind had a natural bent in the direction of deceit. The explanation was accepted and the danger, for the present, escaped. Some of these freaks were no doubt prompted by a desire to victimize the antiquarian gulls, whose ignorance was really inviting deception. Thus he chanced to see an old Dutch portrait in a curiosity shop. He put a pair of scales into the hand and added W. S. in the corner. He had only to announce that it came from the old gentleman's magazine, and the antiquarians recognized it as the im- mortal Bard himself " in the character of Shylock !" "It had probably been hung up in the green-room," in com- pliment to "Maister Shakespere!" Other "relics" were produced from time to time, and the "curious" came in such crowds, that particular days in the week were an- 284 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. nounced by advertisement when they would be exhibited in Norfolk Street. A declaration of belief in the authen- ticity of the papers was drawn up by the crafty father, which visitors supposed to be judges were invited to sign : and later, to such a declaration were found attached the names of Dr. Parr, Herbert Cr&ft, Duke of Somerset, Garter King at Arms, Boswell, and others. Mr. Boswell took the matter up with his usual enthusiasm, and, kneel- ing down, thanked God that he had lived to see that day. Person, however, excused himself with the pleasant remark that he detested signing articles of any description, espe- cially articles of faith. It was scarcely wonderful that, with such encouragement, a still bolder step should have been taken. Hitherto there had been much credit, a good deal of reputation, but no profit. The Irelands were little more than dealers in lit- erary curiosities, and there was no reason why the Bard should not be made to bring pecuniary advantages. Sur- prise had often been expressed that in such a treasury of old papers no PLAY had been discovered. The poet must surely have left behind him, in company with the other scraps, some rude sketches of scenes, acts or possibly an entire drama, which had been rejected as not quite up to his standard. This was like an invitation, and soon hints were thrown out that the investigator was on the track. Presently the antiquarians were thrown into a delirium of joy by learning that a tragedy entitled VORTIGERN and ROWENA, by W. Shakespere, had been recovered. No time was lost. Offers were received from the man- agers. One from Harris of Covent Garden was declined, one from Sheridan of Drury Lane was accepted. That versatile genius had his suspicions, and was staggered by the prosy and un-Shakespearian character of many of the lines. Indeed he was said to have declared to some friends THE IRELAND FORGERIES. 285 that the piece might no doubt have been Shakespeare's work, but that he must have been drunk when he wrote it. Three hundred pounds was to be paid for the treasure, and the profits of the first sixty nights of performance divided between the sponsors and the manager. Great expense was gone to for scenery, and the parts allotted to Kemble and other important performers. But it was felt that this was going too far. A few men of real critical sagacity, such as Malone and Steevens, were persuaded by a sort of instinct that such "discov- eries" were a priori impossible, or inconsistent with what their own labors had taught them. Reed, Farmer, Ritson, Percy, and Douglas, the Bishop of Salisbury (who had al- ready exposed another imposture, Lauder's) denounced the whole as a monstrous forgery. These names carried more weight than those of amateurs like Garter King at Arms, the impulsive Boswell, or even the eccentric Parr. The specimens furnished, to be followed by others, placed the discoveries in fatally convenient shape for sober investiga- tion and critical testing ; and Malone flung himself on these with professional ardor and merciless severity.* An ordinary reader would see that this was but a rechauffe of Portia's speech. And indeed it was upon this principle that the fabrication had proceeded, working in Shake- sperian phrases and allusions, in absolute dearth of inspira- tion. But Malone showed with overwhelming force the blunders into which the writer had fallen. The letter was addressed to "Anne Hathirrewaye," whereas the old spelling is invariably Hathaway. There was no "For" *He took, for instance, the letter to Anne Hathaway, which ran: "No rude hande hath knottedde itte. Thye Willys alone hathe done the worke. Neytherre the gyldedde bawble tliatte envyronnes the heade of majestye. noe noire honoures most weyghtye wulde give me halfe the joye as didde thysse mye lyttle worke forre thee." 286 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. or "To" preceding the name, the usual form of super- scription; the "gyldedde Bawble," he showed could not have been Shakespeare's phrase who always spoke of the "Crown," simply while his loyalty would have forbidden him such a phrase. These objections, and many more he embodied in a masterly exposure.* Hte labors took the shape of a "letter to the Lord Charlemont, in which it is proved from orthography, phra- seology, dates given, or deducible by inference, and dis- similitude of handwriting, that not a single paper or deed in this extraordinary volume was written or executed by the person to whom it was ascribed." Edmund Burke paid the work the odd compliment " that he had got to the seventy-third page before he went to sleep," but justly declared that in it "was revived the spirit of that sort of criticism by which false pretense and imposture are de- tected," and which had grown so rare in England. This "inquiry" appeared at an awkward moment for the fabricators on the very eve of the performance. It was found necessary to distribute a handbill at the doors, which ran : " VORTIGERN. " A malevolent and impudent attack on the Shakespeare MSS. having appeared on the eve of representation of the play of ' Vorti- gern,' evidently intended to injure the interest of the proprietor of the MSS., Mr. Ireland feels it impossible, within the short space of time that intervenes between the publishing and the representation, to pro- duce an answer to the most illiberal and unfounded assertions in Mr. * Indeed, it is hard to resist a smile on looking at these attempts, which suggest the conventional old English with which historical novelists attempt to reproduce the times of King Hal and Queen Bess. An inscription said to have been found at the beginning of a copy of " King Lear'' ran thus : ' The Tragedy of Kynge Lear isse fromme Masterre Hollineshedde. I have inne somme lyttle departedde fromme hymme, butte thatte libbertye wille notte I truste be blammedde by mye gentle readerres." THE IRELAND FORGERIES. 287 Malone's enquiry. He is therefore induced to request that the play of ' Vortigern' may be heard with that candor which has ever dis- tinguished a British audience." This of course tended to increase the excitement, which about the doors of the theatre was enormous : opposition handbills being distributed, describing the piece as " a rank forgery." It was evident, however, that serious perils were in store for it, both before and behind the scenes. Kemble was in one of those grim humors which are favorite weaknesses of great tragedians, and had shown a marked hostility from the beginning. He had, as it were, washed his hands of the business: and when the sponsor (or author) begged that he would use his judgment in preparing the piece for the stage, the reply he received was that "it should be acted faithfully from the copy sent to the theatre." He was no doubt encouraged by the success of a similar fit of ill-humor only a few nights before. The parts, it was said, had been distributed with studious effort to make the piece as ineffective as possible. Mrs. Siddons had finally declined the heroine, believing the whole to be "an audacious imposture." Inside, the house presented an extraordinary scene. It was crammed to the roof, while conspicuous in a centre box was the Ireland party. Many had paid box prices, when no seats were to be obtained, for the purpose of get- ting down into the pit. The air was charged with the murmurs of contending factions, and the partisans and concoctors of the fraud felt uneasy presentiments. The performance began. The young fabricator was behind the scenes, nervous, agitated, but received kindly encourage- ment from the good-natured Jordan, who performed in the piece. With occasional signs of disapprobation, all went fairly for a couple of acts. But the opponents were only reserv- 2 88 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. ing their powers. The absurdities of some of the actors then came in aid, and were greeted with derision : as when Dignum, a pleasing singer, but no actor, gave out in a guttural croak an invitation to the trumpets, "Let them bellow on!" it was not unnaturally greeted with a shout of laughter ; or when Mr. Philimore, a comic performer with a large nose, who had been fitted with the part of " the Saxon general, Horsus," was killed in due course, fresh amusement was produced by his dying agonies. As the drop-scene descended, the heavy roller rested on his chest, and it was some time before he could be extricated, his groans reaching the audience, and convulsing the house with merriment. But Kemble contributed most to the general "damnation": all through he had preserved a stolid and conscientious bearing, not making the least ex- ertion, but delivering the lines in a funereal fashion. As he spoke various Shakespearian passages, the audience, with unusual intelligence, would call out, "Henry IV.," "Othello," or whatever play the line was stolen from.* But at last it went beyond endurance, and Kemble gave the signal for the coup de grace by his delivering of some lines on death : ' O thou that dost ope-wide thy hideous jaws, And with rude laughter and fantastic tricks Thou clappest thy rattling finders to thy side And when this solemn mockery is o'er " Here one universal shout pointed the application of the speech, and a chorus of groans, catcalls, and the usual hur- ricane of theatrical disapprobation sealed the fate of the * The mock stuff was, however, ingeniously put together, as in the pas- sages : " Give me a sword ! I have so clogg'd and badged this with blood And slippery gore, that it doth mock my grasp." THE IRELAND FORGERIES. 289 play. As soon as there was a lull, Kemble, with a cruel iteration, slowly and lugubriously repeated the line " And when this solemn mockery is o'er," which provoked a fresh howl, and the whole closed in confusion. The play was of course never acted again, though the fabricator was paid on the following morning. Notwith- standing this rude shock, the impostors proceeded in their task with even more confidence. The book had appeared, a magnificent volume, full of illustrations and facsimiles, and sold at an enormous price. Even now it excites won- der, from the ingenuity and elaborateness with which the deception is carried out. Had it appeared before the play, it would have brought in a splendid sum to the concocters. But more than suspicion had been aroused. A loud clamor arose that the name of the mysterious old gentleman, the owner of the treasures, should be given up. A committee was appointed to examine the question, which suggested that two of their number should be selected who were to be informed of the gentleman's name, and sworn to secrecy. In an agony of doubt, the wretched young fellow knew not what course to take, and at last bethought him of throwing himself on the generosity of Mr. Albany Wallis, the solici- tor, and confessing the whole story to him. He was natu- rally amazed at the revelation. Ireland asked him what was to be done. He good-naturedly promised to keep silence, and would give out that tl.e gentleman did not consider it safe to trust his secret to the public. Still this was only staving the matter off. At last, pressed and har- assed on all sides, the youth fled from home, and swore an affidavit before a magistrate, clearing his father, who had been attacked by Malone ; then, after an absence returned to his father to confess the whole. The father, he says, 290 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. was inexpressibly astonished, and could not believe the story; then, affected to cast him off altogether as an im- postor. Such is the story told by the young man himself in his curious "confessions." It will be seen that the object was to enlist sympathy, as in the case of Chatterton, for a youth lamentably led astray, but with a genius and clever- ness that deserved indulgence. But Steevens and others were not to be thus imposed upon. It was believed that the father, an old hand at such fabrications, had been the chief contriver, and that the house in Northumberland Street was no more than an elab- orate workshop, in which the whole family labored. The quarrel between the father and son, was supposed to have been got up with a view "of whitewashing the father," whose business it would have fatally destroyed.* A volume which he had issued, containing designs by Hogarth, long considered to be spurious, was recollected. He was also a collector of books belonging to the Shake- spearian era, which he decorated with fabricated inscrip- tions on the fly-leaves and margins, and sold as rarities. This seemed almost conclusive, or at least more probable than that a lad of sixteen should have shown such preco- cious ability. A daughter was said to have labored at the forged autographs. Finally, as Ireland had showed deceit in the imposition, his elaborate "confessions" might be equally open to the charge of being untruthful. The rest of the story is uninteresting. He is said to have become a sort of hack writer, and died, in the year 1835, in miserable circumstances. * Steevens to Bishop Percy. See also note in " Willis' Current Notes," from a gentleman well acquainted with the family. MRS. ROBINSON. 391 CHAPTER X. MRS. ROBINSON.* CLOSE to the Bristol cathedral used to stand a mansion, half a ruin, half a modern restoration, in which the well- known heroine Mary Darby, or Robinson, or "Perdita," was born. " In this awe-inspiring habitation," she says in her high-flown memoirs, " which I shall henceforth de- nominate the Minster-house, during a tempestuous night, on the twenty-seventh of November, 1758, I first opened my eyes to this world of duplicity and sorrow. I have often heard my mother say that a more stormy hour she never remembered. The wind whistled round the dark pinnacles of the minster tower, and the rain beat in tor- rents against the casements of her chamber. Through life the tempest has followed my footsteps, and I have in vain looked for a short interval of repose from the perseverance of sorrow." From this introduction, a fair idea may be gathered of the melodramatic nature of the fair creature who is about to relate her adventures. Beautiful, interesting, romantic, persecuted by those who should have protected her, pur- sued by wicked men, and further, abandoned by the faith- less lover who had led her astray, her story reads like some agonizing heroine's in the old romances. And though the life of one so frail as well as so fair, is to be sternly judged according to the conventional law of society, it will be seen that some allowance must be made for her position. Her family was of Irish origin, and formerly bore the name * Bom 1758, died 1800. 2 9 2 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. of Macdermott, which was changed to that of Darby ; her father, "a man of strong mind, high spirit, and great per- sonal intrepidity," was half an American, and all his life addicted to speculations and pleasure. When his little girl Mary was at a school kept by the Misses More, sisters of the famous Hannah, he conceived avast Quixotic scheme of founding a great fishing settlement on the Labrador, and set off for America to arrange for carrying it out. His wife and family were left behind in England. After three years' absence he returned, nearly all his fortune having been swallowed up through the Indians having destroyed the settlement. He then deserted his family, his wife having been compelled to open a small school, so as to earn means for the support of herself and her children. On this in- telligence reaching him, he characteristically became angry at what he considered was a degradation to his name, and insisted on the school being broken up. His daughter Mary, then about fourteen or fifteen years old, and showing great signs of beauty and intelligence, had been taking some lessons in dancing from a master who was connected with Covent Garden Theatre. This Professor was so struck with her intelligence that he spoke of her to one of the actors. Mr. Garrick, who was then retiring from the stage, was later induced to allow her to exhibit before him, and was so delighted that he proposed that she should appear with him. But these dazzling plans were interrupted by a more important matter. A gentleman who constantly appeared at the opposite window, and showed signs of his admiration, attracted her. " One evening, a party of six was proposed for the follow- ing Sunday ; with much persuasion my mother consented to go, and to allow that I should also attend her. Green- wich was the place fixed on for the dinner ; and we pre- pared for the day of recreation. It was then the fashion JUJfS. ROBINSON. 293 to wear silks. I remember that I wore a nightgown of pale blue lustring, with a chip hat, trimmed with ribbands of the same color. Never was I dressed so perfectly to my own satisfaction : I anticipated a day of admiration ; Heaven can bear witness that, to me, it was a day of fatal victory ! " On our stopping at the Star and Garter, at Greenwich, the person who came to hand me from the carriage was our opposite neighbor in Southampton Buildings. I was con- fused ; but my mother was indignant ! Mr. Wayman pre- sented his young friend that friend who was ordained to be MY HUSBAND. " Our party dined ; and early in the evening we returned to London. Mr. Robinson remained at Greenwich for the benefit of the air, being recently recovered from a fit of sickness. During the remainder of the evening, Mr. Way- man expatiated on the many good qualities of his friend Mr. Robinson, spoke of his future expectations from a rich old uncle, of his probable advancement in his profession, and, more than all, of his enthusiastic admiration of me. ' A few days after, Mr. Robinson paid my mother a visit. We had now removed to Villiers Street. York Buildings. My mother's fondness for books of a moral and religious character was not lost upon my new lover ; and elegantly bound editions of Hervey's Meditations, with some others of a similar description, were presented, as small tokens of admiration and respect. My mother was beguiled by these little interesting attentions, and soon began to feel a strong predilection in favor of Mr. Robinson." During the illness that followed, Mr. Robinson was so devoted that a consent was at last extorted and the mar- riage took place : the bride being so youthful that only three months before she had given up dressing her dolls. To her great surprise Mr. Robinson insisted that the matter 25* 2 9 4 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. should be kept secret, owing to family reasons, and to a fear of displeasing a firm of attorneys to whom he was articled. After a short time she began to have suspicions, and it was insisted that the bride should be taken to see the important uncle in Wales, to whom her husband gave out that he was heir but whose illegitimate son he in reality was ; unable to make further excuses, he consented, and both set off for Wales, and arrived at Mr. Harris's house. " Mr. Harris came out to receive me. I wore a dark claret-colored riding-habit, with a white beaver hat and feathers. He embraced me with excessive cordiality, while Miss Robinson, my husband's sister, with cold formality led me into the house. I never shall forget her looks or her manner. Had her brother presented the most abject being to her, she could not have taken my hand with a more frigid demeanor. Miss Robinson, though not more than twenty years of age, was Gothic in her appearance, and stiff in her deportment ; she was of low stature, and clumsy, with a countenance peculiarly formed for the ex- pression of sarcastic vulgarity a short snub nose, turned up at the point, a head thrown back with an air of hauteur, a gaudy-colored chintz gown, a thrice-bordered cap, with a profusion of ribbands, and a countenance somewhat more ruddy than was consistent with evea pure health, presented the personage whom I was to know as my future companion and kinswoman ! "Mr. Harris looked like a venerable Hawthorn; a brown fustian coat, a scarlet waistcoat edged with narrow gold, a pair of woollen splatter-dashes, and a gold -laced hat, formed the dress he generally wore. He always rode a small Welsh pony ; and was seldom in the house, except- ing at meal-time, from sunrise to the close of evening. "There was yet another personage in the domestic es- MRS. ROBINSON. 295 tablishment, who was bj Mr. Harris regarded as of no small importance: this was a venerable housekeeper, of the name of Mary Edwards. Mrs. Molly was the female Mentor of the family ; she dined at the table with Mr. Harris ; she was the governess of the domestic department: and a more overbearing, vindictive spirit never inhabited the heart of mortal, than that which pervaded the soul of the ill-natured Mrs. Molly. "It may easily be conjectured that my time passed heavily in this uninteresting circle. I was condemned either to drink ale with ' the Squire,' for Mr. Harris was only spoken of by that title, or to visit the Methodist seal seminary which Lady Huntingdon had established at Tre- vecca, another mansion-house on the estate of Mr. Harris. Miss Robinson was of this sect ; and though Mr. Harris was not a disciple of the Huntingdonian School, he was a constant church visitor on every Sunday. His zeal was indefatigable; and he would frequently fine the rustics (for be was a justice of the peace, and had been sheriff of the county) when he heard them swear, though every third sentence he uttered was attended by an oath that made his bearers shudder. " I soon became a considerable favorite with the Squire; but I did not find any yielding qualities about the hearts of Miss Betsy or Mrs. Molly. They observed me with jealous eyes ; they considered me as an interloper, whose manner attracted Mr. Harris's esteem, and who was likely to diminish their divided influence in the family. I found them daily growing weary of my society ; I perceived their sidelong glances when I was complimented by the visiting neighbors on my good looks, or taste in the choice of my dresses. Miss Robinson rode on horseback in a camlet safe-guard, with a high-crowned bonnet. I wore a fash- ionable habit, and looked like something human. Envy 25* 296 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. at length assumed the form of insolence, and I was taunted perpetually on the folly of appearing like a woman of for- tune; that a lawyer's wife had no right to dress like a duchess ; and that, though I might be very accomplished, a good housewife had no occasion for harpsichords and books ; they belonged to women who brought wherewithal to support them. Such was the language of vulgar illiberal natures ! yet for three weeks I endured it patiently. " Knowing that Mr. Harris was disposed to think favor- ably of me that he even declared he should ' have liked me for his wife, had I not married Tom, 1 though he was then between sixty and seventy years of age, I thought it most prudent to depart, lest through the machinations of Miss Betsy and Mrs. Molly I should lose the share I had gained in his affections. My mother was still at Bristol ; and the morning of our departure being arrived, to my infinite astonishment, Mr. Harris proposed accompanying us thither. It was in vain that Molly and Miss interfered to prevent him ; he swore that he would see me safe across the Channel, whatever might be the consequence of his journey. We set out together. " After passing many days at Bristol, Mr. Harris returned to Wales, and our party set out for London. Mr. Robin- son's mind was easy, and his hopes were confirmed by the kindness of his uncle : he now considered himself as the most happy of mortals. We removed from Great Queen Street, to a house, No. 13, in Hatton Garden, which had been recently built. Mr. Robinson hired it, and furnished it with peculiar elegance. I frequently inquired into the extent of his finances, and he as often assured me that they were in every respect competent to his expenses. In ad- dition to our domestic establishment, Mr. Robinson pur- chased a handsome phaeton, with saddle horses for his own use ; and I now made my debut, though scarcely emerged MRS. KOBINSOW. 297 beyond the boundaries of childhood, in the broad hemis- phere of fashionable folly. " A new face, a young person dressed with peculiar but simple elegance, was sure to attract attention at places of public entertainment. The first time I went to Ranelagh my habit was so singularly plain and quaker-like, that all eyes were fixed upon me. I wore a gown of light brown lustring with close round cuffs (it was then the fashion to wear long ruffles) ; my hair was without powder, and my head adorned with a plain round cap and a white chip hat, without any ornaments whatever. "The second place of polite entertainment, to which Mr. Robinson accompanied me, was the Pantheon Concert, then the most fashionable assemblage of the gay and the distinguished. At this place it was customary to appear much dressed ; large hoops and high feathers were univer- sally worn. " As soon as I entered the Pantheon Rotunda, 1 never shall forget the impression which my mind received : the splendor of the scene, the dome illuminated with varie- gated lamps, the music, and the beauty of the women, seemed to present a circle of enchantment. I recollect that the most lovely of fair forms met my eyes in that of Lady Almeria Carpenter. The countenance which most pleased me was that of the late Mrs. Baddeley. The first Countess of Tyrconnel also appeared with considerable iclat. But the buzz of the room, the unceasing murmur of admiration, attended the Marchioness of Townshend. I took my seat on a sofa nearly opposite to that on which she was sitting, and I observed two persons, evidently men of fashion, speaking to her; till one of them, looking towards me, with an audible voice inquired of the other 'Who is she?' "Their fixed stare disconcerted me. I rose, and lean- is* 298 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. ing on my husband's arm, again mingled in the brilliant circle. The inquirers followed us, stopping several friends, as we walked round the circle, and repeatedly demanding of them, ' Who is that young lady in the pink dress trimmed with sable?' My manner and confusion plainly evinced that I was not accustomed to the gaze of imperti- nent high breeding. I felt uneasy, and proposed returning home, when I perceived that our two followers were joined by a third, who, on looking at me, said, ' I think I know her.' It was the late Earl of Northington. " We had now to pass the group in order to quit the rotunda. Lord Northington, leaving his companions, approached me. 'Miss Darby, or I am mistaken,' said he, with a bow of marked civility. I replied that my name was now changed to that of Robinson : and, to pre- vent any awkward embarrassment, presented my husband, on whose arm I was still leaning. Lord Northington con- tinued to walk round the Pantheon with us, made many inquiries after my father, complimented me on the im- provement of my person, and hoped that he should be permitted to pay his respects to Mr. and Mrs. Robinson. " We now entered the tea-room : there was not a seat vacant : I was considerably fatigued, and somewhat faint with the heat of the rotunda. I quitted the tea-room, and seated myself on a sofa near the door. In a few minutes Lord Northington brought me a cup of tea, for Mr. Robin- son did not like to leave me alone ; and at the same time presented his two inquisitive friends, Lord Lyttelton and Captain Ayscough. "I now proposed departing. Mr. Robinson accom- panied me to the vestibule ; and while he was seeking the carriage Lord Lyttelton offered his services. I had never till that evening heard his name ; but there was an easy effrontery in his address that completely disgusted me, 299 while his determined gaze distressed and embarrassed me ; and I felt inexpressible satisfaction when Mr. Robinson returned to tell me that the carriage was ready. On the following morning Lords Northington, Lyttelton, and Colonel Ayscough made their visits of ceremony. Mr. Robinson was not at home, but I received them, though not without some embarrassment. I was yet a child, and wholly unacquainted with the manners of the world. Yet, young as I was, I became the traveler of its mazy and peril- ous paths; at an age when girls are generally at school, or indeed scarcely emancipated from the nursery, I was pre- sented in society as a wife and very nearly as a mother. Lord Lyttelton who was perhaps the most accomplished libertine that any age or country has produced, with con- siderable artifice inquired after Mr. Robinson, professed his earnest desire to cultivate his acquaintance, and on the following day sent him a card of invitation. Fortunately for me, Lord Lyttelton was uniformly my aversion. His manners were overbearingly insolent, his language licen- tious, and his person slovenly even to a degree that was disgusting. Mr. Robinson was in every respect the very reverse of his companion : he was unassuming, neat and delicate in his conversation. I had not a wish to descend from the propriety of wedded life ; and I abhorred, de- cidedly abhorred, the acquaintance with Lord Lyttelton. " In the course of a few days his Lordship presented me the works of Miss Aikin, now Mrs. Barbauld : I read them with rapture: I thought them the most beautiful poems I had ever seen ; and considered the woman who could invent such poetry, as the most to be envied of human creatures. Lord Lyttelton had some taste for poetical compositions, and wrote verses with considerable facility. " On the following Monday, I again visited the Pantheon. My dress was then white and silver. Again I was followed 3 oo THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. with attention. Lord Lyttelton was my cavaliere servente that evening; though, as usual, his chief attention was paid to Mr. Robinson. During the concert, he presented the Count de Belgioso, the Imperial Ambassador, one of the most accomplished foreigners I ever remember to have met. Lord Valentia was also introduced ; but, as his Lord- ship had recently made some eclat by his attentions to the celebrated Mrs. Elliot, I rather avoided than wished to cultivate his acquaintance. " Mr. Robinson's intercourse with the world was now rapidly augmenting. Every day was productive of some new association. Lord Lyttelton presented many of his friends: among others Captain O' Byrne, and Mr. William Brereton of Drury Lane Theatre. In the course of a short time we also became acquainted with Sir Francis Molyneux, Mr. Alderman Sayer, and the late unfortunate George Robert Fitzgerald. Lord Northington was also a con- stant visitor, and frequently rallied me on what he thought my striking likeness to his family. " I soon discovered that his intercourse with Lord Lyttel- ton produced a very considerable change in Mr. Robinson's domestic deportment. They were constantly together, and the neglect which I experienced began to alarm me. I dedicated all my leisure hours to poetry : I wrote verses of all sorts ; and Mr. Robinson having mentioned that I had purposed appearing on the stage previous to my marriage, in the character of Cordelia, Lord Lyttelton facetiously christened me the Poetess Corry. " It was with extreme regret, and frequently with un- controllable indignation, that I endured the neglect of my husband and the tauntings of the profligate Lyttelton 'The child,' for so he generally called me, was deserted for the society of the most libertine men and the most abandoned women. Mr. Robinson became not only care- 3 oi less of his wife, but of his pecuniary concerns ; while I was kept in total ignorance as to the resources which supplied his increasing expenses. "Among the most dangerous of my husband's associates was George Robert Fitzgerald. His manners towards women were interesting and attentive: he perceived the neglect with which I was treated by Mr. Robinson, and the pernicious influence which Lord Lyttelton had acquired over his mind : he professed to feel the warmest interest in my welfare, lamented the destiny which had befallen me, in being wedded to a man incapable of estimating my value, and at last confessed himself my most ardent and devoted admirer. I shuddered at the declaration, for amidst all the allurements of splendid folly, my mind, the purity of my virtue, was still uncontaminated. " I repulsed the dangerous advances of this accomplished person ; but I did not the less feel the humiliation to which a husband's indifference had exposed me. God can bear witness to the purity of my soul ; even surrounded by temptations, and mortified by neglect. Whenever I ven- tured to inquire into pecuniary resources, Mr. Robinson silenced me by saying he was independent : added to this assurance, Lord Lyttelton repeatedly promised that, through his courtly interest, he would very shortly obtain for my husband some honorable and lucrative situation. "I confess that I reposed but little confidence in the promises of such a man, though my husband believed them inviolable. Frequent parties were made at his Lordship's house in Hill Street, and many invitations pressed for a visit to his seat at Hagley. These I peremptorily re- fused ; till the noble hypocrite became convinced of my aversion, and adopted a new mode of pursuing his machina- tions. " One forenoon Lord Lyttelton called in Hatton Garden, 26 3 02 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. as was almost his daily custom ; and, on finding that Mr. Robinson was not at home, requested to speak with me on business of importance. I found him seemingly much dis- tressed. He informed me that he had a secret to com- municate of considerable moment both to my interest and happiness. I started : ' Nothing, I trust in heaven, has befallen my husband !' said I, with a voice scarcely articu- late. Lord Lyttelton hesitated. ' How little does that husband deserve the solicitude of such a wife!' said he; 'but,' continued his Lordship, ' I fear that I have in some degree aided in alienating his conjugal affections. I could not bear to see such youth, such merit, so sacrificed.' 'Speak briefly, my Lord,' said I. 'Then,' replied Lord Lyttelton, ' I must inform you that your husband is the most false and undeserving of that name !' . . . " ' I do not believe it,' said I, indignantly. 'Then you shall be convinced,' answered his Lordship 'but remem- ber, if you betray your true and zealous friend, I must fight your husband ; for he never will forgive my having discovered his infidelity.' "'It cannot be true,' said I. 'You have been misin- formed.' "'Hear me,' said he. 'You cannot be a stranger to my motives for thus cultivating the friendship of your husband : my fortune is at your disposal. Robinson is a ruined man ; his debts are considerable, and nothing but destruction can await you. Leave him. Command my powers to serve you.' ' I would hear no more my hours were all dedicated to sorrow ; for I now heard that my husband even at the period of his marriage, had an attachment which he had not broken ; and that his infidelities were as public as the ruin of his finances was inevitable. I remonstrated I was almost frantic. My distress was useless ; my wishes to MJfS. XOBIXSOX. 33 retrench our expenses were ineffectual. Lord Lyttelton now rested his only hope in the certainty of my husband's ruin. He therefore took every step and embraced every opportunity to involve him more deeply in calamity. Parties were made to Richmond and Salthill, to Ascot Heath and Epsom races; in all of which Mr. Robinson bore his share of expense, with the addition of post-horses. Whenever he seemed to shrink from his augmenting in- discretion, Lord Lyttelton assured him that, through his interest, an appointment of honorable and pecuniary im- portance should be obtained: though I embraced every opportunity to assure his Lordship that no consideration upon earth should ever make me the victim of his artifice. "Mr. Fitzgerald still paid me unremitting attention. His manners towards women were beautifully interesting. He frequently cautioned me against the libertine Lyttelton, and as frequently lamented the misguided confidence which Mr. Robinson reposed in him " About this time a party was one evening made to Vaux- halL Mr. Fitzgerald was the person who proposed it, and it consisted of six or eight persons. The night was warm, and the gardens crowded ; we supped in the circle which has the statue of Handel in its centre. The hour growing late, or rather early in the morning, our company dispersed, and no one remained excepting Mr. Robinson, Mr. Fitz- gerald, and myself. Suddenly a noise was heard near the orchestra ; a crowd had assembled, and two gentlemen were quarreling furiously. Mr. R. and Fitzgerald ran out of the box. I rose to follow them, but they were lost in the throng, and I thought it most prudent to resume my place, which I bad just quitted, as the only certain way of their finding me in safety. In a moment Fitzgerald returned : ' Robinson,' said he, is gone to seek you at the entrance- door ; he thought you had quitted the box.' ' I did for a 34 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. moment,' said I, 'but I was fearful of losing him in the crowd, and therefore returned.' " 'Let me conduct you to the door; we shall certainly find him there,' replied Mr. Fitzgerald: 'I know that he will be uneasy. ' I took his arm, and we ran hastily towards the entrance-door on the Vauxhall Road. "Mr. Robinson was not there: we proceeded to look for our carriage, it stood at some distance. I was alarmed and bewildered. Mr. Fitzgerald hurried me along. ' Don't be uneasy, we shall certainly find him,' said he, ' for I left him here not five minutes ago.' As he spoke he stopped abruptly ; a servant opened a chaise door ; there were four horses harnessed to it : and, by the light of the lamps on the side of the foot-path, I plainly perceived a pistol in the pocket of the door, which was open. I drew back. Mr. Fitzgerald placed his arm round my waist, and endeavored to lift me up the step of the chaise ; the servant watching at a little distance. I resisted, and inquired what he meant by such conduct ; his hand trembled excessively, while he said in a low voice : ' Robinson can but fight me.' I was terrified beyond all description : I made him loose his hold and ran towards the entrance-door. Mr. Fitzgerald now perceived Mr. Robinson. 'Here he comes!' ex- claimed he with an easy nonchalance. ' We had found the wrong carriage, Mr. Robinson : we have been looking after you, and Mrs. Robinson is alarmed beyond expression.' " ' I am indeed !' said I. Mr. Robinson now took my hand. We stepped into the coach, and Mr. Fitzgerald followed. As we proceeded towards Hatton Garden, the sky incessantly flashed lightning. I was terrified by the combination of events; and I was in a situation which rendered any alarm peculiarly dangerous, for I was several months advanced in that state which afterwards terminated by presenting to me my only child my darling MARIA. AIRS. ROBINSON. 35 "I had often heard of Mr. Fitzgerald's propensity to dueling I recollected my own delicate situation I val- ued my husband's safety, I therefore did not mention the adventure of the evening : particularly as Mr. Fitzgerald observed, in our way to Hatton Garden, that he had ' nearly made a strange mistake, and taken possession of another person's carriage.' This remark appeared so plau- sible that nothing further was said upon the subject. " From that evening I was particularly cautious in avoid- ing Fitzgerald. He was too daring, and too fascinating a being, to be allowed the smallest marks of confidence. Whenever he called, I was denied to him : and at length, perceiving the impracticability of his plan, he desisted, and seldom called excepting to leave his name, as a visitor of ceremony. " I do not recount these events, these plans for my en- thrallment, with a view to convey anything like personal vanity; for I can with truth affirm that I never thought myself entitled to admiration that could endanger my security. " I was now known, by name, at every public place in and near the metropolis : our circle of acquaintances en- larged daily ; my friend Lady Yea was my constant com- panion. Mr. Robinson became desperate, from a thorough conviction that no effort of economy or professional labor could arrange his shattered finances : the large debt which he owed previous to his marriage with me, having laid the foundation for every succeeding embarrassment. " The moment now approached when the arcanum was to be developed ; and an execution on Mr. Robinson's effects, at the suit of an annuitant, decided the doubts and fears which had long afflicted me. I was in a great degree prepared for this event, by the evident inquietude of my husband's mind, and his frequent interviews with persons 26* 306 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. of a mysterious description. Indeed this crisis seemed rather consolatory than appalling." After many trials and humiliations she went to the country, but soon came back to London. She brought a small collection of poems with her, which she intended publishing, and her "sweet Maria." A few days after her arrival she was induced again to visit Ranalagh, when the persevering Mr. Fitzgerald and odious Lyttelton again pur- sued her with their attentions. Her husband was almost at once arrested, and his beautiful wife took up her abode with him in the prison. There seemed to be no prospect of extrication, when the idea of the stage again recurred. Friends assisted ; she was introduced to Sheridan, who af- fected to be astonished by her powers, though he was more probably calculating what an addition such a fascinating creature would be to the ranks of his actresses. Mr. Rob- inson, who possessed more than the average ingenuity and shifts of needy men, soon obtained his release, and the matter was now pushed forward with great zeal and earnestness. " The only objection which I felt to the idea of appear- ing on the stage was my then increasing state of domestic solicitude. I was, at the period when Mr. Sheridan was first presented to me, some months advanced in that sit- uation which afterwards, by the birth of Sophia, made me a second time a mother. Yet such was my imprudent fondness for Maria that I was still a nurse ; and my con- stitution was very considerably impaired by the effects of these combining circumstances. "An appointment was made in the green-room of Drury-Lane Theatre. Mr. Garrick, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Brereton, and my husband were present ; I there recited the principal scenes of Juliet, Mr. Brereton repeating those of Romeo, and Mr. Garrick, without hesitation, fixed on that character as a trial part for my debut. AfRS. ROBINSON. 3 7 "It is impossible to describe the various emotions of hope and fear that possessed my mind when the important day was announced in the play-bills. "The theatre was crowded with fashionable spectators: the green-room and orchestra (where Mr. Garrick sat during the night) were thronged with critics. My dress was a pale pink satin, trimmed with crape, richly spangled with silver ; my head was ornamented with white feathers, and my monumental suit, for the last scene, was white satin and completely plain ; excepting that I wore a veil of the most transparent gauze, which fell quite to my feet from the back of my head, and a string of beads round my waist, to which was suspended a cross appropriately fashioned. " When I approached the side wing my heart throbbed convulsively : I then began to fear that my resolution would fail, and I leaned upon the nurse's arm, almost fainting. Mr. Sheridan and several other friends encour- aged me to proceed ; and at length, with trembling limbs and fearful apprehension, I approached the audience. "The thundering applause that greeted me nearly over- powered all my faculties. I stood mute and bending with alarm, which did not subside till I had feebly articulated the few sentences of the first short scene, during the whole of which I had never once ventured to look at the audience. On my return to the green-room, I was again encouraged, as far as my looks were deemed deserving of approbation ; for of my powers nothing yet could be known, my fears having as it were palsied both my voice and action. The second scene being the masquerade, I had time to collect myself. I never shall forget the sensation which rushed through my bosom when I first looked towards the pit. I beheld a gradual ascent of heads : all eyes were fixed upon me ; and the sensation they conveyed was awfully impres- 308 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. sive : but the keen, the penetrating eyes of Mr. Garrick, darting their lustre from the centre of the orchestra, were, beyond all others, the objects most conspicuous. "As I acquired courage I found the applause augment; and the night was concluded with peals of clamorous ap- probation. I was complimented on all sides ; but the praise of one object, whom most I wished to please, was flattering even to the extent of human vanity. I then ex- perienced, for the first time in my life, a gratification which language could not utter. I had till that period known no impulse beyond that of friendship ; I had been an example of conjugal fidelity ; but I had never known the perils to which the feeling heart is subjected, in an union of regard wholly uninfluenced by the affections of the soul. " The second character which I played was Amanda, in ' A Trip to Scarbro.' The play was altered from Van- burgh's ' Relapse' ; and the audience, supposing it was a new piece, on finding themselves deceived, expressed a considerable degree of disapprobation. I was terrified beyond imagination when Mrs. Yates, no longer able to bear the hissing of the audience, quitted the scene and left me alone to encounter the critic tempest. I stood for some moments as though I had been petrified : Mr. Sheri- dan, from the side wing, desired me not to quit the boards ; the late Duke of Cumberland, from the stage-box, bade me take courage ' It is not you, but the play, they hiss,' said his Royal Highness. I curtsied ; and that curtsey seemed to electrify the whole house ; for a thundering peal of en- couraging applause followed, the comedy was suffered to go on, and is to this hour a stock play at Drury Lane Theatre. " I often saw Mr. Sheridan, whose manner had lost no- thing of its interesting attention. He continued to visit me very frequently, and always gave me the most friendly MKS. XOBIXSOA*. 39 counsel. He knew that I was not properly protected by Mr. Robinson,* but he was too generous to build his gratifica- tion on the detraction of another. The happiest moments I then knew were passed in the society of this distinguished being. He saw me ill-bestowed upon a man who neither loved nor valued me : he lamented my destiny, but with such delicate propriety, that it consoled while it revealed to me the un happiness of my situation. " My popularity increasing every night that I appeared, my prospects, both of fame and affluence, began to brighten. We now hired the house which is situated between the Hnmmnms and the Bedford Arms, Covent Garden : it had been built (I believe) by Doctor Fisher, who married the widow of the celebrated actor Powell : bat Mr. Robinson took the premises of Mrs. Mattocks, of Corent Garden Theatre. The house was particularly convenient in every respect ; but, above all on account of its vicinity to Dniry Lane. Here I hoped to enjoy, at least, some cheerful days, as I found that my circle of friends increased almost hourly. In proportion as play obtained its influence over my husband's mind, his small degree of remaining regard for me visibly decayed. We now had horses, a phaeton and ponies ; and my fashions in dress were fol- lowed with flattering avidity. My house was thronged with visitors, and my morning levees were crowded, so that I could scarcely find a quiet hour for study. Mr. Sheridan was still my most esteemed of friends. He ad- vised me with the gentlest anxiety, and he warned me of the danger which expense would produce, and which might interrupt the rising progress of my dramatic reputation. Situated as I was at this time, the effort was difficult to avoid the society of Mr. Sheridan. He was manager of the theatre. I could not shun seeing and conversing with him, at rehearsals and behind the scenes : and his con- 3 io THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. versation was always such as to fascinate and charm me. The green-room was frequented by nobility and men of genius ; among these were Mr. Fox and the Earl of Derby. I had then been married more than four years, my daughter Maria Elizabeth nearly three years old. I had been then seen, and known, at all public places from the age of fifteen ; yet I knew as little of the world's deceptions as though I had been educated in the deserts of Siberia. I believed every woman friendly, every man sincere, till I discovered proofs that their characters were deceptive. " I had now performed two seasons, in tragedy and comedy. The play of THE WINTER'S TALE was this sea- son commanded by their majesties. I never had performed before the royal family ; and the first character in which I was destined so to appear was that of PERDITA. I had fre- quently played the part, both with the Hermione of Mrs. Hartley and of Miss Farren ; but I felt a strange degree of alarm when I found my name announced to perform it before the royal family. " In the green-room I was rallied on the occasion ; and Mr. Smith, whose gentlemanly manners and enlightened conversation rendered him an ornament to the profession, who performed the part of Leontes, laughingly exclaimed, ' By Jove, Mrs. Robinson, you will make a conquest of the Prince: for to-night you look handsomer than ever.' I smiled at the unmerited compliment ; and little foresaw the vast variety of events that would arise from that night's exhibition ! "As I stood in the wing opposite the Prince's box, waiting to go on the stage, Mr. Ford, the manager's son, and now a respectable defender of the laws, presented a friend who accompanied him ; this friend was Lord Vis- count Maiden, now Earl of Essex. " We entered into conversation during a few minutes, MRS. ROBINSON. ' 3 ! f the Prince of Wales all the time observing us, and fre- quently speaking to Colonel (now General) Lake and to the Hon Mr. Legge, brother to Lord Lewisham, who was in waiting on his Royal Highness. I hurried through the first scene, not without much embarrassment, owing to the fixed attention with which the Prince of Wales honored me. Indeed, some flattering remarks which were made by his Royal Highness met my ear as I stood near his box, and I was overwhelmed with confusion. " The Prince's particular attention was observed by every- one, and I was again rallied at the end of the play. On the last curtsey, the royal family condescendingly returned a bow to the performers : but, just as the curtain was fall- ing, my eyes met those of the Prince of Wales ; and with a look that I nerer shall forget, he gently inclined his head a second time: I felt the compliment, and blushed my gratitnde. " During the entertainment, Lord Maiden never ceased conversing with me ! he was young, pleasing, and perfectly accomplished. He remarked the particular applause which the Prince had bestowed on ray performance, said a thou- sand civil things, and detained me in conversation till the evening's performance was concluded. "I was now going to my chair, which waited, when I met the royal family crossing the stage. I was again honored with a very marked and low bow from the Prince of Wales. On my return home, I had a party to supper; and the whole conversation centred in encomiums on the person, graces, and amiable manners of the illustrious heir-apparent. " Within two or three days of this time, Lord Maiden made me a morning visit : Mr. Robinson was not at home, and I received him rather awkwardly. But his Lordship's embarrassment far exceeded mine : he attempted to speak, paused, hesitated, apologized : I knew not why. He hoped 3 I2 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. I would pardon him ; that I would not mention something he had to communicate; that I would consider the peculiar delicacy of his situation, and then act as I thought proper. I could not comprehend his meaning, and therefore re- quested that he would be explicit. " After some moments of evident rumination, he trem- blingly drew a small letter from his pocket. I took it, and knew not what to say. It was addressed to PERDITA. I smiled, I believe, rather sarcastically, and opened the billet. It contained only a few words, but those expressive of more than common civility : they were signed, FLORIZEL. " 'Well, my Lord, and what does this mean?' said I, half angry. " ' Can you not guess the writer?' said Lord Maiden. " 'Perhaps yourself, my Lord?' cried I, gravely. "'Upon my honor, no,' said the Viscount. 'I should not have dared so to address you on so short an acquaint- ance. ' "I pressed him to tell me from whom the letter came. He again hesitated : he seemed confused and sorry that he had undertaken to deliver it. ' I hope that I shall not forfeit your good opinion,' said he, 'but ' "'But what, my Lord?' " ' I could not refuse, for the letter is from the Prince of Wales.' "I was astonished: I confess that I was agitated; but I was also somewhat skeptical as to the truth of Lord Maiden's assertion. I returned a formal and a doubtful answer ; and his Lordship shortly after took his leave. "A thousand times did I read this short but expressive letter ; still I did not implicitly believe that it was written by the Prince: I rather considered it as an experiment made by Lord Maiden either on my vanity or propriety of conduct. On the next evening the Viscount repeated his MRS. ROBINSON. 313 visit : we had a card-party of six or seven, and the Prince of Wales was again the subject of unbounded panegyric. Lord Maiden spoke of his Royal Highness' s manners as the most polished and fascinating; of his temper, as the most engaging; and of his mind, the most replete with every amiable sentiment. I heard these praises, and my heart beat with conscious pride, while memory turned to the partial but delicately respectful letter which I had received on the preceding morning. "The next day, Lord Maiden brought me a second letter. He assured me that the Prince was most unhappy lest I should be offended at his conduct ; and that he conjured me to go that night to the Oratorio, where he would by some signal convince me that he was the writer of the letters, supposing I was still skeptical as to their authenticity. "I went to the Oratorio; and, on my taking my seat in the balcony box, the Prince almost instantaneously ob- served me. He held the printed bill before his face, and drew his hand across his forehead ; still fixing his eyes on me. I was confused, and knew not what to do. My hus- band was with me, and I was fearful of his observing what passed. Still the Prince continued to make signs, such as moving his hand on the edge of the box as if writing, theft speaking to the Duke of York (then Bishop of Osnaburg) who also looked towards me with particular attention. "I now observed one of the gentlemen in waiting bring the Prince a glass of water ; before he raised it to his lips, he looked at me. So marked was his Royal Highness's conduct that many of the audience observed it : several persons in the pit directed their gaze at the place where I sat ; and, on the following day, one of the diurnal prints observed that there was one passage in Dryden's Ode which seemed particularly interesting to the Prince of Wales, who o 27 3 i4 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. ' Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, And sigh'd, and look'd, and sigh'd again.' "However flattering it might have been, to female van- ity, to know that the most admired and most accomplished Prince in Europe was devotedly attached to me; however dangerous to the heart such idolatry as his Royal Highness, during many months, professed in almost daily letters, which were conveyed to me by Lord Maiden, still I de- clined any interview with his Royal Highness. I was not insensible to all his powers of attraction : I thought him one of the most amiable of men. There was a beautiful ingenuousness in his language, a warm and enthusiastic adoration expressed in every letter, which interested and charmed me. During the whole spring, till the theatre closed, this correspondence continued ; every day giving me some new assurance of inviolable affection. "After we had corresponded some months without ever speaking to each other (for I still declined meeting his Royal Highness, from a dread of the eclat which such a connection would produce, and the fear of injuring him in the opinion of his royal relatives) I received, through the hands of Lord Maiden, the Prince's portrait in minia- ture painted by the late Mr. Meyer. This picture is now in my possession. Within the case was a small heart cut in paper, which I also have : on one side was written 'Je ne change qii* en mourant.' On the other, ' Unalterable to my Perdita through life. ' " During many months of confidential correspondence, I always offered his Royal Highness the best advice in my power ; and disclaimed every sordid and interested thought. At every interview with Lord Maiden, I perceived that he regretted the task he had undertaken ; but he assured me that the Prince was almost frantic whenever he suggested MXS. XOSfJVSO.V. 315 a wish to decline interfering. Once I remember his Lord- ship's teliing me that the late Duke of Cumberland had made him a visit early in the morning, at his house in Clarges Street, informing him that the Prince was most wretched on my account, and imploring him to continue his services only a short time longer. The Prince's estab- lishment was then in agitation : at this period his Royal Highness still resided in Buckingham House. " A proposal was now made that I should meet his Royal Highness, at his apartments, in the disguise of male attire. I was accustomed to perform in that dress, and the Prince had seen me (I believe) in the character of the * Irish Widow.* To this plan I decidedly objected. The in- delicacy of such a step, as well as the danger of detec- tion, made me shrink from the proposal. My refusal threw his Royal Highness into the most distressing agita- tion, as was expressed by the letter which I received on the following morning. Lord Maiden again lamented that he had engaged himself in the intercourse : and de- clared that he had himself conceived so violent a passion for me that he was the most miserable and unfortunate of mortals. '* During this period, though Mr. Robinson was a stranger to my epistolary intercourse with the Prince, his conduct was entirely neglectful. He was perfectly careless respect- ing my fame and my repose. His indifference naturally produced an alienation of esteem on my side, and the increasing adoration of the most enchanting of mortals hourly reconciled my mind to the idea of a separation. The unbounded assurances of lasting affection which I received from his Royal Highness in many scores of the most elo- quent letters, the contempt which I experienced from my husband, and the perpetual labor which I underwent for his support, at length began to weary my fortitude. Still 3 i6 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. I was reluctant to become the theme of public animadver- sion ; and still I remonstrated with my husband on the unkindness of his conduct." It should be mentioned that these candid confessions were written at a period when her frailties had been con- doned and she had found a number of friends and acquaint- ances of a respectable character, who felt that a weak and interesting woman had been deliberately made the victim of one of the most selfish and unprincipled of men. The unfortunate lady was quite dazzled by the tinsel charms of this sham Adonis, and seemed to find something more than mortal in the florid beauty of this most gross and selfish of admirers. Without officially extenuating her follies, this much may be said, that she is entitled to some indulgence on the ground of the neglect of the husband who should have protected her, and the persevering arts that were em- ployed to ensnare her. A still more favorable extenuation was, that being of an unformed and romantic turn, it was artfully attempted to give a sentimental and comparatively innocent turn to the affair, and incidents of secrecy, dis- guise, mufflings, &c., were employed by the precocious lover, who had dubbed himself Florizel, and the finished scoundrel, Lord Maiden, who acted as his agent in the affair. The loves of Florizel and Perdita sounded prettily in the newspapers, which in the "obsequious jargon then fashionable spoke of one "whose manners were resistless and whose was victory." At length "after many alternations of feeling," a meet- ing was arranged under circumstances of the most melo- dramatic character. "Lord Maiden and myself dined at the inn on the island between Kew and Brentford. We waited the signal for crossing the river, in a boat which had been engaged for the purpose. Heaven can witness how many conflicts MJtS. KOBIXSOX. 317 my agitated heart endured at this important moment ! I admired the Prince ; I felt grateful for his affection. He was Ike most engaging of created brings. I had corre- sponded with him during many months, and his eloquent letters, the exquisite sensibility which breathed through every line, his ardent professions of adoration, had com- bined to shake my feeble resolution. The handkerchief was waved on the opposite shore ; but the signal was, by the dusk of the evening, rendered almost imperceptible. Lord Maiden took my hand ; I stepped into the boat, and in a few minutes we landed before the iron gates of old Kew Palace. The interview was but of a moment. The Prince of Wales and the Duke of York (then Bishop of Osnaburg) were walking down the avenue. They hastened to meet us. A few words, and those scarcely articulate, were uttered by the Prince, when a noise of people ap- proaching from the palace startled us. The moon was now rising; and the idea of being overheard, or of his Royal Highness being seen out at so unusual an hoar, terri- fied the whole group. After a few more words of the most affectionate nature uttered by the Prince, we parted, and Lord Maiden and myself returned to the island. The Prince never quitted the avenue, nor the presence of the Duke of York, during the whole of this short meeting. Alas! my friend, if my mind was before influenced by esteem, it was now awakened to the most enthusiastic admiration. The rank of the Prince no longer chilled into awe that being, who now considered him as the lover and the friend. The grates of his person, the irresistible sweet- ness of his smile, the tenderness of his melodious yet manly Toue, vrill be remembered by me till every vision of this changing scene shall be forgotten. " Many and frequent were the interviews which after- wards took place at this romantic spot : our walks some- 318 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. times continued till past midnight; the Duke of York and Lord Maiden were always of the party ; our conversation was composed of general topics. The Prince had, from his infancy, been wholly secluded, and naturally took much pleasure in conversing about the busy world, its manners and pursuits, characters and scenery. Nothing could be more delightful or more rational than our midnight per- ambulations. I always wore a dark-colored habit : the rest of our party generally wrapped themselves in great coats to disguise them, excepting the Duke of York, who almost universally alarmed us by the display of a buff coat, the most conspicuous color he could have selected for an ad- venture of this nature. The polished and fascinating in- genuousness of his Royal Highness's manners contributed not a little to enliven our promenades. He sang with ex- quisite taste ; and the tones of his voice breaking on the silence of the night, have often appeared to my entranced senses like more than mortal melody. Often have I lamented the distance which destiny had placed between us : how would my soul have idolized such a husband ! Alas ! how often, in the ardent enthusiasm of my soul, have I formed the wish that being were mine alone ! to whom partial millions were to look up for protection. " The Duke of York was now on the eve of quitting the country for Hanover : the Prince was also on the point of receiving his first establishment ; and the apprehension that this attachment might injure his Royal Highness, in the opinion of the world, rendered the caution, which was in- variably observed, of the utmost importance. A consider- able time elapsed in these delightful scenes of visionary happiness. The Prince's attachment seemed to increase daily, and I considered myself as the most blest of human beings. During some time, we had enjoyed our meetings in the neighborhood of Kew ; and I now looked forward AIRS. ROBINSON. 319 to the adjusting of his Royal Highness's establishment for the public avowal of our mutual attachment. "I had relinquished my profession. The last night of my appearance on the stage, I represented the character of Sir Harry Revel, in the comedy of 'The Miniature Picture,' written by Lady Craven ;* and ' The Irish Widow.' On entering the green-room, I informed Mr. Moody, who played in the farce, that I should appear no more after that night ; and, endeavoring to smile while I sang, I repeated, 1 Oh joy to you all in full measure. So wishes and prays Widow Brady !' which were the last lines of my song in 'The Irish Widow.' This effort to conceal the emotion I felt, on quitting a profession I enthusiastically loved, was of short duration ; and I burst into tears on my appearance. My regret, at recollecting that I was treading for the last time the boards where I had so often received the most gratify- ing testimonies of the public approbation, where mental exertion had been emboldened by private worth, that I was flying from a happy certainty, perhaps to pursue the phantom disappointment, nearly overwhelmed my facul- ties, and for some time deprived me of the power of artic- ulation. Fortunately, the person on the stage with me had to begin the scene, which allowed me time to col- lect myself. I went, however, mechanically dull through the business of the evening; and, notwithstanding the cheering expressions and applause of the audience, I was several times near fainting. "The daily prints now indulged the malice of my ene- mies by the most scandalous paragraphs respecting the * Now Margravine of Anspach. 3 20 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. Prince of Wales and myself. I found it was too late to stop the hourly augmenting torrent of abuse that was poured upon me from all quarters. Whenever I appeared in public, I was overwhelmed by the gazing of the multi- tude. I was frequently obliged to quit Ranelagh, owing to the crowd which staring curiosity had assembled round my box; and, even in the streets of the metropolis, I scarcely ventured to enter a shop without experiencing the greatest inconvenience. Many hours have I waited till the crowd dispersed which surrounded my carriage in ex- pectation of my quitting the shop. I cannot suppress a smile at the absurdity of such proceeding, when I remem- ber that, during nearly three seasons I was almost every night upon the stage, and that I had then been nearly five years with Mr. Robinson at every fashionable place of entertainment. But, thank Heaven ! my heart was not formed in the mould of callous effrontery. I shuddered at the gulf before me, and felt small gratification in the knowledge of having taken a step which many, who con- demned, would have been no less willing to imitate, had they been placed in the same situation." In this sort of Delia Cruscan dream the unfortunate lady was living, forming perspectives of yet more delightful visions beyond. But she did not know of what was a specially disagreeable feature in the* character of one who was to be the future first gentleman in Europe. An almost invariable portion of his programme in such affaires de cceur was a sudden desertion, as abrupt as his advances had been gradual and impassioned. Full of anticipations the most romantic, and shutting her eyes to all consequences, the deceived lady had taken her leave of the stage. " The period now approached that was to destroy all the fairy visions which had filled my mind with dreams of happiness. At the moment when everything was preparing MRS. ROBINSON. 321 for his Royal Highness's establishment, when I looked im- patiently for the arrival of that day on which I might behold my adored friend gracefully receiving the acclamations of his future subjects, when I might enjoy the public protection of that being for whom I gave up all, I received a letter from his Royal Highness, a cold and unkind letter briefly in- forming me that * we must meet no more /' " And now, suffer me to call GOD to witness, that I was unconscious why this decision had taken place in his High- ness's mind : only two days previous to this letter being written I had seen the Prince at Kew, and his affection appeared to be boundless as it was undiminished. "Amazed, afflicted beyond the power of utterance, I wrote immediately to his Royal Highness and required an explanation. He remained silent. Again I wrote, but re- ceived no elucidation of this most cruel and extraordinary mystery. The Prince was then at Windsor. I set out in a small pony phaeton, wretched, and unaccompanied by any one except my postillion (a child of nine years of age). It was nearly dark when we quitted Hyde Park Corner. On my arrival at Hounslow, the innkeeper informed me that every carriage which had passed the heath for the last ten nights had been attacked and rifled. I confess the idea of personal danger had no terrors for my mind, in the state it th*en was ; and the possibility of annihilation, divested of the crime of suicide, encouraged rather than diminished my determination of proceeding. We had scarcely reached the middle of the heath when my horses were startled by the sudden appearance of a man, rushing from the side of the road. The boy on perceiving him instantly spurred his pony, and, by a sudden bound of our light vehicle, the ruffian missed his grasp at the front rein. We now pro- ceeded at full speed, while the footpad ran, endeavoring to overtake us. At length, my horses fortunately outrunning o* 322 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. the perseverance of the assailant, we, at last, reached the Magpie, a small inn on the heath, in safety. The alarm which, in spite of my resolution, this adventure had cre- ated, was augmented on my recollecting for the first time, that I had then in my black stock a brilliant stud of very considerable value, which could only have been possessed by the robber by strangling the wearer. "If my heart palpitated with joy at my escape from assassination, a circumstance soon after occurred that did not tend to quiet my emotion. This was the appearance of Mr. H. Meynel and Mrs. A . My foreboding soul instantly beheld a rival, and, with jealous eagerness, interpreted the hitherto inexplicable conduct of the Prince, from his having frequently expressed his wish to know that lady. "On my arrival, the Prince would not see me. My agonies were now indescribable. I consulted with Lord Maiden and the Duke of Dorset, whose honorable mind and truly disinterested friendship had, on many occasions, been exemplified towards me. They were both at a loss to divine any cause of this sudden change in the Prince's feel- ings. The Prince of Wales had hitherto assiduously sought opportunities to distinguish me more publicly than was prudent, in his Royal Highness's situation. This was in the month of August. On the fourth of the preceding June, I went, by his desire, into the Chamberlain's box at the birth-night ball : the distressing observation of the circle was drawn towards the part of the box in which I sat, by the marked and injudicious attentions of his Royal Highness. I had not been arrived many minutes before I witnessed a singular species of fashionable coquetry. Pre- vious to his Highness's beginning his minuet, I perceived a woman of high rank select from the bouquet she wore, two rosebuds, which she gave to the Prince, as he after- MRS. ROBINSON. 3 2 3 wards informed me, 'emblematical of herself and him:' I observed his Royal Highness immediately beckon to a nobleman, who has since formed a part of his establish- ment, and, looking most earnestly at me, whisper a few words, at the same time presenting to him his newly acquired trophy. In a few moments Lord C. entered the Cham- berlain's box, and giving the rosebuds into my hands, informed me that he was commissioned by the Prince to do so. I placed them in my bosom, and, I confess, felt proud of the power by which I thus publicly mortified an exalted rival. His Royal Highness now avowedly distin- guished me at all public places of entertainment ; at the King's hunt, near Windsor, at the reviews, and at the theatres. The Prince only seemed happy in evincing his affection towards me. "How terrible then was the change to my feelings! And I again most SOLEMNLY REPEAT, that I was totally ignorant of any JUST CAUSE for so sudden an alteration. "My 'good-natured friends' now carefully informed me of the multitude of secret enemies who were ever employed in estranging the Prince's mind from me. So fascinating, so illustrious a lover could not fail to excite the envy of my own sex. Women of all descriptions were emulous of attracting his Royal Highness's attention. Alas ! I had neither rank nor power to oppose such adversaries. Every engine of female malice was set in motion to destroy my repose ; and every petty calumny was repeated with tenfold embellishments. Tales of the most infamous and glaring falsehood were invented ; and I was again assailed by pamphlets, by paragraphs, by caricatures, and all the artil- lery of slander, while the only being to whom I then looked up for protection was so situated as to be unable to afford it. In the anguish of my soul, I once more ad- dressed the Prince of Wales. I complained, perhaps too 3 2 4 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. vehemently, of his injustice ; and of the calumnies which had been by my enemies fabricated against me, of the falsehood of which he was but too sensible. I conjured him to render me justice. He did so : he wrote me a most eloquent letter, disclaiming the causes alleged by a calumniating world, and fully acquitting me of the charges which had been propagated to destroy me. I "I resided now in Cork Street, Burlington Gardens. The house, which was neat, but by no means splendid, had recently been fitted up for the reception of the Coun- tess of Derby, on her separation from her lord. My situ- ation now every hour became more irksome. The Prince still unkindly persisted in withdrawing himself from my society. I was now deeply involved in debt, which I despaired of ever having the power to discharge. I had quitted both my husband and my profession ; the retro- spect was dreadful ! " My estrangement from the Prince was now the theme of public animadversion ; while the newly invigorated shafts of my old enemies, the daily prints, were again hurled upon my defenceless head, with tenfold fury. The regrets of Mr. Robinson, now that he had lost me, became insupportable ; he constantly wrote to me in the language of unbounded affection ; nor did he fail, when we met, to express his agony at our separation, and even a wish for our re-union. " I had, at one period, resolved on returning to my pro- fession ; but some friends whom I consulted dreaded that the public would not suffer my reappearance on the stage. This idea intimidated me, and precluded my efforts for that independence of which my romantic credulity had robbed me. I was fatally induced to relinquish what would have proved an ample and honorable resource for myself and my child. My debts accumulated to near seven MRS. ROBINSON. 325 thousand pounds. My creditors, whose insulting iliiber- ality could only be equaled by their unbounded impo- sitions, hourly assailed me. "I was, in the mean time, wholly neglected by the Prince, while the assiduities of Lord Maiden daily in- creased. I had no other friend on whom I could rely for assistance or protection. When I say protection, I would not be understood to mean pecuniary assistance Lord Maiden being, at the time alluded to, even poorer than myself: the death of his Lordship's grandmother, Lady Frances Coningsby, had not then placed him above the penury of his own small income. " Lord Maiden's attention to me again exposed him to all the humiliation of former periods. The Prince assured me once more of his wishes to renew our former friendship and affection, and urged me to meet him at the house of Lord Maiden in Clarges Street. I was at this period little less than frantic, deeply involved in debt, persecuted by my enemies, and perpetually reproached by my relations. I would joyfully have resigned an existence now become to me an intolerable burden ; yet my pride was not less than my sorrow, and I resolved, whatever my heart might suffer, to wear a placid countenance when I met the inquiring glances of my triumphant enemies. " After much hesitation, by the advice of Lord Maiden, I consented to meet his Royal Highness. He accosted me with every appearance of tender attachment, declaring that he had never for one moment ceased to love me but, that I had many concealed enemies, who were exerting every effort to undermine me. We passed some hours in the most friendly and delightful conversation, and I began to flatter myself that all our differences were adjusted. But what words can express my surprise and chagrin when, on meeting his Royal Highness the very next day in Hyde Park, 28 326 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. he turned his head to avoid seeing me, and even affected not to know me / " Overwhelmed by this blow, my distress knew no limits. Yet Heaven can witness the truth of my assertion, even in this moment of complete despair, when oppression bowed me to the earth, I blamed not the Prince. I did then, and ever shall consider his mind as nobly and honorably organ- ized ! nor could I teach myself to believe that a heart, the seat of so many virtues, could possibly become inhuman and unjust." There was some "secret history" connected with this affair, and it turned out that the sacrifice of the unhappy lady had been found profitable to the two parties which were then at war the Court and the Prince. A reconcilia- tion was affected, and the Prince was delighted to pay a cheap tribute to public decorum by resigning what he no longer cared to keep, and receiving as his reward that "establishment," and adjustment which had formed such a brilliant vista in the poor lady's dreams.* Though the magnanimous Prince was to benefit so hand- somely by his sacrifice, his intention apparently was that this disagreeable affair should be closed with the smallest expense conceivable. No answer was given to the lady's letters. She had abandoned her profession, and had been cast off by her husband. Fortunately she held a bond of her royal admirer's for twenty thousand pounds payable on his "establishment." All such august securities are of little value, save as instruments of negotiation and com- promise it being almost impossible to enforce their pay- ment. Armed with this document, her friends now inter- fered, and after much discreditable haggling it was felt that some settlement could not be refused with decency. Mr. * See Letters of George the Third to Lord North. MRS. ROBINSON. 327 Fox undertook the office of arbitrator, and decided that the bond should be given up in consideration of an annuity of five hundred a year. Thus prosaically ended the history of Florizel and Perdita. The rest of her life offered but little interest. The harsh treatment she had met with excited sympathy, and found her some friends of a reputable class. She was privileged to sustain the role of a heroine " that had suffered" and, owing to a tone then fashionable in society and encouraged by the Press, awakened a fresh interest by becoming a dis- ciple of the sentimental school of which Mr. Merry was chief professor. This taste was chiefly manifested in feeble verses known as "Poems" which were thrown off on any occasion that was suitably romantic. Thus it was rumored in the papers that in the winter of 1790 "Mrs. Robinson had entered into a poetical correspondence with Mr. Robert Merry under the fictitious names of ' Laura' and ' Laura Maria' Mr. Merry assuming the title of ' Delia Crusca.'" One result of which graceful interchange of sentiment was a work described as " a quarto Poem" and entitled ' Ainsi vale Monde.' It contained three hundred and fifty lines, yet it was "written in twelve hours, as a reply to Mr. Merry's l Laurel of Liberty? which had been sent to Mrs. Robinson on a Saturday: on the Tuesday following the answer was composed and given to the pub- lic." The subjects that inspired her muse illustrate very happily the character of the "sentiment" of that day which is scarcely intelligible to our own generation. In such soft communings the Sewards, Pratts, Hayleys, and others wasted many profitable hours, and much good ink. The heroine did not, however, content herself with these dilettante exercises, and it is to be feared did not limit her- self to the character of "a fair Platonist," as the news- papers of her day might have styled her. She repaired to 328 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. foreign climes, where her rather frivolous nature was grati- fied by homage and attentions of a more doubtful kind.* During the expedition thus alluded to she entirely lost the use of her limbs, and in spite of every remedy re- mained almost a cripple for the rest of her life. She was but twenty-four when this affliction befell her. She tried the baths of Aix-la-Chapelle, where, we are assured, " a dawn of comparative tranquillity soothed her spirits." Finding all these attempts useless, she resigned herself to what she was obliged to endure and during the rest of her life devoted herself to what was called " literary labor," i.e., to the composition of indescribably vapid "Poems" on her own blighted affections, on the death of her father and mother, and which her biographer moderately com- mends as "not worse than other effusions of the same class." A long course of ill health at last ended in dis- ease and death. She wished to return to her birthplace, and die there, but even this sad solace was denied to her, from a want of the pecuniary means for its execution. In vain she applied to those on whom honor, humanity, and justice gave her undoubted claims. She even condescended * Her biographer, approaching this part of her career, has delicately rel- egated to a note what really ought to have found an official place in a reg- ular account of her life. And the passage h worth considering, as a speci- men of that valet-like style in which it was then customary to dwell on the trespasses of the noble and the fashionable. "An attachment took place between Mrs. Robinson and Colonel Tarleton, shortly after the return of the latter from America, which subsisted during sixteen years. On the cir- cumstances which occasioned its dissolution, it is neither necessary, nor would it be proper to dwell. The exertions of Mrs. Robinson in the service of Col. Tarleton, when pressed by pecuniary embarrassment, led to that un- fortunate journey, the consequences of which proved so fatal to her health. The Colonel accompanied her to the Continent ; and, by his affectionate attentions, sought to alleviate those sufferings of which he had been the involuntary occasion. MXS. KOBIXSOX. 329 to entreat, as a donation, the return of those sums granted as a loan in her prosperity. The following is a copy of a letter addressed, on this occasion, to a noble debtor, and found among the papers of Mrs. Robinson after her decease : " April 23, 1800. " MY LORD, Pronounced by my physicians to be in a rapid decline, I trust that your Lordship will have the goodness to assist me with a part of the sum for which you are indebted to me. Without your aid I cannot make trial of the Bristol waters, the only remedy that presents to me any hope of preserving my existence. I should be sorry to die at enmity with any person ; and you may be assured. my dear Lord, that I bear none towards you. It would be useless to ask you to call on me ; but, if you would do me that honor, I should be happy, very happy, to see you, being, " My dear Lord, yours truly, " MARY ROBINSON." To this letter no answer was returned ! Further com- ments are unnecessary. " Her disorder rapidly drawing towards a period, the accumulation of water upon her chest every moment threat- ened suffocation. For nearly fifteen nights and days she was obliged to be supported upon pillows, or in the arms of her young and affectionate nurses. Her decease, through this period, was hourly expected. On the twenty-first of December, she inquired how near was Christmas Day. Being answered, Within a few days 'Yff,' said she, 'I shall never see it.' The remainder of this melancholy day passed in indescribable tortures. Towards midnight, the sufferer exclaimed, 'Oh God, oh just and merciful God, help me to support this agony !' The whole of the ensuing 330 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. day she continued to endure great anguish. In the even- ing, a kind of lethargic stupor came on. Miss Robinson, approaching the pillow of her expiring mother, earnestly conjured her to speak if in her power. ' My darling Mary /' she faintly articulated, and spoke no more. In another hour she became insensible to the grief of those by whom she was surrounded, and breathed her last at a quarter past twelve on the following noon." Thus ended the career of this unhappy lady. In harmony with the cynical truth of the unnoticed appeal to the noble lord which was in keeping with the gracious manners of the Prince's Court, is Miss Hawkins's unsparing sketch : " She was unquestionably very beautiful, but more so in the face than in the figure ; and as she proceeded in her course she acquired a remarkable facility in adapting her deportment to her dress. When she was to be seen daily in St. James's Street or Pall Mall, even in her chariot, the variation was striking. To-day she was a paysanne, with her straw hat tied at the back of her head, looking as if too new to what she passed to know what she looked at. Yesterday, perhaps, she had been the dressed belle of Hyde Park, trimmed, powdered, patched, painted to the utmost power of rouge and white lead ; to-morrow she would be the cravated Amazon of the riding-house ; but be she what she might, the hats of the fashionable promenaders swept the ground as she passed. But in her outset ' the style' was a high phaeton, in which she was driven by the favored of the day. Three candidates and her husband were out- riders : and this in the face of the congregations turning out of places of worship. . . . About the year 1778 she appeared on the stage, and gained, from the character in which she charmed, the name of Perdita. She then started in one of the new streets of Marylebone, and was in her altitude. Afterwards, when a little in the wane, she resided GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 331 under protection in Berkeley Square, and appeared to guests as mistress of the house as well as of its master. Her manners and conversation were said by those invited to want refinement. ... I saw her on one day handed to her outrageously extravagant vis-d-vis by a man whom she pursued with a doting passion ; all was still externally bril- liant ; she was fine and fashionable and the men of the day in Bond Street still pirouetted as her carriage passed them : the next day the vehicle was reclaimed by the maker ; the Adonis whom she courted fled her : she followed all to no purpose. She then took up a new life in London, be- came literary. . . . What was the next glimpse ? On a table in one of the waiting-rooms of the Opera House was seated a woman of fashionable appearance, still beautiful, ' but not in the bloom of beauty's pride ;' she was not noticed except by the eye of pity. In a few minutes two liveried servants came to her, and they took from their pockets long white sleeves, which they drew on their arms ; they then lifted her up and conveyed her to her carriage it was the then helpless, paralytic Pcrdita!" CHAPTER XL GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE,* in spite of all his rude- ness and irregularities, is a figure on which the eye rests with a curious interest. There was an originality and piquancy in the various bursts of his extravagance which was quite dramatic, and diverting in the highest degree : * Bora 1756, died 1812. 332 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. so much so that the sober Cooke is almost uninteresting compared with his intoxicated self. In that condition he became grotesque, brutal, mock-heroic, and even witty his sarcasm was withering, so that the victim of his humor was, from self-respect, compelled to deal with him as a sober being. Beside this odd reputation, his theatrical character seems comparatively tame and faded. There are grand traditions of his power and fierce energies in such parts as Richard and Sir Giles Overreach, and his genius seems to have been of the same surging and tempestuous quality as Edmund Kean's ; but the peculiar features of his style do not stand out very distinctly. All the adventures and outbursts of " GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE" for he and his friends delighted in the ring of these words, and would not have abated one of the three names have a flavor of their own, and are still retailed with gout by old actors. There are stories of his quarrelsomeness, of his sardonic raillery when in his cups, and, above all, of his moody jealousy against what he considered the " priggish" superi- ority of Kemble, whom he considered his inferior in genius, though more artful and decorous. On these grounds, therefore, because he was a thoroughly genuine character, recklessly sacrificing himself sooner than pay the homage usually offered by irregularity to decency, he really stands apart from the rest of his profession, a Bohemian as it is called, and a not unpicturesque figure. This bitterness, combined with a haughtiness worthy of a Spanish hidalgo, might have received some indulgence, as it seems to have been founded on a sense of humiliation and the consciousness that his infirmities had placed him below men to whom he was superior. He always appeared to feel that he had committed his reputation, and could not hope to retrieve himself: and therefore took refuge in a quarrelsome sensitiveness, which was yet not without dig- GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 333 nity. A history might almost be written of his strange freaks of drunkenness, and in such a record a special study of the humors of George Frederick Cooke would have to be made. The sudden turn from good-nature and affection to hostility was the most familiar shape of his humor : and in this mood he may be most characteristically introduced. "Mr. Cooper, the American tragedian," says Mr. Mathews, " had been performing a series of characters at Drury Lane Theatre ; and being extremely intimate with Cooke, it occurred to him that his performance with him in ' Othello* on his benefit night would be a great attrac- tion, if Mr. Harris's permission could be obtained. Cooke, who, in his natural character, was one of the kindest of men, instantly undertook to apply to Mr. Harris, giving Cooper some hope of success. "Mr. Harris resided at this period at Belmont, near Uxbridge, where one afternoon Mr. Cooke was announced. The weather was intensely severe, and the visit augured some pressing cause ; for Cooke seldom called but to make some request, generally difficult to be reconciled or granted. Still on the present occasion, Mr. Harris was ' very happy to see Mr. Cooke,' and ' hoped he came to stay dinner;' which hope was unnoticed by the actor, who nervously proceeded to break the unreasonable nature of his visit, and he began in broken accents to explain his errand : ' My dear sir ! Cooper the best creature in the world been acting at Drury Lane going to take a benefit Othello lago bring him a great house. In fine, would Mr. Harris allow him (Cooke) to perform the character of lago for his friend on his benefit night?' " Mr. Harris looked very blank at this certainly unfair demand upon his self-interest. He shook his head omin- ously, and gravely asked Mr. Cooke whether he did not think it rather more than he ought to grant, considering 334 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. the vast importance of his exclusive services. These and other arguments were mildly but determinately combated by Cooke in his best and most gentlemanlike manner; for ' Cooper, the best creature in the world,' was to be served; and Mr. Harris being at length overcome, Cooke's heart and eyes overflowed with generous delight and gratitude for the power thus afforded him to benefit a friend. Mr. Harris now reminded him of the dinner ; but Cooke de- clined the invitation. ' No he would take a crust, and one glass of wine to warm him, and then return to town.' After a polite struggle, Mr. Harris yielded to his visitor's determination; and a tray was produced, accompanied by a bottle of Madeira. Of this Cooke sipped and sipped with the most imperturbable self-complacency, until he nearly finished the bottle; when, by his master's order, the butler brought in another, of which Cooke had swal- lowed a few glasses, when a sudden recollection operated upon his mind, as Mr. Harris made some remark upon the increasing severity of the weather. Cooke, a little ' warmed 1 by the wine he had taken, now bethought him- self of a circumstance which his fervor for his friend's interest and the Madeira had together totally obliterated for the time, for he arose abruptly, and taking Mr. Harris's hand, broke to him this new matter : ' My dear sir, your goodness so overpowered all other recollections, that it made me entirely forget that I left my friend, dear Cooper, the best creature in the world, at the gate when I came in. Let me send for him, to thank you for your generous per- mission in his favor.' "Mr. Harris was in much distress, and in spite of Cooke's assuring him that 'dear Cooper' would not mind it, he being ' the best creature in the world,' rang the bell, and desired the servant to request Mr. Cooper's company within doors. By this time the Madeira might be said to GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 335 have warmed Mr. Cooke more than half through ; the second bottle was rapidly diminishing, and he was full of feelings generous as the wine. Again and again he clasped his liberal manager's hands in thankfulness for his kindness, reiterating, ' My dear sir, you're too good to me S I can never repay such friendly treatment ; I'm bound to you eternally,' &c., &c. " Mr. Harris apologized to Mr. Cooper, and explained the cause of his tardy invitation, placing a chair for him near the fire. Cooke, without noticing him, continued his maudlin praise of his host's hospitality and goodness; afterwards informing Cooper of his having given consent to the performance in question; for which favor Mr. Cooper also expressed, as well as his shivering state would permit, his thanks, and, at the recommendation of Mr. Harris, accepted a glass of Madeira, in order to thaw his congealed faculties. Cooke was now all hilarity and hap- piness. Another bottle was suggested, and promptly sup- plied ; and immediately the servant returned to announce the dinner, to which Mr. Harris again pressed Cooke and in- vited Cooper. Mr. Cooke, however, would not hear of it. He must, he said, return to town to dinner, and 'dear Cooper* must accompany him ; and he insisted upon Mr. Harris leaving him and the 'best creature in the world' together in the library, where they would take 'just one glass more, and then depart.' During dinner, Mr. Harris related the occasion of Mr. Cooke's visit ; and in the course of the time, happened to inquire of the servants whether the gen- tlemen were gone. He was answered in the negative, and informed that Mr. Cooke had called for more wine, and that Mr. Cooper had vainly pressed him to depart. At this moment, a guest inquired whether Mr. Cooke per- formed that night, which question made Mr. Harris start from his chair in sudden alarm, exclaiming, ' Is this Wed- 336 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. nesday ? He does play ! What is it o'clock ?' at the same time taking out his watch in great agitation, he exclaimed, ' Take away the wine ; don't let him drink a drop more ! He must go away directly, or I shall have the theatre pulled down. He is advertised for " Richard the Third," and he can barely get back in time to dress !' " Back rushed the agitated proprietor to the library, where he found Cooper using every argument in his power to dissuade his indiscreet friend from drinking any more. But Cooke had already put too much of the enemy into his mouth not to be completely minus of brains, and, as usual under such privation, was utterly irrational and impersua- sible. "'Do you forget,' urged the unfortunate proprietor, ' that this is a play-night, Mr. Cooke? Even now you are expected in town. I entreat you will go without further delay, or you will be too late.' "Cooke, in what he meant to be a most insinuating tone of voice, blessed his 'excellent friend ;' again lauded his liberality and kindness, which he declared could never be forgotten or repaid by the devotion of his whole life, and finally begged the additional favor of one more bottle of his Madeira for himself and 'dear Cooper,' who, he repeated for the twentieth time, was ' the best creature in the world.' To this request Mr. Harris gave a positive and concise negative, placing before Mr. Cooke's view the danger he was hazarding by delay, and rendering himself unfit for his evening's duty. All was in vain ; for Cooke, though equally civil, was also determined, and again and again coaxingly urged his request for one more bottle. At length, finding Mr. Harris inflexible, the Madeira he had drunk began to proclaim the indignation it had engendered in Mr. Cooke's grateful bosom; and as the liquor fer- mented, it raised the recipient up to a state of inflation GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 337 which threatened to burst all bounds, and he now assailed his host with the most opprobrious epithets ; so that event- ually, by the potency of 'the drink,' his late 'excellent friend,' Mr. Harris, was converted into a 'vulgar, old, soap-boiling scoundrel,' who did not know how treat a gentleman when one condescended to visit him ; and Mr. Harris was imperiously asked, ' Do you know who I am, sir? Am I not George Frederick Cooke ? without whose talents- you would be confined to your own grease-tub ; and who will never more darken your inhospitable doors while he lives, nor uphold your contemptible theatre any longer after this night !' And with many other threats and deli- cate innuendoes in relation to Mr. Harris's soap-boiling pursuits not herein set down, he staggered out of the room with the assistance of the 'best creature in the world,' whom he now distinguished by every ill name that drunk- enness could remember or invent, for daring to direct or con- trol him, George Frederick Cooke ! when the great tragedian reeled into the attendant chaise, and was driven to town with his grieved and much-abused friend, 'dear Cooper!' "That night the audience did not mistake 'the drunkard for a god,' for the great ' George Frederick Cooke' was hissed off the stage, and obliged to leave his performance unfinished ; and it was some time ere ' Richard was himself again.' " The result of such afternoon excesses was that most de- grading of all spectacles, the exhibition of an actor on the stage, who is scarcely able to articulate or indeed to sup- port himself. The curious contrast between what a vast audience comes to witness intellect in its highest and most finished development, and what is presented, viz., intellect in its lowest and most bestial condition, produces a sort of surprise and disgust which is almost dramatic. The ordinary victims of this failing may at least shrink p 29 338 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. from the public gaze, but it is an additional penalty for the actor of talent who is thus afflicted that, in spite of all his efforts his halting figure, his thick and rambling speeches must betray to the crowd that he is unfit to appear before them, and that he is only insulting them by his incoherent attempts. Silence and perhaps pity may accept such lapses, but presently comes indignation, contempt, and open jeer- ing : while the less reputable part of the audience welcomes the exhibition as the most amusing part of the performance. What a picture of degradation is conveyed by the following scene : On one occasion, having vainly attempted to recall the beginning of Richard's first speech, he tottered forward with a cunning and maudlin intent to divert the resentment of the audience into a false channel : and laying his hand impressively upon his chest to insinuate that illness was the only cause of his failure, he with upturned mournful eyes solicited the sympathies of his audience and hiccupped out "My old complaint !" A storm of hisses mingled with derisive merriment drove him off the stage. Yet, as it must be owned, there was always a certain tragic dignity about his fits, which almost awed. Thus when he had been staggering about the Liverpool stage, scarcely able to articulate, a burst of hisses restored him to some coherence. He turned at bay and awed them with his fierce eyes. " What ! do you hiss me me, George Frederick Cooke? You contemptible money-getters. You shall never again have the honor of hissing me ! Farewell, I banish you." Then after a pause added, " There 1 s not a brick in your dirty town but what is cemented by the blood of a negro. ' ' They were cowed by this savage rebuke, and it must be said there is a certain rude grandeur in the rebuke. There is another scene that is really piquant, which exhibits him in his most GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 339 characteristic mood. He bad been invited by a theatrical architect to dine, who was at a loss for a suitable person to invite to meet him. At last he pitched upon Mr. Brandon, the well-known manager of the front of the house at Covent Garden. The party was pleasant, bat as usual Mr. Cooke began to drink deep, and gave promise of sitting on until far into the morning. The host, anxious to be rid of him before his dangerous mood came, dismissed him in plain terms, and took a candle to light him downstairs. When they were at the door the tragedian, who had accepted his conge in silence, suddenly seized his host tj his ears, and shouted disdainfully, "Have I, George Frederick Cooke, degraded myself by dining with bricklayers to meet box-keepers!" and flinging him to the grouad took his departure. This strange being had married a lady of the name of Miss Daniells, and, it may be conceived, the lady led a troubled life. It was natural that his drunken humors, as regards her, should take die shape of ferocious jealousy, under which influence he at last locked her uo in a high garret, and, taking the key with him, went off on one of his long debauches. He forgot all about her, and the poor woman was nearly starved. Her cries at last attracted the attention of the street, and she was released by means of a ladder. On this treatment she procured a separation. There is another story also significant of that almost ferocious character which, as it were, lay concealed behind his nature until called into being by dr nk. When drinking at some low tavern he had got into a quarrel with a soldier, and insisted that his antagonise sh>j-d fight him. The fellow made some excuses am:>ng others that Cooke was a rich man, and had the advantage of him. Cooke pulled out a bundle of notes from his pocket, flung them on the fire, and kept them there with the poker until consumed ; 340 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. and, after they were consumed, said, "There goes every penny I have in the world. Now, sir, you shall fight me !" The late Mr. Mathews used to describe an amusing even- ing which, when a beginner, he was privileged to spend with the great tragedian. The latter invited the novice into his room to supper. This was irresistible ; and the invitation was promptly accepted. "During the early part of the night the host was a most charming companion. He feelingly entered into the young man's (Charles Mathews) embarrassing situation, and of- fered to frank him home if he would consent to return to his respectable family, and give up the uncertain result of the trial he was making as an actor, but without any effect upon the aspiring candidate for dramatic fame. " After supper, whisky punch, which was a novelty to Cooke, who had never before been in Ireland, was intro- duced, and he evidently was quite fascinated with the pleasing beverage. He grew gradually more animated in its praise ; declared, as he sipped and sipped, that there was nothing like it ! it was the nectar of the gods ! His spirits increased in animation ; and jug after jug was brought in. The young man had^very early cried, ' Hold ! enough !' Cooke, however, knew not satiety when once the brimming cup had been emptied. Mrs. Byrne, the land- lady, up to a certain time, felt bound, both by duty and interest, to supply her distinguished lodger with what he called for ; but at last, the night growing old, and her eyes not growing young, she felt disposed to give them rest; and, entering with the sixth jug, inquired respectfully, ' whether Mister Cooke would want anything more ?' At this mo- ment her lodger was warmed up into the most contented of beings. He glanced at the capacious vessel just replaced upon his table, and, believing its contents sufficient, ex- claimed, ' Nothing more, my good Mrs. Byrne, nothing GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. : _ : more.' Mrs. Byrne wished her two lodgers a good-night, and retired. Cooke refilled his glass, and being somewhat sentimental, advised admonished his young friend ; above all, cautioned him to be industrious in his profession, sober in private, and not to allow company, ' villainous com- pany,' to be the ruin of his youth. And thus he lectured on sobriety, till glass after glass vanished, and with it the reality of the virtue he so eloquently recommended. At last the jug was again empty. Mr. Mathews rose to go. ' You sha'n't stir; we'll have another croeskcn Aram, my dear fellow, and then yon shall go to bed. I have much more to say to you, my good boy. Sit down. You don't know me. The world don't know me. Many an hour that they suppose I have wasted in drinking, I have devoted to the study of my profession ; the Passions and all their varia- tions; their nice and imperceptible gradations. You shall see me delineate the Passions of the human mind.' "The power of the whisky punch, however, acted in diametric opposition to the intent on his strong and flexi- ble features, and only produced contortions and distortions, of which he was unconscious. He, nevertheless, endeav- ored to illustrate the passions, while his visitor was to guess them. 'What's the meaning of that, eh? 1 said the tragedian, with a most inexplicable twist of his face. 'Sir!' said the timid spectator, puzzled what to call it. Cooke reiterated 'What's the meaning of tkatf What passion does it express? Does it not strike you at once? There! What's that?* While he to whom he appealed could only say, Fiery jut, sir!'' Bat,' persisted Cooke, ' what if it ?* He was then answered, * Oh * I see. sir : Anger I to be sure !' ' To bi sure you're a blockhead !' said Cooke, showing him the genuine expression of what he imputed to him before. ' Fear, sir '. it was Fear .' Now, then what is OiMtf 'Oh, sir, Aat, I think, is 34 2 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. meant for Je almi sy. ' Again the passionate man declared that the guesser was wrong. ' Jealousy / Pooh, man ! Sympathy ! You're very dull, sir. Now I will express a passion that you can't mistake. There! what's that? Look again, sir!' he exclaimed, in a terrific voice; and he then made up a hideous face, compounded of malignity and the leering of a drunken satyr, which he insisted upon being guessed ; and his visitor, trembling for the conse- quences of another mistake, hesitatingly pronounced it to be, 'Revenge? ' Despite o'erwhelm thee !' cried Cooke, in his most tragic rage. ' Revenge ! Curse your stupid- ity ! That was Love ! Love, you insensible idiot ! Can't you see it is Love ?' Here he attempted the same expres- sion, in order to strike conviction of its truth ; when a mixture of comicality with the first effect so surprised the risible muscles of the young man, that he laughed outright. This infuriated the delineator of the Passions almost to madness. 'What, sir! does it make you laugh? Am I not George Frederick Cooke? born to command ten thousand slaves like thee ! while you'll never get salt to your porridge, as an actor. Who am 7, sir?' curving his arms just as if preparing to make a minuet bow (his well-known attitude when dignified"). " ' I beg your pardon, sir ; the whisky punch has stupefied me.' Cooke accepted the excuse. 'True, true, 'tis ouf (his guest wished he was out too). ' Mistress Byrne, my love, another jug !' At this his companion made an attempt to go away, when he was forcibly dragged back with ' Stir not, on your life ! The man that stirs makes me his foe. Another jug, sweet Mrs. Byrne !' Mrs. Byrne, it appeared, slept in the room under which this scene oc- curred ; so that whenever Mr. Cooke addressed her he looked down upon the floor, as if more certain of his wishes reaching her, at the same time tapping with his foot. GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 343 " ' Mistress Byrne, my darling, another jug, sweet Mrs. Byrne !' which she answered in tones quite audible through the slightly-built ceiling. " ' Indeed, Mr. Cooke, and I'm gone to bed, sure, and you can't have any more to-night.' " Cooke (breaking the jug over her head). ' Do you hear that, Mistress Byrne?' " Mrs. B. ' Indeed and I do, Mr. Cooke, sure enough !' " Cooke (throwing in turns chairs, poker, tongs, and shovel down with a clash). ' Do you hear that, Mistress Byrne?' " Mrs. .#. 'God knows and I do, Mr. Cooke.' " Mr. Cooke then began to throw the fragments he had made out of the window. The young man, apprehensive lest he might force him to make his exit after the damaged furniture, made another bold attempt to decamp. ' Stay where you are,' roared the now frenzied Cooke, grasping him violently. ' I will go,' said the now determined youth. 'Will you?' said Cooke. He then dragged his victim to the window, and roared out, ' Watch ! Watch !' A watch- man, who had been already attracted by the clatter amongst the movables, asked the cause of the disturbance ; when, to the horror of his struggling prisoner, Cooke exclaimed, ' I give this man in charge ; he has committed a capital offence he has committed a murder.' * I !' said his amazed com- panion. ' Yes,' said Cooke to the watchman, ' to my cer- tain knowledge he has been this night guilty of a cruel, atrocious murder in cold blood. He has most barbarously murdered an inoffensive Jew-gentleman, of the name of Mordeana, and I charge him with it in the name of Mack- lin, author of " Love a la Mode." ' At this moment the supposed criminal slipped out of his grasp, and made for the door. Cooke followed him, and taking up the candle* ran on the staircase with them, crying out, as he threw 344 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. them and the candlesticks after him, ' Well, if you will go, you sha'n't say I sent you to bed without light !' But the young man reached his room, and, securely fastened in, he heard a long colloquy between the watchman and the tragedian, who had some trouble in explaining away the account he had given to him of the murdered ' Jew-gentle- man.' " But the story of his wild escapades darkens after his strange elopement to America in 1810, where he crowded into the space of a few weeks more violent eccentricity than he had ever exhibited during many years of his extravagant life. He was at the time engaged at Covent Garden, and the mysterious manner in which he was, as it were, smug- gled out of England, with nightly journeyings in post chaises, secret embarkation, &c., was highly melodramatic. The real cause of the mystery was the uncertain humor of this singular being, whose nearest approach to a rational mood was a sort of gloomy torpor in the interval between his debauches. The rude fare and hardships of the voyage had the best effect on his health, and he arrived in the country, which he was destined never to leave, compara- tively a new man. His appearance at New York attracted what was con- sidered the greatest house ever known in America. The effect of his great acting was prodigious. But after a few nights he began to yield to his old habits. "During the time that had elapsed since his landing, Mr. Cooke had been gradually giving way more and more to his old enemy. His want of self-restraint had rendered it necessary to cease those invitations to dinner-parties which curiosity, and a desire to distinguish his talents, would otherwise have made incessant. But every night after acting was devoted to indulgence, and the consequent deplorable state sometimes extended to depriving him of GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 345 voice on the following night of playing ; but heretofore he had not exposed himself palpably to the public. " After playing Sir Giles, he indulged himself as usual, but became unusually offensive in words and manner, as his unhappy madness increased ; and at length, at variance with himself and his host, he retired sullenly to his cham- ber, and, as was frequent with him, sat up all night. In the morning, he went to bed. About noon he arose and leaving an excuse with the servant for not dining at home, went out without having seen any other part of the family. " He rambled about the suburbs of the city in his solitary manner, for some hours, and then directed his steps to the Tontine Coffee House, the place at which he lodged upon his landing. Here he dined, and repeated his maddening draughts, till late at night, or in the morning, he again sunk to rest ; if sinking to partial oblivion, overwhelmed by intemperance, deserves that quiet appellation. . . . "The ipth December had been appointed for his benefit. ' Cato' was the play. The bills announced the last night of Mr. Cooke's engagement previous to his pro- ceeding to Boston ; the tragedy of * Cato' and the farce of ' Love a la Mode,' for Mr. Cooke's benefit. The rehear- sals of ' Cato' had been called, but the tragedy of ' Cato' was rehearsed without the presence of the hero. Cooke looked into the theatre on his way from the Coffee House to the manager's, and asked the prompter if * all was well.' His appearance indicated too strongly that all was not well with him. He came into the green-room, and hearing the call-boy call, as usual, the performers to come to the stage, by the names of the characters they were to represent Juba Syphax Cato he beckoned the boy to him. "'My good lad, don't you know it's a benefit? we'll rehearse the play to-night.' . . . " He then proceeded with the intent of removing his p* 346 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. trunks to the Coffee House. Fortunately for him, a friend prevented him from carrying this design into execution, and upon being assured that no notice would be taken of his conduct, he gladly relinquished his plan, and dismissed the images of resentful enmity which he had conjured up to stimulate him to the act. " In the mean time he had never read a line of Cato, and he was now incapable of reading to any purpose. The house filled. An audience so numerous or more genteel, had never graced the walls of the New York theatre. The money received was eighteen hundred and seventy-eight dollars. "Soon, very soon, it was perceived that the Roman pa- triot, the godlike Cato, was not to be seen in Mr. Cooke. The mind of the actor was utterly bewildered ; he hesitated, repeated substituted speeches from other plays, or endeav- ored to substitute incoherencies of his own but his playing extempore was not so amusing as Sir John's the audience which had assembled to admire, turned away with disgust. " After the play, I walked into the green-room. He was dressed for Sir Archy M' Sarcasm. As soon as he saw me, he came up to meet me, and exclaimed, 'Ah, it's all over now, we are reconciled but I was very wild in the play quite bewildered do you know that I could not remember one line, after having recited the other I caught myself once or twice giving Shakespeare for Addison ;' and then with his chuckle and his eyes turned away, ' Heaven forgive me ! If you have ever heard anything of me, you must have heard that I always have a frolic on my benefit day. If a man cannot take a liberty with his friends, who the devil can he take a liberty with ?' " By the time the curtain drew up for the farce, he was so far recovered, that the words, being perfectly familiar, came trippingly from the tongue, and he being encouraged GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 347 by finding himself in possession of his powers again, ex- erted them to the utmost, and played Sir Archy as well as ever he had done. " He had played in New York seventeen night?, and the amount of money received by the manager was twenty-one thousand five hundred and seventy-eight dollars. Mak i n g an average of 1269^5 dollars for each night. " I had been told frequently of his asserting over the bottle, or under its influence, that he had been in America during our revolutionary contest, naming particularly the regiment he belonged to, speaking of various actions in which he had fought for his royal master, and discomfited and slaughtered the rebels ; particularly one day when walking on our beautiful promenade, 'the batter}",' and viewing the objects which adorn and surround one of the finest bays in the world, he called Mr. Price's attention to the heights of Brooklyn, and pointing, exclaimed : " ' That's the spot ! we marched up ! the rebels retreated ! we charged ! they fled ! we mounted that hill I carried the colors of the 5th, my father carried them before me, and my son now carries them I led Washington was in the rear of the rebels I pressed forward when at this mo- ment, Sir William Howe, now Lord Howe, and the Lord forever d n him for it, cried halt ! but for that, sir, I should have taken Washington, and there would have been an end to the rebellion !' " Notwithstanding his frequent recurrence to these rhodo- montades, I had never heard him, until the day he embarked for Rhode Island, on his way to Boston, say anything which approached the subject. This morning in Broadway, on his road to the packet, he exclaimed, 'This is Broadway ! This is the street through which Sir Henry Clinton used to gallop every day, full tilt ! helter skelter ! and his aids after him, as if the cry was, the devil take the hindmost !' 348 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. 11 1 could not but be struck by this description of what I had so often seen when a boy ; and though Mr. Cooke might have had this circumstance from various sources, he spoke so much like one describing what he had seen, that an impression was made upon my mind which the twenty months' hiatus in his chronicle revived in a very forcible manner. " On the 6th he played Pierre to 368 dollars. This was a falling off indeed. He was next advertised for the favor- ite Sir Pertinax, but in vain ; the amount was only 457 dollars on the 8th. "That this failure of attraction sank deep into his wounded spirit, I had an opportunity afterwards of know- ing. Of fortitude he had none : he sought oblivion in madness. . . . " About ten o'clock in the morning of the ipth of Feb- ruary, 1811, after one of the most inclement nights of one of the coldest of our winters, when our streets were choked with ice and snow, a little girl came to the manager's office at the theatre with a note scarcely legible, running thus : " ' Dear Dunlap, send me one hundred dollars. G. F. COOKE.' " I asked the child of whom she got the paper she had given me. " ' Of the gentleman, sir.' '"Where is he?' '"At our house.' " ' Where is that ?' " ' In Reed Street, behind the Hospital.' " ' When did this gentleman come to your house?' " 'Last night, sir, almost morning mother is sick, sir, and I was sitting up with her, and a negro and a watchman brought the gentleman to our house and knocked, and we knew the watchman ; and so mother let the gentleman GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 349 come in and sit by the fire. He didn't want to come in at first, but said when he was at the door, "Let me lay down here and die." ' " Mr. Price came to the theatre, and I learned from him that Cooke having sat up late and become turbulent, to the annoyance of the family, he had insisted upon his going to bed, and he had apparently complied ; but that when the household were all at rest, he had come down from his chamber, unlocked the street-door, and sallied out in the face of a west wind of more than Russian coldness. After consulting with Mr. Price, and showing the paper brought by the girl, I put one hundred dollars in small bank-notes in my pocket, and taking the messenger as my pilot, went in quest of George Frederick. " As we walked, I asked my conductress what the gen- tleman had been doing since he came to her mother's house. " ' Sitting by the fire, sir, and talking.' " ' Has he had anything to drink?' " ' Yes, sir ; he sent the negro man out for brandy, and he brought two quarts. Poor old gentleman,' she con- tinued, ' the people at the house where he lived must have used him very ill, and it was very cruel to turn him out o' doors such a night.' 1 " ' Does he say he was turned out o' doors?' " 'Yes, sir, he talks a great deal to be sure I believe he is crazy.' "We entered a small wooden building in Reed Street. The room was dark, and appeared the more so, owing to the transition from the glare of snow in the street. I saw nothing distinctly for the first moment, and only perceived that the place was full of people. I soon found that they were the neighbors, brought in to gaze at the strange, crazy gentleman : and the sheriffs officers distraining for the 30 350 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. rent on the furniture of the sick widow who occupied the house. "The bed of the sick woman filled one corner of the room, surrounded by curtains sheriff's officers, a table, with pen, ink, and inventory, occupied another portion a motley group, of whom Cooke was one, hid the fire-place from view, and the remainder of the apartment was filled by cartmen, watchmen, women, and children. " When I recognized Cooke, he had turned from the fire, and his eye was on me with an expression of shame and chagrin at being found in such a situation. His skin and eyes were red, his linen dirty, his hair wildly pointing in every direction from his 'distracted globe,' and over his knee was spread an infant's bib, or something else, with which, having lost his pocket handkerchief, he wiped his incessantly moistened visage. After a wild stare at me, he changed from the first expression of his countenance, and welcomed me. He asked me why I had come. I replied, that I had received his note, and brought him the money he had required. I sat down by him, and after a few inco- herent sentences of complaint, and entreaty that I would not leave him, he burst into tears. I soothed him and replied to his repeated, entreaties of 'don't leave me,' by promises of remaining with him, but told him we must leave that place. He agreed, but added, with vehemence, 'Not back to his house! No, never! never! !' Which apparent resolution he confirmed with vehement and reit- erated oaths. The officer let me know that the gentleman had stopped the levying on the goods, and agreed to pay the quarter's rent. I was proceeding to make some inqui- ries, but Cooke, in the most peremptory tone, required that the money should be paid ; as if fearing that his ability to fulfill his promise should be doubted by the by- standers. I paid the money and demanded a receipt. The GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 35 ! officer, who was nearly drunk, asked for the gentleman's Christian name ; when with all the dignity of the buskin the drooping hero raised his head, and roared out most dis- cordantly, 'George Frederick! George Frederick Cooke!' The peculiar sharpness of the higher tones of his voice, joined to the unmelodious and croaking notes of debauch- ery, with his assumed dignity and squalid appearance, were truly comic though pitiable. . . . "The next day after our arrival at Philadelphia, Mr. Cooke rehearsed Richard. "After the rehearsal, he went to walk with the managers and see the city, while I attended to other engagements, having promised to meet him at Mr. Wood's, where we were to dine by invitation. "We accordingly met and dined at Mr. Wood's, and I saw realized all that insanity of conduct, and licentious- ness of speech, of which I had before heard much, but had never yet seen an exhibition. " The party was principally theatrical, and after dinner, unfortunately the wine circulated more freely than the wit. My hero, who had protested in the morning that he would take care of himself, and only drink wine and water, was supplied by the politeness of his host with some good old port, which he threw down without remorse ; but I cannot say without shame, for his eye most assiduously avoided mine, which probably he perceived had an expression of anxious watchfulness in it. The afternoon was oppressively warm, and seeing that Cooke's fate for the day was fixed, I retired to the house of a friend and took tea. "Between eight and nine o'clock I returned to Mr. Wood's, and before I entered the door heard the high and discordant notes of George Frederick's voice. I found the party increased by the addition of some New York and Philadelphia gentlemen, who had been dining together 35 2 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. elsewhere, and knowing that the veteran bacchanalian was here, called in to see him. And they saw an exhibition of him, in all the eccentricity of madness. Mr. Wood, whose habits were those of temperance, and whose health was delicate, had, according to a custom ' more honored in the breach than the observance,' pushed about the bottle, and tasted to prove that it was good ; and was now primed with mirth, and so charged with words, that they flowed, or rather were thrown out, high, noisy, and foaming like the incessant stream of a jet d' eau. Cooke, infinitely annoyed at this never-ceasing eloquence from a Yankee manager, at a time too when he felt that all should attend to him, would interrupt his host by striking his fist on the table, and crying out with a tremendous shout, ' Hear me, sir !' "When I came in he immediately made way for me near him, exclaiming, ' Ah ! I see I was mistaken. I have been telling them that you were in bed by this time ; but I see how it is, you have been taking your tea. He owns himself to be a tea-sot. He is the only man that shall com- mand George Frederick Cooke, and I put myself under his orders.' " W , one of the newcomers, who was mischievously filling up bumpers for Cooke, and persuading him, the moment after drinking that he neglected to drink, whis- pered me, 'I suppose then your orders will be sailing orders.' I begged him to desist from his sport, and he and his companions went off professing that they were going to prepare for a ball. "'A ball!' exclaimed Cooke, as they bade him good- night, and went off, ' they reel from the bottle to the ball ! If ever I have an opportunity of quizzing these Yankees, I'll remember this. "I'll not forget the drunken gentle- men in their dirty boots going to a ball ! But it's just like everything else in the d d country.' GEORGE 1-KEDER1CK COOKE. 353 "Mr. Wood, who was sufficiently under the influence of his own good wine not to see the uselessness of opposing Cooke, instead of laughing, began seriously to explain : " ' But, my dear sir, they are only going to change their dress before going to a ball.' " ' Don't talk to me, sir ! Pretty fellows for the com- pany of ladies, just from the tavern, the cigar, and the bottle !' " ' But, my dear sir ' " Then Cooke would dash his fist on the table, with the tremendous ' Hear me, sir !' which always produced silence after a laugh at the ludicrous impropriety of his peremptory tone and manner. " ' They don't know what belongs to gentlemen, and have no idea of the decency and suavity of politeness. My dear D , sit down by me don't leave me again. Didn't I throw out my voice this morning ! Ah, ha ! haw ! Ah, ha ! I astonished the Yankee actors ! I gave it them I'll show these fellows what acting is !' " Wood. ' You frightened some of our young men, sir ; but they are clever lads, I'll assure you.' " C . " Clever are they? I wonder how you are to find it out. But you're all alike !' " W- . ' My dear sir, I have seen you act when you were surrounded by dire dogs.' " C . ' The worst of them, better than the best of you.' " W- . 'Jack B , now, he's a clever lad, but you won't say he's an actor. I love Jack, he's my friend, but he's a dire dog of an actor.' "C . 'He's your friend, is he? you take an odd way of showing your friendship. I feel inclined to be severe.' Turning to one near him: 'I'll cut up these Yankee actors, and their wooden god don't leave me. 3 o* 354 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. O, the night I slept at Amboy I never slept in my life before poor Billy Lewis is dead sixty-five I thought I should have seen him again.' " W- . 'Ah, sir, he was an actor!' " C . ' How do you know, sir?' " W . ' Why, my dear sir, I have seen him many a time.' ' ' C . ' You see him ! where should you see him ?' " W- . 'In England, sir in London.' " C . 'And what then? What the more would you know from having seen him ?' And then to another person, and in another tone, ' Didn't I throw out my voice this morning ! I'll show them what acting is. They talk of their Cooper,' raising his voice furiously, 'their idol ! their wooden god ! Compare me to Cooper ! Have not I stood the trial with John ? What is your Cooper compared to Kemble !' " W . 'But, Mr. Cooke, you are supposing a com- parison that no one has made Mr. Cooper is a gentleman and a scholar ' " C . ' A scholar? How do you find that out? His scholarship is deep, it never appears.' " IV . ' But as to comparison with you, no one thinks of making any ' " C . 'Sir, I have heard it. An actor! he's no actor a ranting mouther, that can't read a line ! I appeal to you ' " ' Sir, Mr. Cooper is my friend ' "He appeared to pay no attention to the reply, but ceased speaking of Cooper, and turned his abuse more particularly against Mr. Wood's acting, of which he knew nothing, as he had never seen him play, nor heard him recite a speech. " While a servant by his desire went for a carriage, he GEOKGE FREDERICK COOKE. 355 continued this strain of abuse on any person whose image was presented to his mind, and particularly upon Ameri- cans, and their country, at the same time drinking what was officiously poured out for him, in that hurried and forced manner with which we have seen a nauseous drug thrown down the throat ; when suddenly he looked at Mr. Wood, who sat opposite to him, and exclaimed : " ' Why don't you drink, ST? You don't drink.' "'lam waiting,' pointing to a bottle of wine in a cooler, 'till this wine cools, sir.' " ' So and give me the warm d d polite ! but you are all alike Cooper and Price and you are ' " 'Sir, I never allow a man, whatever his. situation may be, to make use of such an appellation to me.' " Cooke had made use of an expression which conveyed an idea of unfair dealing in respect to his engagement, and a term of vulgar insult ; and now seeing a serious effect produced, immediately appeared to collect himself for a retreat. Mr. Wood proceeded : " ' If you think there is anything unfair on our part, in your Philadelphia engagement, Mr. Warren and myself will instantly annul it. Sir, you have made use of an appella- tion which I will not suffer any man to make use of to me.' " Cooke disavowed all intention of disrespect, and backed out most manfully, until a perfect reconciliation took place. . . . " During this visit to New York, Mr. Cooke exhibited himself at a tea-party. A number of ladies and gentle- men met, all anxious to see this extraordinary creature, and anticipating the pleasure to be derived, as they sup- posed, from his conversation, his humor, and his wit. Cooke, charged much higher with wine than with wit, and with that stiffness produced by the endeavor to counteract involuntary motion, was introduced into a large circle of 356 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. gentlemen, distinguished for learning, or wit, or taste ; and ladies, equally distinguished for those acquirements and endowments most valued in their sex. "A part of the property of the tragedian which had been seized by the custom-house officers, under the non- importation law, had not been yet released, owing to some delay from necessary form, and this was a constant subject of irritation to him, particularly that they should withhold from him the celebrated cups presented to him by the Liverpool managers ; and now his introductory speech among his expectant circle was addressed to one of the gentlemen, with whom he was acquainted, and was an ex- clamation without any prefatory matter, of ' They have stolen my cups !' " The astonishment of such an assembly may be im- agined. After making his bows with much circumspec- tion, he seated himself and very wisely stuck to his chair for the remainder of the evening; and he likewise stuck to his text, and his cups triumphed over every image that could be presented to his imagination. " ' Madam, they have stopped my cups. Why did they not stop my swords? No, they let my swords pass. But my cups will melt, and they have a greater love for silver than for steel. My swords would be useless with them ; but they can melt my cups and turn them to dollars ! And my Shakespeare they had better keep that : they need his instruction, and may improve by him if they know how to read him.' "Seeing a print of Kemble in Rolla, he addressed it: 'Ah, John, are you there !' then turning to Master Payne, he, in his half-whispering manner, added, ' I don't want to die in this country John Kemble will laugh.' "Among the company was an old and tried revolution- ary officer a true patriot of '76. GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 357 " Hearing Cooke rail against the country and the gov- ernment, he at first began to explain, and then to defend ; but soon finding what his antagonist's situation was, he ceased opposition. Cooke continued his insolence, and finding that he was unnoticed, and even what he said in the shape of query unattended to, he went on : " ' That's right ; you are prudent the government may hear of it walls have ears !' " Tea was repeatedly presented to him. which he refused. The little black girl with her server next offered him cake this he rejected with some asperity. Fruit was offered to him, and he told the girl he was ' sick of seeing her face.' Soon after, she brought him wine. ' Why, you little black angel,' says Cooke, taking the wine, ' you look like the devil, but you bear a passport that would carry you unquestioned into Paradise.' " The company separated early, and Master Payne hap- pily resigned his visitor to the safe keeping of the waiters of the Tontine Coffee House. "At Baltimore, as in every other city on the continent, the greatest admiration was shown of Mr. Cooke's talents as an actor, and the strongest desire to pay him every re- spect as a gentleman. But the same obstacles arose to the fulfillment of this wish as at every other place he had visited. " In one instance, when a gentleman happened to men- tion that his family were among the first settlers of Mary- land, he asked him if he had carefully preserved the family jewels. And on being questioned as to his meaning, replied, * the chains and handcuffs.' " The notoriety of his character preserved him from such returns as such language would have met if coming from other men ; and this, perhaps, encouraged him to indulge what he called his propensity to sarcasm. 358 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. "At a dinner-party given in honor of him by Mr. , he was led, still continuing his libations, to descant on Shakespeare, and the mode of representing his great characters; which he did eloquently, and to the delight of a large company. Suddenly, to the astonishment of them all, he jumped up, and exclaimed : "'Who among you sent me that d d anonymous letter?' " 'What do you mean, Mr. Cooke?' " ' You know what I mean. What have I done to offend you ? Have I not treated ye all with more respect than ye deserved ? And now to have a charge of so base a nature made against me !' " ' What do you complain of, Mr. Cooke?' " ' Sir, I am accused of falsehood. I am accused of making false assertions. I have received an anonymous letter containing this line alone, " Justify your words." Sir, my words are truth. What have I said that I cannot jus- tify? I have perhaps been too keen upon the character of your country, but truth is the severest satire upon it. I am ready to justify what I have said !' " Mr. , seeing his company thrown into confusion, and all harmony broken up, arose and expostulated with his guest, and finally hinted that the anonymous letter was a creation of his heated imagination. Cooke then resumed his seat, and fixing his eye on his host for some time, ex- claimed, ' I have marked you, sir ! I have had my eye upon you; it is time that your impertinence should be curbed !' "This excessive licentiousness of speech, with the pecu- liar manner of the speaker, appeared so ludicrous, that the company burst into loud laughter, and Cooke, changing his manner, joined heartily with them, and again resumed his glass. GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE. 359 " Some time after, a gentleman told him that it was re- ported that Mr. Madison, the President of the United Stales, purposed to come from Washington to Baltimore, to see him act. " ' If he does, I'll be d d if I play before him. What ! I ! George Frederick Cooke ! who have acted before the majesty of Britain, play before your Yankee president ! No ! Til go forward to the audience, and I'll say, Ladies and gentlemen ' " Here he was interrupted playfully by Mr. W . who happened to be dressed in black. " ' Oh, no, Mr. Cooke, that would not be right in this country ; von should say, Friends and fellow-citizens.* " Cooke, surveying him contemptuously, cried, * Hold your tongue, you d d methodist preacher :* and then pro- ceeded ' ladies and gentlemen, the king of the Yankee- doodles has come to see me act ; me, me, George Frederick Cooke ! who have stood before my royal master George the Third, and received his imperial approbation ! And shall I exert myself to play before one of his rebellious subjects, who arrogates kingly state in defiance of his master? No, it is degradation enough to play before rebels : but I'll not go on for the amusement of a king of rebels, the contemptible king of the Yankee-doodles '.' " This effusion only excited laughter, and he went on to expatiate on his deeds of arms in the war against the rebels ; and every place in the neighborhood where an action had been fought was the scene of his military achievements. " His garrulity led him to talk of his domestic affairs, and to lament that he had no children ; but shortly after, filling a bumper, he proposed the health of his eldest son, a captain in the 5th. ' What is his name, Mr. Cooke?' . " What is my name, sir? George Frederick Cooke.' 360 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. "A short time after, his second son was proposed with a bumper. " ' What is his name, Mr. Cooke?' "What should it be, sir, but George Frederick Cooke?' "With difficulty he was prevailed upon to get into a coach to return home to Baltimore. Still it was necessary that some one should attend him, and late at night his hpst performed that kind office. This offended Cooke, and he began to abuse him, and everything belonging to the coun- try. This gentleman observing the stump of a tree near the wheel-track, as they passed through a grove, cautioned the coachman. ' What, sir, do you pretend to direct my servant ?' cried Cooke. His companion humored him by apologizing ; but seeing the coachman driving too near the edge of a bridge, he again spoke to him. "'This is too much,' cried Cooke; 'get out of my coach, sir ! out stop, coachman !' " ' Drive on !' " ' Get out ! Do you order my coachman ? Get out, or this fist shall ' " Mr. , who had been told Cooke's character, in- terrupted him by exclaiming : " ' Sit still, sir, or I'll blow your brains out this instant.' " Cooke was petrified, and sat like a statue but soon began with ' Has George Frederick Cooke come to this d d country to be treated thus? Shall it be told in England ! Well, sir, if you will not get out, I will,' and he opened the door. Mr. was obliged to stop the coach, for fear of injury to Cooke, who tumbled himself out, and surlily sat down under a tree. With great diffi- culty his opposition was overcome, and Mr. , near daylight, got rid of his troublesome and turbulent guest by depositing him at his lodgings. " Thus in every city the disposition to honor his talents ELLISTOX. 361 was opposed by his unhappy habits, and it was found that, whatever he once might have been, he was no longer an agreeable associate for gentlemen, unless the bottle was kept out of sight." But there was soon to be an end to this round of drunk- enness, and mad fury, and grotesqueness. So wild and disorderly a life was not destined to endure long, and this American outburst hurried the whole to a conclusion. It would be impossible to give an idea of the extravagant alternations that marked his short stay in the country. No wonder that Byron should write of the strange record of his adventures, that "nothing like it has drenched the press. All green-room and tap-room. Drams and the drama brandy, whisky punch, and latterly toddy, over- flow every page." After a series of attacks and recoveries that almost in- variably followed when he returned to a sober course of life, he found it impossible to resist the seduction of fresh debauches, and at last, in September, 1812, he expired at the age of fifty-seven, quite worn out. CHAPTER XII. ELLISTOX-* THE looking at portraits of famous comedians seems to be entertainment almost second to that of seeing them on the stage. No such intellectual pleasure is of course to be gathered from photographs, which bear both portrait and spectator downwards, and show how far below the high Born 1774. died 1831. * Q 3' 362 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. standard we had dreamed of must be the originals. This disagreeable effect is owing to the suppression of all that is intelligent, and to the development of what is earthly and material owing to the enforced attitude and impassive mood required by the process. To those who so often repeat that a photograph must be the best kind of likeness, it can therefore be said that the mere outline of face and figure is but an element of resemblance ; and that expres- sion under the most favorable emotion as when the orator is kindling with his subject, or when the most agreeable faculties are awakened is a far more essential point. Hence it is that between photography and art there is a sort of sunken fence which by no ingenuity or amount of improvement can ever be crossed. Among theatrical portraits, on the contrary, are found the most favorable specimens of the painter's craft. There is a vivacity, a life, a variety not found in other likenesses. There has been a regular line of actors' portrait painters Hogarth, Zoffany, Harlow, and De Wilde, perhaps the most versatile and practiced of all. It is impossible to give an idea of the range of expression, the infinite intelligence of the faces thus happily preserved. The full-length of Edwin as the " Marquis" in "A Midnight Hour," at South Ken- sington, is a happy example, and exhibits an airy ease, an aristocratic refinement, as well as a hint of that slight ex- aggeration of bearing which Lamb insisted was necessary to true comedy, as opposed to the more exact imitation or "realism" which is the highest aim of our day. In pres- ence of such pictures we enjoy comedy at second hand, and indeed have a glimpse of comedy itself. These reflections are more particularly suggested by the portrait of an admirable comedian, Robert Elliston, which hangs upon the walls of the Garrick Club, and which, like so many of its fellows, is delightful to look on being the ELLISTON. 363 complement, as it were, of his life, which has a dash of one of Congreve's gay heroes. To such a career it would be unadvisable to apply the role and square of order or moral- ity ; that can be done by the proper appraisers the stu- dents and regulators of Society, to whom such are sadly amenable. But there is a comedy side to life for which a later generation makes an audience, and which is to be treated as Elia so indulgently justified the loose bat spark- ling pieces of Congreve and Wycherley, as belonging to an artificial realm of their own, where no moral law ob- tained. Something of the same immunity is enjoyed by these motors in the flesh, whose derelictions are carried off pleasantly, and scarcely felt as wrongs by even the victim. Nowadays this species of airy comedy has passed awav from the stage, because it has passed away from real life. Society has grown strict, and insists that all should be subject to the same discipline and rules. No agreeable Sheridan puts off the creditor with a good story, or tricks him after a fashion the creditor himself must smile at. Elliston was one of the comedians of real as well as of stage life ; he was always playing " Mirabel," or "Archer," in the street or the house; and it would be hard to say whether he brought these manners with him from the draw- ing-room to the stage, or from the stage to the drawing- room. These two categories were indeed not separated by any hard line, but were blended. His handsome figure, brightly intelligent face, in which lurked a roguish insinua- tion, or tone of voice conveyed a sort of second intention, as it were, that sort of legitimate double entendre which La its true sense makes half the charm of comedy. He wj> always gay and gallant, making comedy speeches off the stage, and dealing out magnified flourishes to ail the world. Drunken habits, and other indecencies, to say nothing of vanity and the pride of managerial prerogative, turned 364 THE ROMANCE OF THE SILAGE. what was merely histrionic exaggeration into positive ec- centricity, and towards the end of his life the confusion between the two states of being was complete. Such a hero, when an insinuating youth, of course ran away from home to go on the stage. Though his father was a watchmaker, his other connections were respectable, and his uncle a dignitary of one of the Oxford Colleges. His graceful figure, manners, and intellgent style soon ad- vanced him in the profession, or rather in both professions, for society was henceforth found to be as profitable and agreeable a one as his official calling. His marriage had a sort of comedy flavor ; a rather passee dancing mistress at Bath, Miss Fleming, having fallen in love with him. It was her assistant, however, that was the object of his attentions, whom he eventually married. His wife proved an excellent, amiable woman, almost too tolerant of the levities and fail- ings of the gay husband, who indulged in the fashionable excesses of high play, deep drinking, and gallantry. The average course of his domestic life, or the sober records of his professional engagements, would have little interest for the reader, and belong to the regular annals of the stage. It is a study of character, eccentric, buoyant, and excep- tional, that is presented here. After his reputation was made he began to attract attention by a sort of extrava- gance, and to court the attention and sympathy of the public by devices outside the line of his profession. This was owing to his vanity, which had become egregious, and which led him into the delusion that he was of such importance that his proceedings off the stage were equally interesting with his legitimate performances on the boards. The agreeable comedian was unhappily gifted with a turn for speech-making, which led him, like so many of his brethren, to turn the stage into a rostrum, or tribune, from which he could communicate his grievances and ELLISTON. 365 opinions to the audience. The latter, from curiosity and the desire of novelty, is naturally ready to encourage such exhibitions, which have often a dramatic character of their own, though a character not in harmony with the place. In July, 1805, a piece by Andrew Cherry a facetious actor who once ended his letter "You cannot make two bites of A CHERRY" was brought out at the Haymarket, and was a complete failure. Elliston, however, who had taken a perverse interest in it, determined that it should have a second trial on the following night, when it met with even a more hostile reception. During its progress. when loud disapprobation was being expressed, it was noticed that the excited patron of the piece had singled out a gentleman in the boxes, who was conspicuous in express- ing his opinion, and half unsheathing his stage sword, hurled defiance at him. At the close of the performance, when the curtain had fallen in a storm of disapproval, a long delay succeeded, which was followed by the abrupt appearance of Mr. Elliston, who was much excited, and appeared to arrive fresh from some scene of scuffle or con- fusion. He thus addressed the audience : "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, "I am at present considerably agitated, not so much by what has occurred before the curtain, as by a circumstance which has just taken place behind it. [Here there was universal consternation and anxiety J\ " I have, ever since I had the honor of appearing before the public, enjoyed such a share of its favor and patronage, that no consideration whatever shall deter me from speak- ing the truth. The number of those who supported the present piece last night induced me to give it out for a sec- ond representation, although, I solemnly declare (pressing his hand on his heart\ contrary to my own opinion (IHIJL- 3 66 THE ROMANCE OF THE STAGE. ture of plaudits and disapprobation). It must now clearly appear to every unprejudiced person that the sense of the house is decidedly against it (bursts of applause and some faint hisses'}. I therefore, with your permission, beg to substitute 'The Dramatist' for it to-morrow night" (very loud plaudits, with some few hisses}. The passage " it must now clearly appear to every un- prejudiced person, that the sense of the house," &c., is deliciously Ellistonian, and touches the true "note" of his character. Much speculation was excited by the exordium : and it was soon known that something extraordinary had taken place behind the scenes. Elliston, it seems, had attacked the performers, and, in " a scolding and denouncing man- ner," had attributed the failure to their bad acting. This intemperateness was naturally resented ; and Mathews an- grily replied that every one "had played as well as Ellis- ton, if not better." The latter promptly gave his brother the lie, and, according to the report, was instantly knocked down : as he rose and tried to retaliate, he received a second blow, which again prostrated him. This unseemly contest might have gone on for some time, had not some peacemaker reminded the combatants that the audience were waiting. Threatening all round him with vengeance, the excited Elliston, wearing all the marks of the fray on his person, then rushed before the audience and made his enigmatical statement. The matter could not, of course, be allowed to rest there, and on the following day, the assaulted actor, as eager to present himself before readers as he was before hearers, wrote a letter to the papers. The underlined passages are pleasantly significant of the " euphuistic" side of his char- acter, and the notion that " those who knew him best must be sensible that he was not likely to be seen in any such state ELLISTON. 367 of degradation" i.e., prostrated by a knock-down blow, would hare delighted Lamb himself.