THE PALMY DAYS OF
NANCE OLDFIELD
THE PALMY DAYS OF
NANCE OLDFIELD
BY
EDWARD ROBINS
WITH PORTRAITS
LONDON
WILLIAM HEINEMANN
1898
* !"*
-: ;: ; -j* ,7. m
** * ' * 4* *<**
This Edition enjoys copyright in all countries signatory
to the Berne treaty, and is not to be imported
into the United States of America.
CONTENTS
CHAP - PAGE
I. FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE .... i
II. AN ENTRE-ACTE 25
III. A BELLE OF METTLE 48
IV. MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS . .72
V. A DEAD HERO . . ... .95
VI. IN TRAGIC PATHS Ir 8
VII. NANCE AT HOME ! 39
VIII. THE MIMIC WORLD !6o
IX. "GRIEF A LA MODE" !g 3
X. THE BARTON BOOTHS 204
XI. THE FADING OF A STAR . . . .225
APPENDIX
8S2849
PORTRAITS
Mrs. Anne Oldfield Frontispiece
Mrs. Oldfield in the Character of Fair Rosamond Title-page
Colley Gibber in the Character of Sir Novelty Fashion . 20
Robert Wilks ... . . . . .50
William Congreve . . . . * . .78
Mrs. Anne Bracegirdle . . . , . . . .84
Mrs. Bracegirdle as the " Sultaness " . . . .86
Joseph Addison * . . 98
Mrs. Anne Oldfield . . . . . . . 140
Mr. Mills, Mrs. Porter, Mr. Gibber . . . . .160
Sir John Vanbrugh . . . . . . .180
Sir Richard Steele 188
Barton Booth . . . ... . . . 204
THE PALMY DAYS OF
NANCE OLDFIELD
CHAPTER I
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE
" OUT of question, you were born in a merry hour,"
says Don Pedro to the blithesome heroine of
" Much Ado About Nothing."
"No, sure, my lord," answers Beatrice. " My
mother cried ; but then there was a star danced, and
under that was I born."
Surely a star, possibly Venus, must have danced
gaily on a certain night in the year of grace 1683,
when the wife of Captain Oldfield, gentleman by
birth and Royal Guardsman by profession, brought
into the busy, unfeeling world of London a pretty
mite of a girl. 'Twas a year of grace indeed, for
the little stranger happened to be none other than
Anne Oldfield, whose elegance of manner, charm of
voice and action and loveliness of face would in
time make her the most delightful comedienne of her
day. Perhaps she found no instant welcome, this
diminutive maiden who came smiling into existence
laden with a message from the sunshine ; her father
A
* .** - - '
4* *
'2 : * ***' NANCE OLDFIELD
was richer in ancestry than guineas, and the
arrival of another daughter may have seemed an
honour hardly worth the bestowal.^ But Thalia
laughed, as well she might, and even the stern
features of Melpomene relaxed a little in witnessing
the birth of one who would prove almost as wondrous
in tragedy, when she so minded, as she was fas-
cinating in the gentler phases of her art.
Yet the laughter of Thalia and the unbending of
her sister Muse were hardly likely to make much
impression in the Oldfield household, where money
had more admirers than mythology, and so we are
not surprised to learn that, with the death of the
gallant captain, this " incomparable sweet girl," who
would ere long reconcile even a supercilious French-
man to the English stage, had to seek her living as a
seamstress. How she sewed a bodice or hemmed a
petticoat we know not, nor do we care ; it is far more
interesting to be told that, though only in her early
teens, the toiler with the needle found her greatest
recreation in reading Beaumont and Fletcher's plays.
The modern young woman, be her station high or low,
would take no pleasure in such a literary occupation,
but in the days of Nance Oldfield to con the pages of
Beaumont and Fletcher was considered a privilege
rather than a duty. Then, again, the little seamstress
had a soul above threads and thimbles ; her heart was
with the players, and we can imagine her running off
some idle afternoon to peep slyly into Drury Lane
* According to Edmund Bellchambers, Anne Oldfield '* would have
possessed a tolerable fortune, had not her father, a captain in the
army, expended it at a very early period."
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE 3
Theatre, or perhaps walk over into Lincoln's Inn
Fields, where the noble Betterton and his com-
panions had formed a rival company. The per-
formance over, she hurries to the Mitre Tavern, in
St. James's Market, and here she is sure of a warm
welcome, as is but natural, since the Mrs. Voss who
rules the destinies of the hostelry is Anne's elder
sister.* Here the girl loves to spend those rare
moments of leisure, reading aloud the comedies oi
long ago and dreaming of the future ; and here, too,
it is that dashing Captain Farquhar listens in amaze-
ment as she recites the " Scornful Lady."
George Farquhar how his name conjures up a
vision of all that is brilliant, rakish, and bibulous in
the expiring days of the seventeenth century ! It is
easy to picture him, as he stands near the congenial
bar of the tavern, entranced by the liquid tones and
marvellous expression of Nance's youthful voice.
He has a whimsical, good-humoured face, perhaps
showing the rubicund effects of steady drinking (as
whose features did not in those halcyon times of
merry nights and tired mornings ?), and a general air
of loving the world and its pleasures, despite a
secret suspicion that a hard-hearted bailiff may be
lying in wait around the corner. His flowing wig
may seem a trifle old, the embroidery on his once
resplendent vest look sadly tarnished, and the cloth
of his skirted coat exhibit the unmistakable symp-
toms of age, but, for all that, Captain Farquhar
stands forth an honourable, high-spirited gentleman.
* According to one authority, Mrs. Voss was Anne's aunt. We
adhere, however, to Dr. Doran's account of the relationship.
4 NANCE OLDFIELD
And gentleman George Farquhar is both by birth
and bearing. Was he not the son of genteel parents
living in the North of Ireland, and did he not receive
a polite education at the University in Dublin ? So
polite, indeed, has his training been that he is
already the author of that wonderful " Love and a
Bottle," a comedy wherein he amusingly holds the
mirror up to English vices, including his own.
And, speaking of vices, he can now look back to
those salad days when he wrote verses of unimpeach-
able morality, setting forth, among other sentiments,
that
" The pliant Soul of erring Youth
Is, like soft Wax, or moisten'd Clay,
Apt to receive all heav'nly Truth,
Or yield to Tyrant 111 the Sway.
Shun Evil in your early Years,
And Manhood may to Virtue rise ;
But he who, in his Youth, appears
A Fool, in Age will ne'er be wise."
Poor fellow ! He never will be wise in the
material sense ; he will trip gracefully through life
with more brains and bonhomie than worldly dis-
cretion, yet eclipsing many steadier companions
by writing the "Recruiting Officer" and other
sparkling plays, not forgetting " The Inconstant,"
which will last even unto the end of the nineteenth
century. At present and 'tis the present rather
than the past or future that most concerns the
captain he holds a commission in the army, which
he is foolish enough to relinquish later on, and he has
come to the very sensible conclusion that he is far
more at home in the writing of comedies than the
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE 5
acting therein. For he has been on the stage, and pre-
cipitately retired therefrom after accidently wounding
a fellow performer.* In the course of two or three
years Farquhar will make a desperate attempt to be
mercenary by marrying a girl whom he supposes to
be wealthy ; he will find out his mistake, and then,
like the thoroughbred that he is, will go on cherish-
ing her as though she had brought him a ton of
rent-rolls. When he is dead and gone, Chetwood,
the veteran prompter of Drury Lane, will tell us,
quaintly enough, how "it was affirm'd, by some of
his near Acquaintance, his unfortunate Marriage
shortened his Days ; for his Wife (by whom he had
two Daughters), through the Reputation of a great
Fortune, trick'd him into Matrimony. This was
chiefly the Fault of her Love, which was so violent
that she was resolved to use all Arts to gain him.
Tho' some Husbands, in such a Case, would have
proved mere Husbands, yet he was so much charm'd
with her Love and Understanding, that he liv'd very
happy with her. Therefore when I say an unfor-
tunate Marriage, with other Circumstances, conducted
to the shortening of his Days ; I only mean that his
Fortune, being too slender to support a Family, led
him into a great many Cares and Inconveniences/'
No one would have appreciated the unconscious
humour of Chetwood's assertion about " some hus-
bands " more than Farquhar himself. One trembles
* Farquhar was playing in " The Indian Emperor," being cast for
Guyomar, a character whose pleasant duty it is to kill Vasquez, the
Spanish general. This particular Guyomar forgot to change his
sword for a theatre foil, and in the subsequent encounter gave
Vasquez too realistic a punishment.
6 NANCE OLDFIELD
to think, by the way, what a " mere husband" must
have been in the reigns of William or Anne.
In the meantime we are almost forgetting young
Mistress Oldfield, who is still reading the " Scornful
Lady," and putting new life and grace into lines
which nowadays seem a bit academic and musty.
The captain has not forgotten her, however ; on the
contrary, he is so charmed with what he hears that
he makes some flimsy excuse to get into that room
behind the bar whence the silvery voice proceeds.
There he first meets Nance, surrounded by what
audience we know not, and is struck dumb at the
lovely figure standing out in bashful relief, as it
were, against a background of wine bottles and ale
tankards. There is an awkward pause, no doubt, and
if the girl of fifteen comes to a sudden stop in her
recital, Farquhar is no less embarrassed on his part.
The handsome, rosy face of a strapping tavern
wench would not have startled him, but he was not
gazing upon a bouncing serving maid or the hoy-
denish daughter of a prosperous innkeeper. He
beheld a creature in all the gentle bloom of high-
bred beauty tall, well-formed, and radiating a sort
of natural elegance, with a fine-shaped, expressive
face, to which great speaking eyes and a mouth half
pensive, half smiling, lent an air of rare distinction.
These were the eyes which in after years Anne would
half close in a roguish way, as when, for instance, she
meditated a brilliant stroke as Lady Betty Modish,
and then, opening them defiantly, would make them
glisten with the spirit of twinkling comedy. These
were the eyes, too, which would shine forth such
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE 7
unutterable love when she played Cleopatra that
one might well pardon the peccadilloes of poor
Antony. But as yet there was no thought of
drooping eyelids or amorous glances ; all was natural,
and nothing more so than the coyness of Nance upon
seeing the author of " Love and a Bottle."
Captain Farquhar had never before beheld this
seamstress from King Street, Westminster, but she
must have been familiar with the handsome figure of
one who had drunk many a brimming glass at the
Mitre Tavern. Thus, when he made bold to praise
her elocution, she was not offended, and, although
she ignored his request to continue the " Scornful
Lady," Anne proved sufficiently mistress of the
interruption to astonish the intruder by "her dis-
course and sprightly wit." That innate breeding, of
which no amount of poverty could deprive her, came
to the surface, to show that a woman of quality is
none the worse for a surprise. Farquhar, bowing
low with a grace that made his faded clothes seem
the pink of fashion, poured forth a torrent of flowery
compliments, which became all the stronger when he
heard that the girl knew Beaumont and Fletcher
nearly by heart. She must have blushed, looking
prettier than ever, as the visitor went on ; and how
that young heart did leap as he predicted for her a
glorious future on the stage ! The stage ! the Ultima
Thule of all her hopes ! The very idea of acting
filled her head with a thousand bewildering fancies,
and, as she told Chetwood in after years, " I longed
to be at it, and only wanted a little decent intreaties."
The decent intreaties were forthcoming. Nance's
8 NANCE OLDFIELD
mother, who evidently rejoiced in a prophetic spirit
not given to all parents, strongly agreed with
Farquhar's opinion that the young lady should try a
theatrical career, and the upshot of the whole
episode was that Captain Vanbrugh took an interest
in the newly-found jewel. This was a high honour.
Vanbrugh had not yet made for himself a reputation
as an architect by building Blenheim Castle for the
Marlboroughs, nor had he changed his title of
Captain for Sir John ; but he was a great man,
nevertheless, a successful dramatist and a boon
companion of Christopher Rich, manager of Drury
Lane. When the enthusiastic Farquhar sounded
the praises of Anne Oldfield the future Sir John
quickly repaired to the sign of the Mitre, with
which, no doubt, he was already familiar, and met
the young enchantress of that historic little room
behind the bar. The arrival of this second and
more distinguished captain was evidently the signal
for a family council. We can see them all Nance,
glowing with excitement, her Brahmin-like, aristo-
cratic beauty heightened by a dash of natural colour,
quite different from the rouge she might use later ;
Mrs. Voss, sleepy, comfortable, and well pleased ;
and Mrs. Oldfield, full of importance and maternal
solicitude. Vanbrugh, with his good-humoured
smile and military bearing, talks in a fatherly way
to the daughter, is deeply impressed with her many
attractions, and is not sorry to learn that her
ambition is all for comedy. He promises to use his
good offices with Mr. Rich to have her enrolled as
a member of the Drury Lane company, keeps his
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE 9
word, too something for a gentleman to do in the
year 1699 and soon has the satisfaction of seeing
his new protegee hobnobbing with Mrs. Verbruggen,
Wilks, Gibber, and other players of the house, while
drawing fifteen shillings a week for the privilege.
To hobnob, receive a few shillings, and do next to
nothing on the stage does not seem a glorious be-
ginning for our heroine, but think of the inestimable
luxury of brushing up against Colley Gibber. This
remarkable man, who would be in turn actor, man-
ager, playwright, and a pretty bad Poet Laureate
before death would put an extinguisher on his prolific
muses, had at first no exalted opinion of the new-
comer's powers.
'' In the year 1699," ne writes in that immortal
biography of his,* " Mrs. Oldfield was first taken
into the house, where she remain'd about a twelve-
month, almost a mute and unheeded, 'till Sir John
Vanbrugh, who first recommended her, gave her the
part of Alinda in the " Pilgrim " revis'd. This
gentle character happily became that want of con-
fidence which is inseparable from young beginners,
who, without it, seldom arrive to any excellence.
Notwithstanding, I own I was then so far deceiv'd
in my opinion of her, that I thought she had little
more in her person that appeared necessary to the
forming a good actress ; for she set out with so
extraordinary a diffidence, that it kept her too des-
pondingly down to a formal, plain, (not to say) flat
manner of speaking."
* " An Apology for the Life of Mr. Colley Gibber."
10 NANCE OLD FIELD
How strange it seems, as we peer back behind the
scenes of history, to think of a theatrical debutante
rejoicing in an extraordinary diffidence. " Rather a
cynical remark, isn't it ?" the reader may ask.
Well, perhaps it is, but these are piping times of
advertising, when even genius has been known to
employ a press agent.
Nance Oldfield may have been almost mute for a
twelvemonth, yet more than a few feminine novices,
Anno Domino 1898, would never be content to
remain silent ; not only must they make a noise
behind the footlights, but they feel it incumbent to be
heard in the newspapers as well. Any dramatic
editor could tell a weary tale of the importunities
of a progressive young lady who wants to enlighten
an aching public at least six times a week as to the
number of her dresses, the colour of her hair, and the
attention of her admirers. There is a blessed con-
solation in all this : the female with the trousseau,
the champagned locks and the notoriety lasts no
longer than the butterfly, and her place is soon taken
by the girl who never bothers about the paragraphs,
because she is sure to get them.
To return to the more congenial subject of Oldfield,
it is strange that so shrewd a Thespian as Gibber
(who seems to have been clever in all things but
poetry) was so long in coming to a real apprecia-
tion of her genius. He is manly enough to confess
that not even the silvery tone of that honeyed voice
could, " 'till after some time incline my ear to any
hope in her favour." " But public approbation," he
tells us, " is the warm weather of a theatrical plant,
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE n
which will soon bring it forward to whatever
perfection nature has design'd it. However, Mrs.
Oldfield (perhaps for want of fresh parts) seem'd to
come but slowly forward 'till the year 1703." So
slowly had she come forward indeed, that in 1702,
Gildon, a now forgotten critic and dramatist,
included her among the " meer Rubbish that ought
to be swept off the stage with the Filth and Dust."* 1
Time has avenged the actress for this slight ; who,
excepting the student of theatrical history, remembers
Gildon ?
What is more to the purpose, Nance was able to
avenge herself in the flesh, only a few months after
these contemptuous lines had been penned. It
happened at Bath, in the summer of 1703, and the
story of her triumph, brief as it is, sounds quaint and
pretty, as it comes down to us laden with a thousand
suggestions of fashionable life in the reign of Queen
Anne a life made up of gossip and cards, drinking,
gaming, patches and powder, fine clothes, full
perriwigs and empty heads. What a picturesque
lot of people there must have been at the great
English spa that season, all anxious to get a glimpse
of her plump majesty, who was staying there, and all
willing enough to do anything except to test the
waters or the baths from which the place first acquired
fame. They were all there, the pretty maids and
wrinkled matrons, the young rakes of twenty, ready
for a frolic, and the old rakes of thirty too weary to
do much more than go to the theatre and cry out,
" Damme, this is a damn'd play." Then the children,
* From the " Comparison Between the Two Stages."
12 NANCE OLDFIELD
who were always in the way, and the aged fathers of
families who liked to swear at the dandified airs and
newly imported French manners of their sons. And
such sons as some of them were too smart fellows,
of whom the beau described in "The Careless
Husband," may betaken as an example : one "that's
just come to a small estate, and a great perriwig he
that sings himself among the women he won't
speak to a gentleman when a lord's in company.
You always see him with a cane dangling at his
button, his breast open, no gloves, one eye tuck'd
under his hat, and a toothpick."
What of the belles of the Bath ? They seem to
have been much after the fashion of their modern
sisters, with their harmless little vanities, their love
of expensive finery, and their pretty eyes ever
watching for the main chance, or a chance man.
Odsbodkins ! but the world has changed very little,
for even then we hear of dashing specimens of the
New Woman, in the persons of ladies who affected
men's hats, feathers, coats, and perriwigs, to such an
extent that our dear friend Addison will gently
rebuke them during the reign of the Spectator. He
doubts if this masculinity will " smite more effectually
their male beholders," for how would the sweet
creatures themselves be affected " should they meet
a man on horseback, in his breeches and jack-boots,
and at the same time dressed up in a commode^ and
a night raile ? "
How charming it would have been to watch the
whole gay crew, just as Addison and Steele must
* A cumbersome head-dress made of lace or muslin.
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE 13
have done, and to feel, like these two delightful
philosophers, that you were a little above the sur-
roundings. Poor Dick Steele may not always have
been above those surroundings ; we can fancy him
taking things comfortably in some tippling-house,
red-faced, happy, and winey, but even the most puri-
tanical of us will forgive him. Read, by the way,
what he says of the Spa's morals*: "I found a
sober, modest man was always looked upon by both
sexes as a precise, unfashioned fellow of no life or
spirit. It was ordinary for a man who had been
drunk in good company, or .... to speak of it
next day before women for whom he had the
greatest respect. He was reproved, perhaps, with
a blow of the fan, or an ' Oh, fy ! ' but the angry
lady still preserved an apparent approbation in her
countenance. He was called a strange, wicked
fellow, a sad wretch ; he shrugs his shoulders,
swears, receives another blow, swears again he did
not know he swore, and all was well. You might
often see men game in the presence of women, and
throw at once for more than they were worth, to
recommend themselves as men of spirit. I found
by long experience that the loosest principles and
most abandoned behaviour carried all before them in
pretentions to women of fortune."
Into this merry throng came Anne Oldfield during
that never-to-be-forgotten summer not, however, as
an equal, but as an humble player of the troupe
from Drury Lane. They had moved down from
London, these happy-go-lucky Bohemians, as they
* Spectator, No. 154. Steele is writing as Simon Honeycomb.
14 NANCE OLDFIELD
were wont to do each season, among them being
the ubiquitous Gibber, the gentlemanly Wilks, and
that very talented vagabond, George Powell.
Powell it was who liked his brandy not wisely but
too well, and who made such passionate love on the
stage that Sir John Vanbrugh used to wax nervous
for the fate of the actresses. One great artiste was
missing, however. Mrs. Verbruggen was ill in
London, and that shining exponent of light comedy,
who Gibber said was mistress of more variety of
humour than he ever knew in any one actress, would
never more tread those boards which were dearer to
her than life.* Before she disappears for ever from
these " Palmy Days " let us read a page or two
about her from the graphic pictures in that famous
" Apology for the Life of Mr. Colley Gibber " :-
" As she was naturally a pleasant mimick, she
had the skill to make that talent useful on the stage,
a talent which may be surprising in a conversation,
and yet be lost when brought to the theatre
But where the elocution is round, distinct, voluble,
and various, as Mrs. Montfort's was, the mimick
there is a great assistant to the actor."
Which reminds one that more than a baker's
dozen of modern comedians, so called, are nothing
less than mimics. However, this is digressing, and
so we continue :
" Nothing, tho' ever so barren, if within the
* A brief memoir of Mrs. Verbruggen and her first husband,
handsome Will Mountford, will be found in " Echoes of the Play-
house."
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE 15
bounds of nature, could be flat in her hands. She
gave many heightening touches to characters but
coldly written, and often made an author vain of his
work that in itself had but little merit. She was
so fond of humour, in what low part soever to be
found, that she would make no scruple of defacing
her fair form to come heartily into it;* for when she
was eminent in several desirable characters of wit
and humour in higher life, she would be in as much
fancy when descending into the antiquated Abigail
of Fletcher (' Scornful Lady ') as when triumphing
in all the airs and vain graces of a fine lady, a merit
that few actresses care for. In a play of D'Urfey's,
now forgotten, called the 'Western Lass,' which
part she acted, she transform'd her whole being,
body, shape, voice, language, look, and features, into
almost another animal, with a strong Devonshire
dialect, a broad, laughing voice, a poking head,
round shoulders, an unconceiving eye, and the most
bediz'ning, dowdy dress that ever cover'd the un-
train'd limbs of a Joan Trot. To have seen her
here you would have thought it impossible the same
creature could ever have been recover'd to what
was as easy to her, the gay, the lively, and the
desirable. Nor was her humour limited to her sex ;
for, while her shape permitted, she was a more
adroit pretty fellow than is usually seen upon the
stage. Her easy air, action, mien, and gesture quite
* Davies, in his " Life of Garrick," says of Peg Woffington that
" in Mrs. Day, in the ' Committee,' she made no scruple to disguise
her beautiful countenance by drawing on it the lines of deformity
and the wrinkles of old age, and to put on the tawdry habilaments
and vulgar manners of an old hypocritical city vixen."
1 6 NANCE OLDFIELD
chang'd, from the quoif to the cock'd hat and
cavalier in fashion. People were so fond of seeing
her a man, that when the part of Bays in the
* Rehearsal ' had for some time lain dormant, she
was desired to take it up, which I have seen her act
with all the true coxcombly spirit and humour that
the sufficiency of the character required."
Let us cry peace to her manes and then wander
back to Mistress Oldfield, whom we have a very
ungallant way of leaving from time to time.
Well, Verbruggen having been taken out of the
dramatic lists "most of her parts," as Colley chroni-
cles, " were, of course, to be dispos'd of, yet so
earnest was the female scramble for them, that only
one of them fell to the share of Mrs. Oldfield, that of
Leonora in "Sir Courtly Nice" ; a character of good
plain sense, but not over elegantly written."
A "female scramble" it must have been with a
vengeance, as any one who knows aught of theatrical
ambition will easily understand. The only really
distinguished actress of the Drury Lane coterie hors
de combat, and a bevy of feminine vultures of no
particular pretension, anxiously waiting to dispose of
her histrionic remains ! Think of it, ye managers
who have to subdue the passions and limit the
extravagant hopes of your players, and pity poor,
unfortunate Mr. Rich. Do you wonder that Nance
only contrived to get the plain-spoken Leonora ?
The wonder of it is that she obtained any rdle
whatsoever.
Let Gibber continue the story, while he frankly
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE 17
confesses that even he could form a false estimate of a
colleague :
" It was in this part Mrs. Oldfield surpris'd me
into an opinion of her having all the innate powers
of a good actress, though they were yet but in the
bloom of what they promis'd. Before she had acted
this part I had so cold an expectation from her
abilities, that she could scarce prevail with me to re-
hearse with her the scenes she was chiefly concern'd
in with Sir Courtly, which I then acted. However,
we ran them over with a mutual inadvertency of one
another. I seem'd careless, as concluding that any
assistance I could give her would be to little or no
purpose ; and she mutter'd out her words in a sort of
mifty manner at my low opinion of her. But when
the play came to be acted, she had just occasion to
triumph over the error of my judgment, by the
(almost) amazement that her unexpected performance
awak'd me to ; so forward and sudden a step into
nature I had never seen ; and what made her perfor-
mance more valuable was that I knew it all proceeded
from her own understanding, untaught and unassisted
by any one more experienc'd actor."
In the original text, Gibber, in pursuance of that
old-fashioned method of capitalising every third or
fourth word without any particular rhyme or reason,
has spelled occasion with a big O. Well he might,
for it was, perhaps, the most important occasion in
all the eventful life of Oldfield. She would win
many a more popular triumph in days to come, but
what were all of them compared to the honour of
B
1 8 NANCE OLD FIELD
having compelled the writer to admit that he had
blundered.
" Though this part of Leonora in itself was of so
little value, that when she got more into esteem it
was one of the several she gave away to inferior
actresses ; yet it was the first (as I have observ'd)
that corrected my judgment of her, and confirmed me
in a strong belief that she could not fail in very little
time of being what she was afterwards allowed to be,
the foremost ornament of our Theatre."
It takes but slight exercise of fancy to see inside
the stuffy little theatre of Bath, on that memorable
summer afternoon, when "Sir Courtly Nice"* is pro-
duced, with Gibber in the foppish title-r61e and the
fair unknown as Leonora, " Belguard's sister, in love
with Farewell." Her fat, peaceful, and phlegmatic
Majesty, Anne Stuart, is in the royal box, perhaps
(although she is far from being a playgoer), and with
her retinue may be seen her dearest of friends, Sarah
* " Sir Courtly Nice ; or, It Cannot be," was from the pen of John
Crown. In dedicating it to the Duke of Ormond, as can be seen in
the original publication of the piece (" London, Printed by H. H.
Jun. for R. Bently, in Russell street, Covent Garden, and Jos. Hind-
marsh, at the Golden- Ball over against the Royal Exchange in
Cornhill, MDCLXXXV"). The author says: "This comedy was
Written by the Sacred Command of our late Most Excellent King,
of ever blessed and beloved Memory (Charles II.). I had the great
good fortune to please Him often at his Court in my Masque, on the
Stage in Tragedies and Comedies, and so to advance myself in His
good opinion ; an Honour may render a wiser Man than I vain ; for
I believe he had more equals in extent of Dominion than of Under-
standing. The greatest pleasure he had from the Stage was in
Comedy, and he often Commanded me to Write it, and lately gave
me a Spanish Play called " No' Puedeser Or, It Cannot Be " out of
which I took part o' the Name and design o' this."
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE 19
Churchill, now Duchess of Marlborough, and the
most brilliant political Amazon of her time. How
appropriate, by-the-way, that they should be together
at the comedy. The whole intimacy of the two,
gentle Sovereign and fiery subject, is nothing more
or less than a curious play, wherein Anne takes the
role of Queen (unwillingly enough, poor thing, for
she was born to be bourgeoise) and the Duchess
assumes the leading part. Unfortunate "Mrs.
Morley"!* You have a weary time of it, trying to
act up to royalty when you would be so much happier
as a middle-class housewife, and, perhaps, you have
never been more bored than you are to-day in view-
ing " Sir Courtly Nice." Nor can the performance
be as delightful as it might otherwise prove to her
of Marlborough ; 'tis but a few months since her son,
the Marquis of Blandford, had ended in small-pox a
career which promised to carry on the greatness of
his house.
The comedy is about to begin as a common-
looking person makes his appearance in the box.
He is a dull, heavy fellow, who suggests nothing
more strongly than a fondness for brown October
ale and a good dinner into the bargain. Anne turns
towards him with as affectionate a glance as she
thinks it seeming to bestow in public. Is he not her
husband, George of Denmark, and the father of
all those children whom she never has succeeded in
* It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that in the private
correspondence between Anne and the Duchess of Marlborough, the
former signed herself "Mrs. Morley," while her friend masqueraded
as " Mrs. Freeman."
20 NANCE OLDFIELD
rearing to man's, or woman's, estate ? He is a
faithful consort, too, which is saying not a little in
the days when Royal constancy, on the male side, is
the rarest of jewels. George has vices, to be sure,
but they belong to the stomach rather than the heart
that obese heart which, such as it is, the good
Queen can call her own.
" Hath your Royal Highness ever seen this
Gibber act ? " asked the Duchess, by way of making
conversation. She never stands on ceremony with
soft-pated George, and does not wait to speak until
she is spoken to.
" Gibber Gibber who be Gibber ? " queries the
Prince, a beery look in his eye, a foreign accent on
his tongue.
" He's the son of the sculptor, Caius Gabriel
Gibber, your Highness."
" I do not know I do not know," mutters
George drowsily. Then he falls asleep in the box,
and snores so deeply that Manager Rich, who has
been in the front of the house, pokes his inquisitive
face into the poorly-lighted auditorium, and quickly
pokes it back again.
But hush ! Wake up, Prince, and look at the
stage. The play has begun, and some member of
the company, we know not who, has recited the
archaic prologue, which asks :
" What are the Charmes, by which these happy Isles
Hence gain'd Heaven's brightest and eternal smiles ?
What Nation upon Earth besides our own
But by a loss like ours had been undone ?
Ten Ages scarce such Royal worths display
As England lost, and found in one strange Day.
COLLEY GIBBER
In the character of "Sir Novelty Fashion, newly created Lord Foppington," in
Vanbrugh's play of "The Relapse, or, Virtue in Dangei "
From the Painting by J. GRISONI, the property of the Garrick Club
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE 21
One hour in sorrow and confusion hurld,
And yet the next the envy of the World."
The King is dead ! Long live the Queen ! The
prologue was written in honour of his most Catholic
Majesty James II. and his consort, Marie Beatrice
of Modena, but the opening lines are admirably
adapted to flatter Anne, and so they are retained,
even though what follows happens to be new.*
But what care we for the prologue when the first
scene is on and Violante and Leonora are con-
fessing their respective love affairs, as women
always do on the stage. Leonora has a dragon
of a brother who would compel her to marry that
pink of empty propriety, Sir Courtly, but she rebels
against the admirer selected for her, as all well-bred
young women should in plays, and sets her heart
upon another. In consequence there is trouble of
the dear old romantic kind.
" I never stir out, but as they say the Devil does,
with chains and torments," Leonora tells Violante.
" She that is my Hell at home is so abroad."
"Vio. A New Woman?
" LEO. No, an old Woman, or rather an old Devil ;
nay, worse than an old Devil, an old Maid.
"Vio. Oh, there's no Fiend so Envious.
" LEO. Right ; she will no more let young People
sin, than the Devil will let 'em be sav'd, out of envy
to their happiness.
"Vio. Who is she ?
* The remainder of the original prologue, had it been recited,
would have raised a storm.
22 - NANCE OLD FIELD
" LEO. One of my own blood, an Aunt.
"Vio. I know her. She of thy blood ? She has
not a drop of it these twenty years ; the Devil of
envy sucked it all out, and let verjuice in the roome."
These lines are decidedly unfeminine and coarse,
as viewed from a nineteenth century standard, and
there is nothing in them to recommend the two girls
to the particular favour of the audience. Yet, in
the case of Leonora, they are given with such
rare spirit, and the speaker, with her almost
sensuous charm and the melody of that marvellous
voice, is so fascinating, that the house is suddenly
caught in some entrancing spell. Oldfield has
burst upon it in all the sudden glory of a newly
unfolded flower, and murmurs of admiration and
surprise are heard on every side. More than this,
Queen Anne, whose thoughts may have been far
away with the dead Duke of Gloucester, betrays a
sudden interest in the performance, and thus sets the
fashion for all those around her, excepting his most
sleepy Royal Highness, the Prince of Denmark.
He dozes on ; twenty angels from heaven would not
disturb him.
As the play proceeds, the curiosity centres around
the new Leonora, so that even the scene where Sir
Courtly is found making the most elaborate of
toilets, with the assistance of a bevy of vocalists,
does not exert the attraction to be found in the
presence of Oldfield. The episode is all very funny,
of course, and there is an appreciative titter when
the fop defines the characteristics of a gentleman :
FROM TAVERN TO THEATRE 23
" Complaisance, fine hands, a mouth well fur-
nished
" SERVANT. With fine language ?
"SiR COURTLY. Fine teeth, you sot; fine
language belongs to pedants and poor fellows that
live by their wits. Men of quality are above wit.
'Tis true, for our diversion, sometimes we write, but
we ne'er regard wit. I write, but I never write any
wit.
" SERVANT. How then, sir ?
" SIR COURTLY. I write like a gentleman, soft and
easy."
It is only a titter, however, that Gibber can pro-
duce this afternoon, or evening,* nor does the
audience take the usual relish in that touch-and-go
rubbish of a duet sung by a supposed Indian and his
love, a duet in which the former declares :
" My other Females all Yellow, fair or Black,
To thy Charmes shall prostrate fall,
As every kind of elephant does
To the white Elephant Buitenacke.
And thou alone shall have from me
Jimminy, Gomminy, whee, whee, whee,
The Gomminy, Jimminy, whee."
To which the lovely maiden answers :
" The great Jaw-waw that rules our Land,
And pearly Indian sea
Has not so absolute Command
As thou hast over me,
With a Jimminy, Gomminy, Gomminy,
Jimminy, Jimminy, Gomminy, whee."
When the play is over Nance can take a new
* Theatrical performances in this reign generally began at 5 p.m.
24 NANCE OLDFIELD
part, that of a feminine conqueror. She has over-
shadowed Colley Gibber, who is more dazed than
chagrined at the denouement, and she has proved
more potent for the public amusement than all
the beauties of " Jimminy, Gomminy," with its
elephants, its jaw-waw, and its pearly Indian Sea.
As she sits in the green-room, smiling in girlish
triumph while she looks around at the beaux and
players who crowd about her, anxious to worship
the rising star, her eloquent glance falls on George
Farquhar. There is a tear in his eye, but a radiant
expression about the face. What does the Old-
field's success mean to the Captain ? Perhaps Anne
knows, as she throws him a tender recognition ;
perhaps she thinks of that song in " Sir Courtly
Nice " which runs :
" Oh, be kind, my dear, be kind,
Whilst our Loves and we are Young ;
We shall find, we shall find,
Time will change the face or mind,
Youth will not continue long.
Oh, be kind, my dear, be kind."
CHAPTER II
AN ENTRE-ACTE
WHILE Anne Oldfield is resting from her first
triumph and preparing for another, let us glance for
a moment at the theatrical conditions which surround
her. Curious, perplexing conditions they are,
marking as they do a transition between the brilliant
but generally filthy period of the Restoration a
period in which some of the worst and some of the
best of plays saw the light and the time when the
punctilio and artificial decency of the age will cast
over the stage the cold light of formality and
restraint. The nation is but slowly recovering from
the licentiousness which characterised the merry
reign of Charles II., that witty, sceptical sovereign,
who never believed in the honesty of man nor the
virtue of frail woman. The playwrights are re-
covering too, yet, if anything, more tardily than the
people ; for when a nasty cynicism, like that per-
vading the old comedies, is once boldly cultivated,
many a long day must elapse ere it can be replaced
by a cleaner, healthier spirit.
Charles has surely had much to answer for at the
bar of public opinion (a bar for which he evidently
26 NANCE OLDFIELD
felt a profound contempt), and the evil influence
which he and his Court exerted on the drama
supplies one of the greatest blots on his moral
'scutcheon. Augustus William Schlegel, that foreigner
who studied the literature of the English stage as
few Britons have ever done, well pointed out that
while the Puritans had brought Republican principles
and religious zeal into public odium, this light-hearted
monarch seemed expressly born to dispel all respect
for the kingly dignity. " England was inundated
with the foreign follies and vices in his train. The
Court set the fashion of the most undisguised im-
morality, and this example was the more extensively
contagious, as people imagined that they showed
their zeal for the new order of things by an extra-
vagant way of thinking and living. The fanaticism
of the Republicans had been accompanied with true
strictness of manners, and hence nothing appeared
more convenient than to obtain the character of
Royalists by the extravagant inclination for all
lawful and unlawful pleasures.
" The age of Louis XIV. was nowhere imitated
with greater depravity. The prevailing gallantry at
the Court of France was not without reserve and
tenderness of feeling ; they sinned, if I may so
speak, with some degree of dignity, and no man
ventured to attack what was honourable, though his
own actions might not exactly coincide with it.
The English played a part which was altogether
unnatural to them ; they gave themselves heavily
up to levity ; they everywhere confounded the
coarsest licentiousness with free mental vivacity,
AN ENTRE-ACTE 27
and did not perceive that the sort of grace which is
still compatible with depravity, disappears with the
last veil which it throws off."
As Schlegel goes on to say, we can easily imagine
into what direction the tastes of the English people
drifted under such auspices. " They possessed no
real knowledge of the: fine arts, and these were
merely, favoured like other foreign fashions and
inventions of luxury, They neither felt a true want
of poetry, nor had any relish for it ; they merely
wished to be entertained in a brilliant and light
manner. The theatre, which in its former simplicity
had attracted the spectators solely by the excellence
of the dramatic works and the actors, was now
furnished out with all the appendages with which
we are at this day familiar ; but what is gained in
external decoration is lost in internal worth."
In other words, the theatrical life and literature of
the Restoration was morally rotten to the core.
How that rottenness has been giving way, during
the childhood of Nance Oldfield, to what may
be styled a comparative decency, need not be
described here. Suffice it to explain that such a
change is taking place, and let us accordingly sing,
rejoice and give thanks for small mercies. Thalia
has ceased to be a wanton ; she is fast becoming quite
a respectable young woman, and as to Melpomene
well, that severe Muse is actually waxing religious.
Religious ? Yes, verily, for will not all good
Londoners read in the course of a year or two that
there will be a performance of " Hamlet" at Drury
Lane " towards the defraying the charge of repairing
28 NANCE OLDFIELD
and fitting up the chapel in Russell Court," said
performance to be given "with singing by Mr.
Hughes, and entertainment of dancing by Monsieur
Cherier, Miss Lambro his scholar, and Mr. Evans.
Boxes, 53. ; pit, 35. ; gallery, 2s. ; upper gallery, is."
Here was an ideal union of church and stage with
a vengeance, the one being served by the other, and
the whole thing done to the secular accompaniment
of singing and dancing. For an instant the town
was scandalised, but Defoe, that perturbed spirit for
whom there was no such word as rest, saw the
humour of the situation.
' * Hard times, gentlemen, hard times these are
indeed with the Church," he informs the promoters
of this ecclesiastical benefit, "to send her to the
playhouse to gather pew-money. For shame, gentle-
men ! go to the Church and pay your money there,
and never let the playhouse have such a claim to its
establishment as to say the Church is beholden to
her Can our Church be in danger ? How is
it possible ? The whole nation is solicitous and at
work for her safety and prosperity. The Parliament
address, the Queen consults, the Ministry execute, the
Armies fight, and all for the Church ; but at home
we have other heroes that act for the Church. Peggy
Hughes sings, Monsieur Ramandon plays, Miss Sant-
low dances, Monsieur Cherier teaches, and all for the
Church. Here's heavenly doings ! here's harmony ! "
"In short," concludes the author of "Robinson
Crusoe," " the observations on this most prepos-
terous piece of Church work are so many, they
AN ENTRE-ACTE 29
cannot come into the compass of this paper ; but if
the money raised here be employed to re-edify this
chapel, I would have it, as is very frequent, in like
cases, written over the door in capital letters : ' This
church was re-edified anno 1706, at the expense and
by the charitable contribution of the enemies of the
reformation of our morals, and to the eternal scandal
and most just reproach of the Church of England
and the Protestant religion. Witness our hands,
LUCIFER, Prince of Darkness, ^
and [ Churchwardens.' " *
HAMLET, Prince of Denmark,]
The " enemies of the reformation of our morals ! "
Defoe used the expression satirically, but how well it
suited the minds of many pious persons, ranging all
the way from bishops to humble laymen, who could
see nothing in the theatre excepting the prospective
flames of the infernal regions. Clergymen preached
against the playhouse then, just as some of them
have done since, and will continue so to do until the
arrival of the Millennium. Oftentimes the criticisms
of these well-meaning gentlemen had more than a
grain of truth to make them half justifiable. The
stage was still far from pure, in spite of the improve-
ment which was going on steadily enough, and there
is no denying the fact that several of the worst plays
of the Restoration could still claim admirers. Even
"Sir Courtly Nice," wherein occurs one of the most
indecent passages ever penned, and one of the most
suggestive of songs, was received without a murmur.
Congreve was pardoned for his breaches of decorum,
* Review, June 20, 1706.
30 NANCE OLDFIELD
and Dryden was looked upon as quite proper enough
for all purposes.
The morale of the players could hardly be called
unimpeachable, at least in some instances, but the
violations of social rules were not so open as they
had been in the old days. Here and there a frail
actress might depart from the stony path of virtue,
or an actor give himself up to wine and the dodging
of bailiffs, yet the attending scandals were not flaunted
in the face of the public. In other words, there were
Thespians of doubtful reputation then, just as there
are now, and these black sheep helped materially to
keep up against their white brethren that remarkable
prejudice which has endured even unto the present
decade.
As a class, the players had no social position of
any kind, although the great ones of the earth, the
men of rank, never hesitated to hobnob with them
when, like Mrs. Gamp, they felt " so dispoged."
Even in the enlightened reign of Queen Anne, there
existed among many intelligent persons the vague
idea that one who trod the boards was nothing more
or less than a vagabond, and we are not surprised to
learn, therefore, that in a royal proclamation of the
period, " players and mountebanks " are mentioned
in the same sentence, as though there was little
difference between them.
Perhaps, the " artists " to whom the title of vaga-
bond might be applied with a certain degree of
justice were the strolling players, who seem to have
been much after the fashion of others of their ilk,
before and since. Good-natured, poverty-stricken
AN ENTRE-ACTE 31
barnstormers they doubtless were, living from-hand-
to-mouth, and quite willing to go through the whole
gamut of tragedy, from Shakespeare to Dryden, for
the sake of a good supper. Here is a graphic picture
of such a band of dramatic ne'er-do-wells, drawn
by Dick Steele in the forty-eighth issue of the
Spectator :
"We have now at this place [this is a letter of an
imaginary correspondent to ' Mr. Spectator '] a
company of strollers, who are very far from offending
in the impertinent splendor of the drama. They are
so far from falling into these false gallantries, that
the stage is here in his original situation of a cart.
Alexander the Great was acted by a fellow in a paper
cravat. The next day, the Earl of Essex seemd to
have no distress but his poverty ; and my Lord
Foppington the same morning wanted any better
means to show himself a fop than by wearing stock-
ings of different colours.* In a word, though they
have had a full barn for many days together, our
itinerants are still so wretchedly poor, that without
* It must be remembered that theatrical costumes, as we see them
to-day, did not exist. The art of dressing correctly, according to
the nature of the character and the period in which the play was
supposed to occur, was practically unknown. Even in after years
we hear of Spranger Barry playing Othello in a gold-laced scarlet
suit, small cocked hat, and knee-breeches, with silk stockings.
Think of it, ye sticklers for realism ! Dr. Doran narrates how
Garrick dressed Hamlet in a court suit of black coat, " waistcoat and
knee-breeches, short wig with queue and bag, buckles in the shoes,
ruffles at the wrists, and flowing ends of an ample cravat hanging
over his chest." Barton Booth's costume for Cato was ev.en more of
an anachronism. " The Cato of Queen Anne's day wore a flowered
gown and an ample wig."
32 NANCE OLDFIELD
you can prevail to send us the furniture you forbid at
the playhouse, the heroes appear only like sturdy
beggars, and the heroines gypsies. We have had
but one part which was performed and dressed with
propriety, and that was Justice Clodpate. This
was so well done, that it offended Mr. Justice Overdo,
who, in the midst of our whole audience, was (like
Quixote in the puppet show) so highly provoked,
that he told them, if they would move compassion,
it should be in their own persons and not in the
characters of distressed princes and potentates. He
told them, if they were so good at finding the way to
people's hearts, they should do it at the end of bridges
or church porches, in their proper vocation as beggars.
This, the justice says, they must expect, since they
could not be contented to act heathen warriors, and
such fellows as Alexander, but must presume to make
a mockery of one of the Quorum."
Poor strollers. There was a bit of stern philosophy
in the advice of the justice, for they would probably
have led a merrier and more luxurious life had they
deserted the barns forthe bridges and church-porches.
Perhaps the same change would suit the wandering
players who are to be found in these last years of the
nineteenth century, travelling from one third-class
hotel to another, and wondering whether they will
ever make enough money to return home and sun
themselves on the New York Rialto.
Humble as they were in the time of Queen Anne,
her Government saw fit to subject the strollers to what
might be called police regulation, and the Master of
AN ENTRE-ACTE 33
the Revels, who was a censor of plays and a super-
visor-in-general of theatrical matters, had to issue an
imposing order setting forth that whereas " several
Companies of Strolling Actors pretend to have
Licenses from Noblemen,* and presume under that
pretence to avoid the Master of the Revels, his
Correcting their Plays, Drolls, Farces, and Interludes:
which being against Her Majesty's Intentions and
Directions to the said Master : These are to signifie.
That such Licenses are not of any Force or authority.
There are likewise several Mountebanks Acting upon
Stages, and Mountbanks on Horseback, Persons
that keep Poppets ,and others that make Shew of
Monsters, and strange Sights of Living Creatures,
who presume to Travel without the said Master of
the Revels' Licence," &c. &c. The whole pronuncia-
mento went to show that the despised strollers
were not beneath the notice of a lynx-eyed Govern-
ment.
It is curious that the functionary to whom was
assigned the important critical duty of revising plays
should also be obliged to concern himself with the
doings of puppets and country "side shows." Yet
before the law there was very little if any difference
between a performance of " Hamlet " by the great
Betterton, and an exhibition of the marital infelicities
of Punch and Judy. Are matters so much better
now that we can afford to laugh at the incongruity ?
Do not theatres devoted to the " legitimate " and
* A survival of the days when noblemen often had their own
companies of actors, and were empowered to regulate the perform-
ances of these dramatic servants.
C
34 NANCE OLDFIELD
dime museums, the homes of triple-pated men, human
corkscrews and other intellectual freaks, come under
the same police supervision, and rank one and all
within the same classification as " places of amuse-
ment ? " Nay, to go further and fare worse, do not
some of these very freaks regard themselves as
fellow-workers in the dramatic vineyard made so
fertile through the toil of a Booth, a Mansfield or a
Terry ? The writer has himself heard the mani-
pulator of a marionette troupe (whose wife, by-the-
way, posed in a curio hall as a " Babylonian Prin-
cess ") speak of Sir Henry Irving as "a brother
professional."
This complacent individual had his prototype
during the very period which we are considering.
He was an artistic gentleman named Crawley, the
happy manager of a puppet show which used to
bring joy into the hearts of the merry people
thronging the famous Bartholomew Fair. One
fine day, as the manager was standing outside of his
booth, he was put into a flutter of excitement by the
approach of the mighty Betterton, in company with
a country friend. The actor offered several shillings
for himself and rustic as they were about to enter
the show, but this was too much for Crawley. He
saw the chance of his life, and took advantage of it.
" No, no, sir," he said to " Old Thomas," with quite
the patronising air of an equal, " we never take
money of one another ! " Betterton did not see the
matter in the same light, and, indignantly throwing
down the silver, stalked into the booth without so
much as thanking the proprietor of the puppets.
AN ENTRE-ACTE 35
What a Bedlam of a place Bartholomew must
have been, with its noise, its gew-gaws, bad beer,
cheap shows, and riotous visitors. Ned Ward, to
whose descriptions modern readers are indebted,
partly through the aid of John Ashton,* for many a
glimpse of old-time London life, has left us a vivid
picture of the fair as it appeared to him. The
entrance to it, he says, was like unto a " Belfegor's
concert," with its " rumbling of drums, mixed with
the intolerable squalling of catcalls and penny
trumpets." Nor could the sense of smell have been
much better catered to than that of hearing, owing
to the " singeing of pigs and burnt crackling of
over-roasted pork." Once within the enclosure he
saw all sorts of remarkable things, including the
actors, "strutting round their balconies in their
tinsey robes and golden leather buskins ; " the rope-
dancers, and the. dirty eating-places, where " cooks
stood dripping at their doors, like their roasted
swine's flesh." Ward also looked on at several
comedies, or " droles," being enacted in the grounds,
and, after coming to the conclusion that they were
like " State fire works," and "never do anybody good
but those that are concerned in the show," he
repaired to a dancing booth. Here he had the
privilege of watching a woman " dance with glasses
full of liquor upon the backs of her hands, to which
she gave variety of motions, without spilling."
All this may have a curious interest, but it looks
a trifle inconsistent, does it not, to lament the un-
justness of connecting puppet entertainments and
* See Ashton's " Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne."
36 NANCE OLDFIELD
the like with the stage, and then deliberately devote
space to the mysteries of Bartholomew Fair ? It
is more to the purpose to speak of the two theatres
which claimed the attention of London playgoers
in the year 1703 the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane,
and the house in Lincoln's Inn Fields.
Of the two, Drury Lane was the more important
in an historical sense, having been the house of the
famous " King's Company," as the players of
Charles II. were styled, and then of the combined
forces formed in 1682 by the union of this organisa-
tion and the " Duke of York's Company." This
was the house into which Nance Oldfield came as
a modest debutante. It had been built from the
designs of Wren, to replace the old theatre destroyed
by fire in 1672.
Cibber has sketched for us the second Drury
Lane's interior, as it appeared in its original form,
before the making of changes intended to enlarge
the seating capacity. " It must be observed then,
that the area or platform of the old stage projected
about four feet forwarder (sic), in a semi-oval figure,
parallel to the benches of the pit ; and that the former
lower doors of entrance for the actors were brought
down between the two foremost (and then only)
pilasters ; in the place of which doors now the two
stage boxes are fixt. That where the doors of
entrance now are, there formerly stood two additional
side-wings, in front to a full set of scenes, which had
then almost a double effect in their loftiness and
magnificence.
" By this original form, the usual station of the
AN ENTRE-ACTE 37
actors, in almost every scene, was advanc'd at least
ten foot nearer to the audience than they now can be ;
because, not only from the stage's being shorten'd
in front, but likewise from the additional interposi-
tion of those stage boxes, the actors (in respect
to the spectators that fill them) are kept so much
more backward from the main audience than they
us'd to be. But when the actors were in possession
of that forwarder space to advance upon, the voice
was then more in the centre of the house, so that the
most distant ear had scarce the least doubt or
difficulty in hearing what fell from the weakest
utterance. All objects were thus drawn nearer to
the sense ; every painted scene was stronger ; every
grand scene and dance more extended ; every rich or
fine-coloured habit had a more lively lustre. Nor
was the minutest motion of a feature (properly
changing from the passion or humour it suited) ever
lost, as they frequently must be in the obscurity of
too great a distance. And how valuable an advantage
the facility of hearing distinctly is to every well-acted
scene, every common spectator is a judge. A voice
scarce raised above the tone of a whisper, either in
tenderness, resignation, innocent distress, or jealousy
suppress'd, often have as much concern with the
heart as the most clamorous passions ; and when on
any of these occasions such affecting speeches are
plainly heard, or lost, how wide is the difference
from the great or little satisfaction received from
them ? To all this the master of a company may
say, I now receive ten pounds more than could
have been taken formerly in every full house. Not
38 NANCE OLDFIELD
unlikely. But might not his house be oftener full if
the auditors were oftener pleas'd ? Might not every
bad house, too, by a possibility of being made every
day better, add as much to one side of his account
as it could take from the other."
The latter portion of Colley's remarks will be
echoed by our own audiences, which are so often
doomed to see the most delicate of plays acted in
barns of theatres where all the sensitive effects of
dialogue and action are swallowed up in the im-
mensity of stage and auditorium. There is nothing
more dispiriting, indeed, both to performers and
spectators, than the presentation of some comedy
like the "School for Scandal" in a house far better
suited to the picturesque demands of the " Black
Crook " or the " County Circus."
The theatre in Drury Lane, as Oldfield knew it,
had a not over-cheerful interior, the most noticeable
features of which included the pit, provided with
( backless benches, and surrounded by what would
now be called the Promenade. The latter, as
Misson informs us,^ was taken up for the most part
by ladies of quality. In addition to these quarters
and the boxes, there were two galleries reserved for
the common herd, but into which, no doubt, im-
pecunious beaux, down in the heels and at the
mouth, would frequently stray.
The performances generally began at 5 o'clock, but
that there were occasional lapses into unpunctuality,
* Henre Misson's " Memoirs and Observations in his Travels over
England."
AN ENTRE-ACTE 39
may be inferred from the following advertisement in
the Daily Courant of October 5, 1703 :
"Her Majesty's Servants of the Theatre Royal
being return'd from the Bath, do intend, tomorrow,
being Wednesday, the sixth of this instant October to
act a Comedy call'd ' Love Makes a Man, or the
Fop's Fortune.'^ With singing and dancing. And
whereas the audiences have been incommoded by
the Plays usually beginning too late, the Company of
the said Theatre do therefore give notice that they
will constantly begin at Five a Clock without fail,
and continue the same Hour all the Winter."!
To theyfoz de siecle playgoer the idea of beginning
a performance at so strange an hour seems nothing
short of startling, until it be remembered that people
of quality were then wont to dine between three and
four o'clock of the afternoon. How they spent the
earlier portion of the day is not hard to relate. The
men of fashion rose tardily, feeling none the better,
as a rule, for a night at club or tavern, and then
lounged about as best they could, visiting, sauntering
in the Mall,J or otherwise trying to pass the time
until dinner. This solid meal over they were ready
* One of Gibber's earlier plays.
t Quoted in " Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne."
J " It seem'd to me as if the World was turn'd top-side turvy ; for
the ladies look'd like undaunted heroes, fit for government or battle,
and the gentlemen like a parcel of fawning, flattering fops, that
could bear cuckoldom with patience, make a jest of an affront, and
swear themselves very faithful and humble servants to the petticoat ;
creeping and cringing in dishonor to themselves, to what was
decreed by Heaven their inferiours ; as if their education had been
amongst monkeys, who (as it is said) in all cases give the pre-
eminence to their females."" The Mall as described by Ned Ward."
40 NANCE OLDFIELD
for the theatre, where they occasionally arrived
in a state of unpleasant exhilaration, damning the
play, ogling the women and making themselves as
obnoxious as possible to the unfortunates who cared
more for the stage than the commonplace audience.
And the women : what of them ? They played
cards, often for highly respectable (?) stakes, or went
to the theatre when there was nothing better to do,
and frittered away the greater number of the twenty-
four hours in a mode that the fashionable woman of
1898 would consider positively scandalous. Some-
times the dear creatures went for a stroll in the
Mall, there to meet the English coxcombs with
French manners, or else they paid a few visits.
" Thus they take a sip of tea, then for a draught or
two of scandal to digest it, next let it be ratafia, or
any other favourite liquor, scandal must be the after
draught to make it sit easy on their stomach, till the
half hour's past, and they have disburthen'd them-
selves of their secrets, and take coach for some other
place to collect new matter for defamation."^
Drury Lane must have presented an animated
but none the less disorderly scene any evening
during the season when a popular play was to be
given. Women in the boxes talking away for dear
life, beaux walking about the house, chattering,
/ ogling and laughing, or even sitting on the stage
while the performance was in progress/I" and the
* Thomas Brown.
t Owing in great part to the efforts of Queen Anne, this wretched
custom of allowing a few spectators to sit on the stage was practi-
cally abolished before the close of the reign.
AN ENTRE-ACTE 41
orange girls running around to sell their wares and,
not infrequently, their own souls as well.
** Now turn, and see where loaden with her freight,
A damsel stands, and orange-wench is hight ;
See 1 how her charge hangs dangling by the rim,
See ! how the balls blush o'er the basket-brim ;
But little those she minds, the cunning belle
Has other fish to fry, and other fruit to sell ;
See 1 how she whispers yonder youthful peer,
See I how he smiles and lends a greedy ear.
At length 'tis done, the note o'er orange wrapt
Has reach'd the box, and lays in lady's lap."
These lines by Nicholas Rowe form a graphic but
unsavoury picture of the demoralisation to be found
in an early eighteenth century audience. Affairs
were much better than they used to be in the laissez-
faire Restoration period, but, as may be imagined,
there was still room for improvement. The rake,
the cynic and the looseiy-moraled women were still
abroad in the land (have we quite done with them
even yet ?), and many a hard struggle would take
place before the artificial restraint and decorum of
the Georgian era would triumph over the mocking
spirit of Charles Stuart and his professional idlers.
In the meantime, as Shad well relates, the rakes " live
as much by their wits as ever ; and to avoid the
clinking dun of a boxkeeper, at the end of one act
they sneak to the opposite side 'till the end of
another ; then call the boxkeeper saucy rascal,
ridicule the poet, laugh at the actors, march to the
opera, and spunge away the rest of the evening."
And he goes on to say that " the women of the town
take their places in the pit with their wonted assur-
42 NANCE OLDFIELD
ance. The middle gallery is fill'd with the middle
part of the city, and your high exalted galleries are
grac'd with handsome footmen, that wear their
master's linen. "*
And now for a few pages about Drury Lane's
rival, the theatre within the walls of the old tennis
court in Lincoln's Inn Fields. It was the home of
the company headed by the noble Betterton, the
"English Roscius," who had, in 1695, headed the
revolt against the management of the other house.
At that time the tide of popular success at Drury
Lane had reached a rather low ebb, a painful circum-
stance due, no doubt, to the fickleness of a public
that was beginning to tire of the favourite players and
to betray a fondness for operatic and spectacular
productions rather than the" legitimate." Christopher
Rich, the manager of the theatre, was, like many of
his kind, more given to considering the weight of
his purse than the scant supply of sentiment with
which nature might originally have endowed him,
and so he tried to do two characteristic things. The
salaries of his faithful employes should be reduced
and the older members of the company retired into
the background as much as possible. Younger faces
must occupy the centre of the stage ; even Betterton,
the greatest actor of his time, should be supplanted
in some of his parts by the dissolute George Powell,
* The footmen were sometimes sent, early in the afternoon, to
keep places in the theatre until their masters or mistresses should
arrive. They created so much disturbance, however, that a stop
had to be put to the practice, and the servants were relegated to the
upper gallery. To this they were given free admission.
AN ENTRE-ACTE 43
and the genius of Mrs. Barry,* whom Dryden
thought the greatest actress he had ever seen, was to
give way to the less matured charms of the lovely
Anne Bracegirdle.
Gibber relates the story in a sympathetic vein.
" Though the success of the ' Prophetess ' and ' King
Arthur ' (two dramatic operas in which the patentees t
had embark'd all their hopes) was in appearance
very great, yet their whole receipts did not so far
balance their expense as to keep them out of a large
debt, which it was publicly known was about this
time contracted Every branch of the theatrical
trade had been sacrific'd to the necessary fitting out
those tall ships of burthen that were to bring home
the Indies. Plays of course were neglected, actors
held cheap, and slightly dress'd, while singers and
dancers were better paid, and embroider'd. These
measures, of course, created murmurings on one
side, and ill-humour and contempt on the other.
" When it became necessary therefore to lessen
the charge, a resolution was taken to begin with the
salaries of the actors ; and what seem'd to make this
resolution more necessary at this time was the loss
of Nokes, Montfort and Leigh, who all dy'd about
the same year. No wonder then, if when these
great pillars were at once remov'd the building grew
* Mrs. Barry is said to have been a very elegant dresser ; but, like
most of her contemporaries, she was not a very correct one. Thus,
in the " Unhappy Favourite," she played Queen Elizabeth, and in
the scene of the crowning she wore the coronation robes of James II.'s
Queen ; and Ewell says she gave the audience a strong idea of the
first-named Queen. DORAN'S " Annals of the Stage."
t Alexander Davenant, Charles Killigrew, and Rich.
44 NANCE OLDFIELD
weaker and the audiences very much abated. Now
in this distress, what more natural remedy could be
found than to incite and encourage (tho' with some
hazard) the industry of the surviving actors ? But
the patentees, it seems, thought the surer way was to
bring down their pay in proportion to the fall of
their audiences. To make this project more feasible
they propos'd to begin at the head of 'em, rightly
judging that if the principals acquiesc'd, their inferiors
would murmur in vain.
" To bring this about with a better grace, they,
under pretence of bringing younger actors forward,
order'd several of Betterton's and Mrs. Barry's chief
parts to be given to young Powel and Mrs. Brace-
girdle. In this they committed two palpable errors ;
for while the best actors are in health, and still on
the stage, the public is always apt to be out of
humour when those of a lower class pretend to stand
in their places."
And with a bit more of this timely philosophy
to which, let it be hoped, he ever lived up to himself
Colley goes on to say that, " tho' the giddy head of
Powel accepted the parts of Betterton, Mrs. Brace-
girdle had a different way of thinking, and desir'd to
be excus'd from those of Mrs. Barry; her good
sense was not to be misled by the insidious favour of
the patentees ; she knew the stage was wide enough
for her success, without entering into any such rash
and invidious competition with Mrs. Barry, and,
therefore, wholly refus'd acting any part that properly
belong'd to her."
AN ENTRE-ACTE 45
Then came the revolt, which the astute Betterton
("a cunning old fox" Gildon once dubbed him)
seems to have managed with all the diplomacy of a
Machiavelli. " Betterton upon this drew into his
party most of the valuable actors, who, to secure
their unity, enter'd with him into a sort of association
to stand or fall together." In the meantime he
pushed the war into Africa, or, to change the simile,
determined to lead his people out of the land of
bondage, as exemplified by Drury Lane, and settle
down in a new theatre. Nay, the " cunning old fox "
even went so far as to secure an interview with his
most august sovereign, William of Orange. What
an audience it must have been, with William, stiff, un-
comfortable, and unintentionally repellant, confronted
by the greatest of living " Hamlets " and a group of
other players made brilliant by the presence of the
imperial but not too moral Mistress Barry, the lovely
Bracegirdle, breathing the perfume of virtue, real
or assumed, and the fascinating Verbruggen.* Per-
haps the King found them an interesting lot, perhaps
he merely regarded them with the same good-natured
curiosity he might have exhibited for a pack of
mountebanks, but in either case he was determined,
with that sombre seriousness so typical of him, to do
his duty in the premises. So he listened patiently
to their complaints, and the result of it all was that
by the advice of the Earl of Dorset, the Lord
Chamberlain, a royal licence, allowing the revolters
to act in a separate theatre, was duly issued. A
* Mrs. Verbruggen and Joseph Williams seceded from the new
company almost at once.
46 NANCE OLDFIELD
subscription for the erection of the new house was
immediately opened, people of quality paid in any-
where from twenty to forty guineas a piece, and the
whole affair assumed permanent shape. Poor, tired,
pre-occupied William had done what was expected
of him, lifting his eyes for the nonce from the real
world, as represented by the map of Europe, to gaze
upon his subjects of the mimic boards.
<c My having been a witness of this unnecessary
rupture," writes Gibber, "was of great use to me
when, many years after, I came to be a menager
myself. I laid it down as a settled maxim, that no
company could flourish while the chief actors and the
undertakers were at variance. I therefore made it a
point while it was possible upon tolerable terms, to
keep the valuable actors in humour with their station ;
and tho' I was as jealous of their encroachments as
any of my co-partners could be, I always guarded
against the least warmth in any expostulations with
them ; not but at the same time they might see I
was perhaps more determin'd in the question than
those that gave a loose to their resentment, and
when they were cool were as apt to recede."
Colley was shrewd enough in dealing with
players, and, as any one who has ever had aught to
do with them knows, the majority of Thespians must
be treated with the greatest tact. They are sensitive
and high-strung, yet often as unreasonable as children,
and the man who can rule over them with ease
should be snapped up by an appreciative govern-
ment to conduct its most diplomatic of missions.
AN ENTRE-ACTE 47
With the theatrical stars of his own day Gibber
seems to have been firm but prudent. " I do not re-
member," he tells us, " that ever I made a promise
to any that I did not keep, and, therefore, was
cautious how I made them." A fine sentiment, dear
sir, eminently fit for a copy book, but we can well
believe that your promises never erred on the side of
extravagance.
It is a fascinating subject, this study of old-time
stage life fascinating, at least for the writer, who is
tempted to run on garrulously, describing the doings
of Betterton in the new theatre, and then wandering
off to speak of the establishment of Italian opera in
England. But the limits of the chapter are reached ;
let us bid good-bye to " Old Thomas," whose
" Setting sun still shoots a glimmering ray,
Like ancient Rome, majestic in decay,"
and hasten to worship the rising sun, in the person
of Mistress Oldfield.
CHAPTER III
A BELLE OF METTLE
"FOR let me tell you, gentlemen, courage is the
whole mystery of making love, and of more use than
conduct is in war ; for the bravest fellow in Europe
may beat his brains out against the stubborn walls
of a town but
" Women born to be controlPd,
Stoop to the forward and the bold."
These lines, taken hap-hazard from Colley Gibber's
11 Careless Husband," contain the very spirit and
essence of that old English comedy wherein the
hero was nothing more than a handsome rake and
the heroine well, not a straitlaced Puritan or a
prude. They breathe of the time when honesty
and virtue went for naught upon the stage, and the
greatest honours were awarded to the theatrical
Prince Charming who proved more unscrupulous
than his fellows. Yet, strange as it may seem, the
" Careless Husband " is a vast improvement, in
point of decency, on many of the plays that preceded
it, and marks a turning point in the moral atmo-
sphere of those that came after. " He who now
reads it for the first time," says Doran, " may be
A BELLE OF METTLE 49
surprised to hear that in this comedy a really serious
and eminently successful attempt to reform the licen-
tiousness of the drama was made by one who had
been himself a great offender. Nevertheless the
fact remains. In Lord Morelove we have the first
lover in English comedy, since licentiousness pos-
sessed it, who is at once a gentleman and an honest
man. In Lady Easy we have what was hitherto
unknown or laughed at a virtuous married woman."
To go further, it may be added that the story points
an unexceptionable moral, proving that the best
thing for a husband to do in this world is to be true
to the legitimate companion of his joys and sorrows.
With all this in favour of the " Careless Hus-
band," it is a curious fact that the play, if presented
in its original form, would not be tolerated by the
audiences of to-day.^ The dialogue is often coarse
and suggestive, although for the most part full of
sparkle and mother wit, while the plot smacks of
intrigue, lying and adultery. But it is a fine work
for all that ; there is a delightful flavour about it, as
of old wine, and we feel in reading each successive
scene that we are uncorking a rare literary bottle of
the vintage 1704. How much of the vintage of
1898 will stand, equally well, the uncorking process
if applied in a century or two from now ? How
many plays in vogue at present will be read with
pleasure at that distant period ? Will they be the
gruesome affairs of Ibsen, still tainted with their
* Were the "Careless Husband" adapted to suit the exacting
requirements of nineteenth century modesty, its brilliancy would be
gone.
D
50 NANCE OLDFIELD
putrid air of unhealthy mentality, or the clever per-
formances of Henry Arthur Jones; the dramas of
Bronson Howard or the farcical skits of Mr. Hoyt ?
The " Careless Husband " has not been acted
these many, many years, yet to all who treasure the
historical memories of the stage it should be recalled
with interest, for it was in this gay comedy that the
ravishing Nance shone forth in all the silvery light
of her resplendent genius. Read the pages of the
old play in unsympathetic mood and they may look
musty and worm-eaten, but imagine Oldfield as the
sprightly Lady Betty Modish, the elegant Wilks as
Sir Charles Easy, and Cibber^ himself in the empty-
headed role of Lord Foppington, and, presto! every-
thing is changed. The yellow leaves are white and
fresh, the words stand out clear and distinct, and it
takes but a slight flight of fancy to hear the dingy
auditorium of Drury Lane echoing and re-echoing
with laughter. For 'twas at Drury Lane that the
.comedy first saw the light, in December 1 704, and
this was the cast :
L
LORD MORELOVE .
LORD FOPPINGTON
SIR CHARLES EASY
LADY BETTY MODISH
LADY EASY .
LADY GRAVEAIRS .
MRS. EDGING
Mr. Powell.
Mr. Gibber.
Mr. Wilks.
Mrs. Oldfield.
Mrs. Knight.
Mrs. Moore.
Mrs. Lucas.
How the performance came about let Cibber ex-
plain. The " Apologist " has been speaking of Old-
field's success in Leonora, and he goes on to say :
* Wilks had a singular talent in representing the graces of nature ;
Cibber the deformity in the affectation of them. STEELE.
ROBERT WILKS
After the Painting by JOHN ELLYS,
A BELLE OF METTLE 51
"Upon this unexpected sally, then, of the power
and disposition of so unforseen an actress, it was
that I again took up the first two acts of the ' Care-
less Husband,' which I had written the summer
before, and had thrown aside in despair of having
justice done to the character of Lady Betty Modish
by any one woman then among us; Mrs. Verbruggen
being now in a very declining state of health, and
Mrs. Bracegirdle out of my reach and engag'd in
another company: But, as I have said, Mrs. Oldfield
having thrown out such new proffers of a genius, I
was no longer at a loss for support ; my doubts were
dispell'd and I had now a new call to finish it."
And finish the play Gibber did, casting Nance
for the volatile Lady Betty and producing it under
the most brilliant auspices. The whole assignment
of characters was admirable, but the first Lady Betty,
bursting upon the town in sudden glory, threw all
her companions into the shade. Never had such a
fine lady of comedy been seen, said the critics ; never
had an actress (who was not expected to be over-
versed in the affairs of the " quality") displayed
such gentility, high-breeding and evidence of being
Heaven knew how quite "to the manner born."
Never was woman so bubbling over with humour,
said the people. As for Colley, he was delighted,
of course, but believing that an honest confession is
good for the soul, even for the soul of a Poet
Laureate, he has left us the following graceful
tribute to the important part played by the actress
in making the " Careless Husband " a success :
52 NANCE OLDFIELD
" Whatever favourable reception this comedy has
met with from the Publick, it would be unjust in me
not to place a large share of it to the account of
Mrs. Oldfield ; not only from the uncommon excel-
lence of her action, but even from her personal
manner of conversing. There are many sentiments
in the character of Lady Betty Modish that I may
almost say were originally her own, or only dress'd
with a little more care than when they negligently
fell from her lively humour."
Here we have a clue to that vivacity and nawett
which distinguished Anne off the stage as well as on.
Can it be that she, rather than Gibber, suggested
this dashing bit of dialogue from the comedy :
c< LADY BETTY. \Meeting LADY EASY.] Oh ! my
dear ! I am overjoyed to see you ! I am strangely
happy to-day ; I have just received my new scarf
from London, and you are most critically come to
give me your opinion of it.
" LADY EASY. O ! your servant, madame, I am a
very indifferent judge, you know : what, is it with
sleeves ?
" LADY BETTY. O ! 'tis impossible to tell you what
it is ! 'Tis all extravagance both in mode and fancy,
my dear ; I believe there's six thousand yards of
edging in it then such an enchanting slope from
the elbow something so new, so lively, so noble, so
coquet and charming but you shall see it, my dear.
1 f LADY EASY. Indeed I won't, my dear ; I am
resolv'd to mortify you for being so wrongfully fond
of a trifle.
A BELLE OF METTLE 53
" LADY BETTY. Nay, now, my dear, you are ill-
natured.
" LADY EASY. Why truly, I am half angry to see
a woman of your sense so warmly concerned in the
care of her outside ; for when we have taken our
best pains about it, 'tis the beauty of the mind alone
that gives us lasting value.
" LADY BETTY. Oh ! my dear ! my dear ! you have
been a married woman to a fine purpose indeed, that
know so little of the taste of mankind. Take my
word, a new fashion upon a fine woman is often a
greater proof of her value than you are aware of.
" LADY EASY. That I can't comprehend ; for you
see, among the men, nothing's more ridiculous than
a new fashion. Those of the first sense are always
the last that come into 'em.
" LADY BETTY. That is, because the only merit of
a man is his sense ; but doubtless the greatest value
of a woman is her beauty ; an homely woman at the
head of a fashion, would not be allowed in it by the
men, and consequently not followed by the women ;
so that to be successful in one's fancy is an evident
sign of one's being admir'd, and I always take admi-
ration for the best proof of beauty, as beauty certainly
is the source of power, as power in all creatures is
the height of happiness.
" LADY EASY. At this rate you would rather be
thought beautiful than good.
" LADY BETTY. As I had rather command than
obey. The wisest homely woman can't make a man
of sense of a fool, but the veryest fool of a beauty
shall make an ass of a statesman ; so that, in short,
54 NANCE OLDFIELD
I can't see a woman of spirit has any business in
this world but to dress and make the men like her.
" LADY EASY. Do you suppose this is a principle
the men of sense will admire you for ?
"LADY BETTY. I do suppose that when I suffer
any man to like my person, he shan't dare to find
fault with my principle.
" LADY EASY. But men of sense are not so easilly
humbled.
" LADY BETTY. The easiest of any. One has ten
thousand times the trouble with a coxcomb. . . .
The men of sense, my dear, make the best fools in
the world : their sincerity and good breeding throws
them so entirely into one's power, and gives one
such an agreeable thirst of using them ill, to show
that power 'tis impossible not to quench it."
Compare this bristling dialogue with the inane
stuff that too often passes for comedy nowadays, and
one finds all the difference between real humour and
flippancy. We stand at the threshold of the twentieth
century, boastfully proclaiming that we do everything
better than ever could our ancestors, yet where
are the new comedies that might hold a candle to
the "Careless Husband," the " Inconstant," or the
" School for Scandal ? " We may be presumptuous
enough, nevertheless, to hold up that much-quoted
candle, but the light from it will burn pale and dim
when placed near the golden glow of the past.
Would that we could purify some of the old-time
pieces and thus preserve them for future generations
of theatre-goers. Alas ! that is impossible, for to
A BELLE OF METTLE 55
cleanse them with a sort of moral soap and water
would destroy nearly all their delightful glitter.
The lines of Lady Betty must have fairly sizzled
with the fire of comedy as they fell from the pretty
lips of Oldfield. No wonder that Londoners thought
the character bewitching ; no wonder that Gibber
wrote so enthusiastically of the actress in that
wonderful Apology. "Had her birth plac'd her in
a higher rank of life," he notes, perhaps forgetting
that her very descent entitled the poor sewing-girl
to a position which poverty denied her, " she had
certainly appear'd in reality what in this play she
only excellently acted, an agreeably gay woman of
quality a little too conscious of her natural attrac-
tions. I have often seen her in private societies where
women of the best rank might have borr'd some
part of her behaviour without the least diminution of
their sense or dignity. And this very morning,
when I am now writing at the Bath, November n,
1738, the same words were said of her by a lady of
condition, whose better judgment of her personal
merit in that light has embolden'd me to repeat
them."
The best of us have a wee bit of snobbishness
buried deep in the inmost recesses of our souls, and
Colley, who was neither the best nor the worst of
humanity, had this quality well developed. To see
that one has but to read the above quotation
between the lines. He loved a lord as ardently as
did the next man, and he attached to rank the same
exaggerated importance which pervades, with all the
unwelcome odour of sickening incense, the literature
56 NANCE OLDFIELD
of his age. As Macklin so well said of him, Nature
formed Gibber for a coxcomb, and it is quite pro-
bable that he took greater delight in being thought
a leader of fashion than a writer of charming plays.
Indeed, he was careful to cultivate the society of
young noblemen, and this he was able to do by
virtue of his theatrical successes, and, more helpful
still, by a levity of character which stuck to him
despite his great earnestness in many directions.
Perhaps his frivolity and his love of pleasure, in-
cluding the delights of the gaming table, may have
been half assumed ; perhaps he was only playing
one of his many parts. He certainly succeeded in
the role ; he enlivened the dissipations of many a
beau by his quaint conceits and flashes of humour,
and went on his way rejoicing that he could be the
boon companion of twenty idle lords.* 1
If he was surprised, therefore, that Oldfield could
act the high-born woman of fashion, the " lady of
condition," who shall blame him ? A tavern does
not seem the proper school for deportment, and,
though one has the bluest blood in Christendom,
humble surroundings may keep it from flowing
* Colley Gibber, one of the earliest of the dramatic autobio-
graphers, is also one of the most amusing. He flourished in wig
and embroidery, player, poet, and manager, during the Augustan age
of Queen Anne, somewhat earlier and somewhat later. A most
egregious fop, according to all accounts, he was, but a very pleasant
one notwithstanding, as your fop of parts is apt to be. Pope gained
but little in the warfare he waged with him, for this plain reason
that the great poet accuses his adversary of dullness, which was
not by any means one of his sins, instead of selecting one of the
numerous faults, such as pertness, petulance, and presumption, of
which he was really guilty. M. R. MITFORD.
A BELLE OF METTLE 57
very freely. Still, Anne was naturally a thorough-
bred ; the girl had a personal distinction which was
hers by right of inheritance, and what she lacked
in elegance she was quick to acquire as she grew
into womanhood.
It is a strange coincidence that the actress who
in after years rejuvenated Lady Betty,* and made
her again a living, breathing creature, had at one
period of her career been a tavern girl. Abington
it was who seemed the very incarnation of aristo-
cracy, and made the audience forget that, high as
she stood upon the stage, she had once been almost
in the gutter.
The same welcome anomaly is noticed now, when
the actresses who play the women of the " hupper
circles " with the greatest delicacy and keenness of
touch are frequently the products of the lower or
middle class. On the other hand, the dame de
socittd who trips lightly from the drawing-room to
the stage, amid the blare of trumpets and the excite-
ment of her friends, usually fails to make a mark.
To be sure, several of them have made marks very
black ones.
Now let us turn the pages of the " Careless Hus-
band," as we scan them in Lowndes's " British
Theatre," and see if we cannot extract some amuse-
* Mrs. Abington, one of the most graceful and spirited actresses
of the eighteenth century, was born in 1731, shortly after the death
of Oldfield. She had the honour of being the original Lady Teazle,
a part which she rehearsed under the direction of Sheridan, and she
enjoyed the further distinction of being detested by Garrick. The
latter said of her : " She is below the thought of any honest man or
woman,"
58 NANCE OLDFIELD
ment therefrom. The scene opens in the lodgings
of Sir Charles Easy, who, like many other dramatic
personages of the eighteenth century, has a name
that signifies his character. Easy, Sir Charles is in
every sense of the word, particularly easy as to
morals, for the possession of a lovely wife does not
prevent him from prosecuting an amour with a
woman of quality, Lady Graveairs, or having a
vulgar intrigue with the maid of his own spouse.
In fine, he is a right amiable gentleman, according
to the curious standards of long ago ; a very prince
of good fellows, who in these days would pass for a
cad.
We are hardly begun with the comedy before we
are introduced to this paragon, who enters just after
Lady Easy and the maid, Edging, have discovered
fresh proofs of his flirtation with Lady Graveairs.
Charles is inclined to be philosophical in a blas6,
tired way, and he says : " How like children do we
judge of happiness ! When I was stinted in my
fortune almost everything was a pleasure to me,
because most things then being out of my reach, I
had always the pleasure of hoping for J em ; now
fortune's in my hand she's as insipid as an old
acquaintance. It's mighty silly, faith, just the same
thing by my wife, too ; I am told she's extremely
handsome [as though the sad devil didn't know it],
nay, and have heard a great many people say she is
certainly the best woman in the world why, I don't
know but she may, yet I could never find that her
person or good qualities gave me any concern. In
my eye, the woman has no more charms than my
A BELLE OF METTLE 59
mother " and we may be sure that Sir Charles had
never bothered himself much about the attractions
of the last named lady.
Then the fair Edging comes to centre of stage
and the following innocent dialogue ensues :
" EDGING. Hum he takes no notice of me yet
I'll let him see I can take as little notice of him.
[Ske walks by him gravely, he turns her about and
holds her ; she struggles. ,] Pray, sir!
" SIR CHARLES. A pretty pert air that I'll humour
it what's the matter, child are you not well ? Kiss
me, hussy.
" EDGING. No, the deuce fetch me if I do. [Here
was a model servant, of course.]
" SIR CHARLES. Has anything put thee out of
humour, love ?
" EDGING. No, sir, 'tis not worthy my being out
of humour at .... don't you suffer my lady to
huff me every day as if I were her dog, or had no
more concern with you I declare I won't bear it
and she shan't think to huff me. For aught I know I
am as agreeable as she ; and though she dares not
take any notice of your baseness to her, you shan't
think to use me so "
But enough of this delectable conversation. The
picture which it gives us is unpleasant and coarse ;
there is about it none of the glitter that can make
vice so alluring. We will also skip an interview
between Sir Charles and Lady Easy (who thinks it
the part of diplomacy to hide her knowledge of her
master's peccadilloes), and hurry on to the entrance
60 NANCE OLDFIELD
of Lord Morelove, our hero. Morelove, who must
have been admirably played by the fiery, impetuous
Powell, is neither a libertine, nor, on the other hand,
a prig ; he is simply a gentlemanly and essentially
human fellow who is consumed with an honest
passion for Lady Betty Modish. Nay, he would be
glad to marry the fine creature, but she has quar-
relled with him and he is now telling Sir Charles
all about it :
" So, disputing with her about the conduct of
women, I took the liberty to tell her how far I
thought she err'd in hers ; she told me I was rude
and that she would never believe any man could
love a woman that thought her in the wrong in
anything she had a mind to [Rather exacting, are
you not, Lady Betty ?], at least if he dared to tell her
so. This provok'd me into her whole character,
with as much spite and civil malice, as I have seen
her bestow upon a woman of true beauty, when the
men first toasted her :* so in the middle of my
wisdom, she told me she desir'd to be alone, that I
would take my odious proud heart along with me
* Many of the wits of the last age will assert that the word (toast),
in its present sense, was known among them in their youth, and
had its rise from an accident at the town of Bath, in the reign of
Charles II. It happened that, on a public day, a celebrated beauty
of those times was in the Cross Bath, and one of the crowd of her
admirers took a glass of the water in which the fair one stood, and
drank her health to the company. There was in the place a gay
fellow half fuddled, who offered to jump in, and swore, though he
liked not the liquor, he would have the toast. He was opposed in
his resolution ; yet this whim gave foundation to the present honour
which is done to the lady we mention in our liquors, who has ever
since been called a Toast. The Tatkr.
A BELLE OF METTLE 61
and trouble her no more. I bow'd very low, and
as I left the room I vow'd I never wou'd, and that
my proud heart should never be humbled by the
outside of a fine woman. About an hour after, I
whipp'd into my chaise for London, and have never
seen her since."
What a quaint, circumspect and very ceremonious
affair must that lovers' row have been. No swearing,
no slang or loud talking, but everything deliberate
and in the best of form. Lady Betty telling Morelove
to go about his business, and that quickly, but doing
so with a stately elegance worthy of the great Mrs.
Barry ; the suitor bowing low, with his white hand
pressed against that " odious proud heart " which
is gently breaking at the thought of departing.
What a nice painting it would make for a Wat-
teau fan.
Thus nearly all our characters have their entrances,
Lady Betty is revealed to us through the medium
of the lively dialogue quoted a few pages back, and
then there is another stir. In comes Lord Fopping-
ton, otherwise Colley Gibber, in all the vapid glory
of fine clothes, and a great periwig. A very prince
of coxcombs, with his soft smile and conscious air of
superiority a mere bag of vanity, whose emptiness
is partly hidden by gorgeous raiment, gold em-
broidery, rings, snuff-box, muff and what-not. With
what genteel condescension does he greet Sir
Charles ; how gracefully nonchalant is he to my
Lord Morelove. " My dear agreeable! Qite je
t'embrasse ! Pardi ! II y a cent ans que je ne t'ai
62 NANCE OLDFIELD
veu. My lord, I am your lordship's most obedient
humble servant."
So Foppington takes his place in the comedy, and
begins to play his brainless but important part. He,
the disconsolate Morelove, and the brilliant Lady
Betty all meet at dinner with Sir Charles and Lady
Easy. Of course the hero makes an unsuccessful
attempt to regain the good graces of his inamorata,
and, of course, the coxcomb carries on a violent
flirtation with her in the angry face of his rival.
With the meal over, and everybody on the qui vive,
this scene ensues :
Enter Foppington (who has been chatting to the
ladies and who now seeks the post-dinner conversa-
tion of his host and Lord Morelove).
" FOPPINGTON. Nay, pr'ythee, Sir Charles, let's
have a little of thee. We have been so chagrin
without thee, that, stop my breath [what a blood-
curdling oath, so suggestive of the awful curses of
our own jeunesse d?orde\ the ladies are gone, half
asleep, to church for want of thy company.
" SIR CHARLES. That's hard indeed, while your
lordship was among 'em. Is Lady Betty gone
too ?
" FOP. She was just upon the wing. But I caught
her by the snuff-box, and she pretends to stay to
see if I'll give it her again or no.
" MORE. Death ! 'tis that I gave her, and the
only present she ever would receive from me.
\Aside to SIR CHARLES.] Ask him how he came
by it?
A BELLE OF METTLE 63
" SIR CHARLES. Pr'ythee don't be uneasy. Did
she give it to you, my lord ?
" FOP. Faith, Charles, I can't say she did or
she did not, but we were playing the fool, and I
took it a la pshah I can't tell thee in French,
neither, but Horace touches it to a nicety 'twas
Pignas direptum male per tinaci. \Nota Bene: Our
modern comedians seldom quote Horace ; their
humour is not of the classic kind.]
" MORE. So ! But I must bear it. If your lord-
ship has a mind to the box, I'll stand by you in the
keeping of it.
" FOP. My lord, I'm passionately oblig'd to you,
but I am afraid I cannot answer your hazarding
so much of the lady's favour.
" MORE. Not at all, my lord ; 'tis possible I may
not have the same regard to her frown that your
lordship has. [Here's a bit of human nature. More-
love stands in awe of that frown, but he doth
valiantly protest, and that too much, that the dis-
pleasure of Lady Betty is no more to him than a
dozen of ciphers.]
" FOP. That's a bite, I am sure he'd give a joint
of his little finger to be as well with her as I am.
[AsideJ\ But here she comes ! Charles, stand by
me. Must not a man be a vain coxcomb now, to
think this creature follow'd one ?
" SIR CHARLES. Nothing so plain, my lord.
" FOP. Flattering devil.
Enter LADY BETTY.
" LADY BETTY. Pshah, my Lord Foppington !
64 NANCE OLDFIELD
Pr'ythee don't play the fool now, but give me my
snuff-box. Sir Charles, help me to take it from
him.
"SiR CHARLES. You know I hate trouble, madame.
" LADY BETTY. Pooh ! you'll make me stay still ;
prayers are half over now.
" FOP. If you'll promise me not to go to church,
I'll give it you.
" LADY BETTY. I'll promise nothing at all, for
positively I will have it. \_Struggling with him.
"Fop. Then comparatively I won't part with
it, ha ! ha ! [Struggles with her.
" LADY BETTY. O you devil, you have kill'd my
arm ! Oh ! Well if you'll let me have it, I'll give
you a better.
" MORE. \_Aside to SIR CHARLES.] O Charles !
that has a view of distant kindness in it.
" FOP. Nay, now I keep it superlatively. I find
there's a secret value in it.
" LADY BETTY. O dismal ! upon my word, I am
only ashamed to give it you. Do you think I wou'd
offer such an odious fancy 'd thing to anybody I had
the least value for ?
" SIR CHARLES. {Aside to LORD MORELOVE.]
Now it comes a little nearer, methinks it does not
seem to be any kindness at all.
" FOP. Why, really, madame, upon second
view, it has not extremely the mode of a lady's
utensil : are you sure it never held anything but
snuff?
" LADY BETTY. O ! you monster !
"Fop. Nay, I only ask because it seems to me
A BELLE OF METTLE 65
to have very much the air and fancy of Monsieur
Smoakandfot's tobacco-box.
" MORE. I can bear no more.
" SIR CHARLES. Why don't then; I'll step into
the company and return to your relief immediately.
\Exit.
" MORE. [7!? LADY BETTY.] Come, madame, will
your ladyship give me leave to end the difference ?
Since the slightness of the thing may let you bestow
it without any mark of favour, shall I beg it of your
ladyship ?
" LADY BETTY. O my lord, no body sooner. I
beg you give it my lord.
[Looking earnestly on LORD FOPPINGTON,
who, smiling, gives it to LORD MORELOVE
and then bows gravely to her.
" MORE. Only to have the honour of restoring it to
your lordship; and if there be any other trifle of
mine your lordship has a fancy to, tho' it were a
mistress, I don't know any person in the world who
has so good a claim to my resignation."
In the hands of Powell, Gibber, and Oldfield this
scene must have had all the sparkle of champagne ;
but let us hope, speaking of wine, that the prince of
paragons, Morelove, was perfectly sober. Or shall
we say comparatively sober ? for when bibulous
George had just a dash of spirits within him (and
that was nearly always) there came a roseate hue
to his acting which rather added to its romantic
colour. Sometimes this colour was laid on too
garishly, as the supply of fire-water happened to be
E
66 NANCE OLDFIELD
larger,* and Sir John Vanbrugh has himself left it
on record that Powell, as Worthy, came well nigh
spoiling the original production of the " Relapse."
"I own," writes Sir John, "the first night this
thing was acted, some indecencies had like to have
happened ; but it was not my fault. The fine gen-
tleman of the play, drinking his mistress's health in
Nantes brandy, from six in the morning to the
time he waddled up upon the stage in the evening,
had toasted himself up to such a pitch of vigour,
I confess I once gave up Amanda for gone ; and
am since, with all due respect to Mrs. Rogers,
very sorry she escaped ; for I am confident a
certain lady (let no one take it to herself that is
handsome) who highly blames the play, for the
barrenness of the conclusion, would then have
allowed it a very natural close." It should be
added that the Mrs. Rogers herein mentioned as
playing Amanda was a capable tragic actress whose
ambition it was to enact none but virtuous women.
Her own virtue but we are dipping into scandal. t
* To the folly of intoxication he added the horrors of debt, and
was so hunted by the sheriffs' officers that he usually walked the
streets with a sword (sheathed) in his hand ; and if he saw any of
them at a distance, he would roar out, " Get on the other side of the
way, you dog ! " The bailiff, who knew his old customer, would
obligingly answer, "We do not want you now, Master Powell.
EDMUND BELLCHAMBERS.
t Her fondness for virtue on the stage she began to think might
persuade the world that it had made an impression on her private
life; and the appearance of it actually went so far that, in an
epilogue to an obscure play, the profits of which were given to her,
and wherein she acted a part of impregnable chastity, she bespoke
the favour of the ladies by a protestation that in honour of their
goodness and virtue she would dedicate her unblemished life to
A BELLE OF METTLE 67
As for the <c Careless Husband," the more one
reads from it the more cause is there to regret the
utter hopelessness of reviving a play so honey-
combed by inuendo. How delightfully, for instance,
would some of the badinage between Morelove and
the spirited Lady Betty have been treated in the
earlier days of the Daly Company, with John Drew
and Miss Rehan as the lovers. We can picture the
two, as they would have given the following lines,
the one gentlemanly and effective, the other im-
perious, liquid-voiced, and radiant of humour :
" MORELOVE. Do you know, madame, I have just
found out, that upon your account I have made
myself one of the most ridiculous puppies upon the
face of the earth I have upon my faith ! Nay, and
so extravagantly such ha ! ha ! ha ! that it's at
last become a jest even to myself; and I can't help
laughing at it for the soul of me ; ha ! ha ! ha !
" LADY BETTY. \Aside.~] I want to cure him of
that laugh now. My lord, since you are so generous,
I'll tell you another secret. Do you know, too, that
I still find (spite of all your great wisdom, and my
contemptible qualities, as you are pleased now and
then to call them), do you know, I say, that I see
under all this, you still love me with the same
helpless passion ; and can your vast foresight
imagine I won't use you accordingly, for these
their example. Part of this vestal vow, I remember, was contained
in the following verse :
" Study to live the character I play."
But alas 1 how weak are the strongest works of art when Nature
besieges it. GIBBER.
68 NANCE OLDFIELD
extraordinary airs you are pleased to give yourself ?
[Talk of the independence of the New Woman !
Who could have been more self-assertive than this
eighteenth century belle ?]
"MoRE. O by all means, madame, 'tis fit you
should, and I expect it whenever it is in your
power. \_Aside^\ Confusion !
" LADY BETTY. My lord, you have talked to me
this half-hour without confessing pain. [Pauses and
affects to gape.~\ Only remember it.
" MORE. Hell and tortures !
" LADY BETTY. What did you say, my lord ?
" MORE. Fire and furies !
"LADY BETTY. Ha ! ha ! he's disorder'd. Now I
am easy. My Lord Foppington, have you a mind
to your revenge at piquet ?
" FOP. I have always a mind to an opportunity
of entertaining your ladyship, madame.
[LADY BETTY coquets with LORD FOPPINGTON.
" MORE. O Charles, the insolence of this woman
might furnish out a thousand devils.
" SIR CHARLES. And your temper is enough to
furnish a thousand such women. Come away I
have business for you upon the terrace.
" MORE. Let me but speak one word to her.
"SiR CHARLES. Not a syllable; the tongue's
a weapon you always have the worst at. For I
see you have no guard, and she carries a devilish
edge.
" LADY BETTY. My lord, don't let anything I've
said frighten you away ; for if you have the least
inclination to stay and rail, you know the old con-
A BELLE OF METTLE 69
ditions ; 'tis but your asking me pardon next day,
and you may give your passion any liberty you
think fit.
" MORE. Daggers and death ! [What a pic-
turesque, old-fashioned oath, is it not ? " Daggers
and death ! " Writers of English melodramas,
please take notice.]
" SIR CHARLES. Is the man distracted ?
" MORE. Let me speak to her now, or I shall
burst*
"SiR CHARLES. Upon condition you'll speak no
more of her to me, my lord, do as you please.
" MORE. Pr'ythee pardon me I know not what
to do.
" SIR CHARLES. Come along, I'll set you to work,
I warrant you. Nay, nay, none of your parting
ogles will you go ?
" MORE. Yes, and I hope for ever.
\_Exit SIR CHARLES pulling away LORD
MORELOVE."
There is about this and many other scenes the
fragrance of an old perfume, as of lavender. We
take up the book after years of neglect, and the
odour, which is not that of sanctity, is still per-
ceptible a potent reminder of the past. And Lady
Betty Modish ? She must be well nigh on to two
hundred years old (a thousand florid pardons, sweet
* Here is the way in which several of our refined farcical writers
would have given it :
MORELOVE. Let me speak to her now, or I shall burst.
SIR CHARLES. Upon condition that you'll not burst here, in the
parlour, do as you please.
70 NANCE OLDFIELD
madame, for bringing in your age), but she is as
blooming, saucy, and interesting as ever.
What becomes of Betty in the comedy, the reader
may ask. She goes on her triumphant way, the
same cruel enchantress, until the last act, when she
is quite ready to fall into the arms of Lord Morelove.
Sir Charles Easy, touched by the constancy and
devotion of his wife, announces that he will mend
his wilful habits, and Lord Foppington, who flattered
himself that Lady Betty was madly in love with him,
accepts his dismissal with great good humour. Then
we have a song setting forth how :
" Sabina with an angel's face
By Love ordain'd for joy,
Seems of the Siren's cruel race,
To charm and then destroy.
With all the arts of look and dress,
She fans the fatal fire ;
Through pride, mistaken oft for grace,
She bids the swains expire.
The god of Love, enraged to see
The nymph defy his flame,
Pronounc'd his merciless decree
Against the haughty dame :
' Let age with double speed o'ertake her,
Let love the room of pride supply ;
And when the lovers all forsake her,
A spotless virgin let her die.' "
Next, with the sound of this horrible warning
ringing in our ears, Sir Charles steps forward to give
the tag : "If then [turning to Lady Easy] the
unkindly thought of what I have been hereafter
shou'd intrude upon thy growing quiet, let this
reflection teach thee to be easy :
A BELLE OF METTLE 71
" Thy wrong, when greatest, most thy virtue prov'd ;
And from that virtue found, I blus'd and truly lov'd."
So ends the comedy in a blaze of morality. We
can almost see Sir Charles fitting on a pair of newly-
made wings, as he prepares to float away to some
better planet ; but let him go, by all means. We
shall remain here and watch that fair sinner, Old-
field.
CHAPTER IV
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS
OF all the vested rights that mankind is heir to none
is more sacred than the right of an actor to abuse
his manager. It is among the blessed privileges
which help to make life cheerful and sunny, for, when
all is said, what would be the joy of existence if we
might not criticise those whom Providence has
placed above us. Even a king may be abused,
behind his royal back, and so an humble manager
shall not escape.
There was a manager of Oldfield's day who surely
did not escape, and that was Christopher Rich,
Esquire, one of the patentees of Drury Lane
Theatre, and sole director, as a rule, in the affairs of
that Thespian temple. Thespian temple, indeed !
What cared Mr. Rich for Thespis or for art ? He
looked upon actors as a lot of cattle whose sole mis-
sion in life was to make him rich in pocket as well
as in name, and who might, after the performance of
that pious act, betake themselves to the Evil Gentle-
man for aught he cared. Several modern managers
have been equally appreciative, but it is a comfort to
reflect that a portion of the fraternity are vast im-
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS 73
provements on crusty Christopher, who was described
by a contemporary as " an old snarling lawyer, master
and sovereign ; a waspish, ignorant pettifogger in
law and poetry ; one who understands poetry no
more than algebra ; he wou'd sooner have the Grace
of God than do everybody justice."*
This was the measly director in whose company
Nance figured for a time, and for whom she must
have had a profound if discreetly-concealed con-
tempt. Gibber, who seems to have keenly guaged v
the man, has left us an account of how Richf treated
his actors. " He would laugh with them over a
bottle and bite them in their bargains. He kept
them poor, that they might not be able to rebel ;
and sometimes merry, that they might not think of
it." How graphic is this picture, with its vision of
sly, crafty Christopher, as he denies the players their
well-earned wages and then hurries them off to a
neighbouring tavern, there to get them hilarious on
cheap wine and grudgingly to pay the reckoning.
"All their articles of agreement," continues Colley,
" had a clause in them that he was sure to creep out
at, viz., their respective sallaries were to be paid in
such manner and proportion as others of the same
company were paid ; which in effect made them all,
when he pleas'd, but limited sharers of loss, and
himself sole proprietor of profits ; and this loss or
profit they only had such verbal accounts of as he
* Gildon's " Comparison Between the Two Stages."
t Christopher Rich v/as the father of John Rich, a manager who
excelled in pantomime, and who appreciated the "legitimate" as
little as did his father.
74 NANCE OLDFIELD
thought proper to give them. 'Tis true, he would
sometimes advance them money (but not more than
he knew at most could be due to them) upon their
bonds ; upon which, whenever they were mutinous,
he would threaten to sue them. This was the net
we danc'd in for several years. But no wonder we
were dupes," whimsically adds Colley, " while our
master was a lawyer."
r And a very commonplace, foxy and inartistic
lawyer he was, too, with his fondness for money bags
and his willingness to oblige the town with anything
it wanted. To his narrow mind there was no great
difference between a lot of rope-dancers and a com-
pany of players, or, if there should be, the advantage
was quite in favour of the former. We see the same
commercial spirit to-day, when the average manager
rents his house for one week to an Irving or a Mans-
field, and perhaps turns it over, the following
Monday night, to the tender mercies of performing
dogs and cats. 'Tis all grist that comes to his mill,
and what cares he whether that grist represent
" Macbeth " or canine drama ?
Gibber was not above looking at the practical
side of things, but he had no patience, nevertheless,
with the Philistianism of Rich, who had that fatal
fondness for " pay ing extraordinary prices to singers,
dancers, and other exotick performers, which were
as constantly deducted out of the sinking sallaries of
his actors. " *
* Operatic singers and dancers, mostly recruited from the Con-
tinent, were fast becoming fashionable, and, as their appearance on
the scene interfered with the profits of the actors, it may be imagined
that the latter held the strangers in much contempt.
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS 75
For it seems that Master Rich had not bought his
share of the Drury Lane patent to elevate the stage,
but rather to get a fortune therefrom. " And to say
truth, his sense of everything to be shown there was
much upon a level with the taste of the multitude,
whose opinion and whose money weigh'd with him
full as much as that of the best judges. [Colley was
evidently thinking of himself as one of these judges.]
His point was to please the majority who could
more easilly comprehend anything they saw than the
daintiest things that could be said to them."
Nay, Christopher actually went so far that he once
sought the services of an elephant to add to the
strength of his company, thus anticipating the realism
of our own time, when a few cows, a horse or two,
a lot of chickens and some real straw will cover a
multitude of sins in the construction of a play.*
Yet, sad to relate, the elephant was never allowed to
lend weight to the drama, as "from the jealousy
which so formidable a rival had rais'd in his dancers,
and by his bricklayer's assuring him that if the walls
* Apropos to the appearance of elephants on the stage, a capital
anecdote is told by Colman in his " Random Records." Johnstone,
a machinist employed at Drury Lane during the latter portion of the
eighteenth century, was celebrated for his superior taste and skill
in the construction of flying chariots, triumphal cars, palanquins,
banners, wooden children to be tossed over battlements, and straw
heroes and heroines to be hurled down a precipice ; he was further
famous for wickerwork lions, pasteboard swans, and all sham birds
and beasts appertaining to a theatrical menagerie. He wished on a
certain occasion to spy the nakedness of the enemy's camp, and
therefore contrived to insinuate himself, with a friend, into the two-
shilling gallery, to witness the night rehearsal of a pantomime at
Covent Garden Theatre. Among the attractions of this Christmas
foolery a real elephant was introduced, and in due time the
?6 NANCE OLDFIELD
were to be open'd wide enough for its entrance it
might endanger the fall of the house [the old theatre
in Dorset Garden, which Rich wished to use] he
gave up his project, and with it so hopeful a prospect
of making the receipts of the stage run higher than
all the wit and force of the best writers had ever yet
rais'd them to."
Yet it was under the auspices of such a man that
/ Oldfield made several of her most brilliant successes,
not forgetting the memorable appearance as Lady
L Betty. And all the while, no doubt, Mr. Rich was
thinking how much more sensible an attraction would
be an elephant or a tight-rope walker. But Nance,
who had now a firm friend in Gibber, went merrily
on her way, creating new characters in comedy and
astonishing even her most enthusiastic admirers by
the imposing air she could frequently give to a tragic
part. In none of them, grave or gay, was she more
charming than as Sylvia, the heroine of Farquhar's
" Recruiting Officer/' a play in which she graced
man's clothes. Sylvia is a delightful creature who
masquerades as a dashing youth, and thereby has the
privilege of watching her lover, Captain Plume.
Of course the deception is discovered, and all ends
happily in the orthodox fashion [the only bit of
orthodoxy about the performance, by-the-way]. The
unweildly brute came clumping down the stage, making a prodigious
figure in a procession. The friend who sat close to Johnstone
jogged his elbow, whispering, "This is a bitter bad job for Drury.
Why, the elephant's alive I he'll carry all before him, and beat you
hollow. What d'ye think on't, eh ? " " Think on't," said Johnstone,
in a tone of the utmost contempt, " I should be very sorry if I
couldn't make a much better elephant than that at any time 1 "
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS 77
girl is allowed to marry the Captain and settles
down, we may suppose, to the pleasures of domes-
ticity and woman's gowns. The comedy was admir-
ably acted throughout, Wilks, Gibber, and that
prince of mimics, Dick Estcourt, being in the cast,
and the seal of popular approval was quickly put
upon the production. At present such a seal should
bring hundreds, perhaps thousands, of dollars into
the pockets of the author, but it is possible that a
few paltry pounds represented the profits of Far-
quhar.*
In the meantime the spirit of discontent was
abroad among the members of the Drury Lane
company. Well it might be when the manager of
the house, as Gibber points out, " had no conception
himself of theatrical merit either in authors or actors,
yet his judgment was governed by a saving rule in
both. He look'd into his receipts for the value of a )
play, and from common fame he judg'd of his actors.
But by whatever rule he was govern'd, while he had
prudently reserv'd to himself a power of not paying
them more than their merit could get, he could not
be much deceived by their being over or under-
valued. In a word, he had with great skill inverted
the constitution of the stage, and quite changed the
channel of profits arising from it ; formerly (when
there was but one company) the proprietors punctu-
ally paid the actors their appointed sallaries, and
took to themselves only the clear profits : But our
wiser proprietor took first out of every day's receipts
two shillings in the pound to himself; and left their
* The " Recruiting Officer" first saw the light in April 1706.
78 NANCE OLDFIELD
sallaries to be paid only as the less or greater
deficiencies of acting (according to his own accounts)
would permit. What seem'd most extraordinary in
these measures was, that at the same time he had
persuaded us to be contented with our condition,
upon his assuring us that as fast as money would
come in we should all be paid our arrears."
Lawyer Rich lived too soon. How useful would
he have been in these latter days, when irresponsible
managers infest the profession and turn an honest
penny by trading on the credulity and unbusiness-
like qualities of many a deluded player. The average
manager pays his debts and is quite as stable and
upright in his dealings as one could desire, but what
can be said of the man who take companies " on the
road," after making all sorts of glowing promises,
and finally elopes with the money-box, leaving his
actors stranded in a strange city. Incidents of this
kind, which to the victims have more of tragedy
than any play in their repertoire, occur almost every
day during the theatrical season, but nothing is done
to prevent the ever-increasing scandal. The erst-
while proprietor of the company returns by Pullman
car to New York, complains loudly about " poor
business," a " sunken fortune," &c., and then pre-
pares to take out another combination. As for his
dupes, who are probably half-starving in some third
class western town, they may walk home on the
railroad ties.
Yes, Mr. Rich was evidently intended for a wider
sphere and a more progressive age than those he
had to adorn. But despite all his financial talents
WILLIAM CONGREVE
By Sir GODFREY KNELLER, 1709
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS 79
some of the best players in Drury Lane were ready
to desert from that house the moment the chance <J
came.
The chance did come, in the season of 1706-7, >
when Mrs. Oldfield, Wilks, Mrs. Rogers, and)
several others, went over to the handsome new '
theatre in the Haymarket, and were joined there '
later by Gibber. This imposing house was opened
in the spring of 1705 by Congreve and Vanbrugh, x
and to it had gone Betterton and his associates at
Lincoln's Inn Fields. But noble old Roscius, who
had so long cast his welcome spell upon London
theatre-goers, was getting old and feeble, and so
were several of the other members ; the spell was
well-nigh broken, and not even a trial of that " new-
fangled" style of entertainment, Italian opera,*
could make the management a success.
Now enters upon the scene the redoubtable Owen
Swiney, who plays a short but brilliant part in th&
theatrical world, and next, with all his money gone,
enters upon a twenty years' exile on the Continent.
Then he will come home, to be made Keeper of the
King's Mews, and presently our Colley will immor-
talise him in one of those pen-portraits which make
* How Italian opera was despised by certain critics of Queen
Anne's reign has already been shown in " Echoes of the Playhouse."
In his " Essay on the Operas after the Italian Manners," Dennis
writes (1706) : " If that is truly the most Gothic, which is the most
oppos'd to Antick, nothing can be more Gothick than an Opera,
since nothing can be more oppos'd to the ancient Tragedy, than the
modern Tragedy in Musick, because the one is reasonable, the other
ridiculous ; the one is artful, the other absurd ; the one beneficial,
the other pernicious; in short, the one natural and the other
monstrous."
8o NANCE OLDFIELD
so many of the Poet Laureate's friends or foes stand
out clear and distinct against the background of the
" Apology." Here is the picture, fresh and beaming
as ever :
"If I should farther say, that this person has
been well known in almost -every metropolis in
Europe ; that few private men, with so little re-
proach, run through more various turns of fortune ;
that, on the wrongside of three-score,^ he has yet
the open spirit of a hale young fellow of five and
twenty ; that though he still chuses to speak what
he thinks to his best friends with an undisguised
freedom, he is, notwithstanding, acceptable to many
persons of the first rank and condition ; that any
one of them (provided he likes them) may now send
him, for their service, to Constantinople at half a
day's warning ; that Time has not yet been able to
make a visible change in any part of him but the
colour of his hair, from a fierce coal-black to that of
a milder milk-white : When I have taken this liberty
with him, methinks it cannot be taking a much
greater if I at once should tell you that this person
was Mr. Owen Swiney."
Swiney was an ardent Irishman who had, for
some mysterious reason, formed a friendship with
Rich, and his advice and energy often stood the
manager of Drury Lane in good stead. When, in
the summer of 1706, Vanbrugh proposed that
Swiney should lease the Haymarket, Sir John being
* Swiney, or MacSwiney, died in 1754, after making Peg Woffing-
ton his legatee.
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS 81
anxious to relinquish management, just as Congreve
had done some time before, cunning Christopher
gave his consent, curiously enough, to what was
nothing more or less than the setting up of a rival
company of actors. In the first place, he probably
looked upon his players as an encumbrance, since he
was in the vein for operatic entertainments just then,
and, furthermore, he pictured himself as a future
monopolist controlling the destinies of two houses.
For he never dreamed, did this haggling, petti-
fogging lawyer, that Swiney would swerve from the
old- time allegiance to him, and he felt so secure on
this point that he privately encouraged the deser-
tion of his own forces. He made one exception,
however, by stipulating that Gibber should remain
at Drury Lane. Colley was too experienced, too
versatile a man to be lost with impunity ; he could
do everything in a theatre, from acting to writing
good plays and bad poetry, and while the wily Rich
chiefly depended upon his singers and dancers, he
said " it would be necessary to keep some one
tolerable actor with him, that might enable him to
set those machines a going."
It so happened that Gibber was one of the men
that Swiney needed most, and, while the new
manager of the Haymarket apparently acquiesced
in the exception insisted on by Rich, it was not
long before he showed his hand. It was a better
hand than that of his whilom associate, who had
been foolish enough to think that he held the trump
card in the game. The card in question was a little
matter of two hundred pounds owing from Swiney
F
82 NANCE OLD FIELD
to Rich, and the latter fondly believed that this loan
would bind the debtor to him as with hooks of steel.
But we do not love men the more because they
chance to be our creditors ; sometimes, indeed, we
love them the less for it, and so these two hundred
pounds did not prevent the Celt from breaking over
the traces of the Englishman. Let Gibber continue
the story :
" The first word I heard of this transaction was
by a letter from Swiney, inviting me to make one in
the Hay- Market Company, whom he hop'd I could
not but now think the stronger party. But I
confess I was not a little alarm'd at this revolution.
For I considered that I knew of no visible fund to
support these actors but their own industry ; that
all his recruits from Drury Lane would want new
cloathing ; and that the warmest industry would be
always labouring up hill under so necessary an ex-
pence, so bad a situation, and so inconvenient a
theatre," &c.
In fine, Master Colley resolved that it would be
the course of wisdom to stay at Drury Lane, where
he seems to have enjoyed to an unusual degree the
confidence of the very manager whom afterwards he
did not hesitate to abuse. So when Gibber came
up to London from Gloucestershire, where he had
been spending his vacation, he returned to the fold
of his old master.
" But I found our company so thinn'd that it was
almost impracticable to bring any one tolerable play
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS 83
upon the stage. When I ask'd him where were his
actors, and in what manner he intended to proceed ?
he reply'd, Dorit you trouble yourself, come along,
and Til shew you.
"He then led me about all the by-places in the
house, and shew'd me fifty little backdoors, dark
closets, and narrow passages, in alterations and con-
trivances of which kind he had busied his head most
part of the vacation ; for he was scarce ever without
some notable joyner or a bricklayer extraordinary,
in pay, for twenty years. And there are so many
odd obscure places about a theatre, that his genius in
nook-building was never out of employment, nor
could the most vain-headed author be more deaf to
an interruption in reciting his works, than our wise
master was while entertaining me with the improve-
ments he had made in his invisible architecture ; all
which, without thinking any one part of it necessary,
tho' I seern'd to approve, I could not help now and
then breaking in upon his delight with the impertinent
question of But, Master, where are your actors ? "
This exhibition of a spirit so commonplace and
inartistic proved too much for Gibber. Perhaps he
might have pardoned it had there been no salary
owing him, for your greatest apostle of the drama
will sometimes do a good deal of winking at glaring
inconsistencies when a money quid pro quo looms up
in the distance. Here was a case, however, where
the quid pro quo loomed not at all, and the author of
the "Careless Husband" became correspondingly
disgusted. " I told him (Rich) I came to serve him
84 NANCE OLDFIELD
at a time when many of his best actors had deserted
him ; that he might now have the refusal of me ;
but I could not afford to carry the compliment so
far as to lessen my income by it ; that I therefore
expected either my casual pay to be advanced, or
the payment of my former sallary made certain for
as many days as we had acted the year before.
No, he was not willing to alter his former method ;
but I might chuse whatever parts I had a mind to
act of theirs who had left him.
" When I found him, as I thought, so insensible,
or impregnable, I look'd gravely in his face, and
told him He knew upon what terms I was willing
to serve him, and took my leave."
Shortly after the interview Gibber joined the
Haymarket company, and one result of his defection
was an open quarrel between Rich and Swiney.
This season of 1706-7 was a memorable one for
Oldfield. She then played for the first time with
the chaste Anne Bracegirdle,* whom she quickly
cast into the shade. So apparent, indeed, was the
shadow that the elder of the two retired from the
stage in the course of a few months, in the very
prime of her beauty. It was a pathetic incident,
and yet the cloud had its silver lining. How often
are we called upon to pity players who linger before
the footlights long after they should have made
their exits ; instead of departing at the right
moment, leaving behind them charming memories,
they die by inches in full view of the audience.
* " Mrs. Bracegirdle was perhaps a woman of a cold constitution,"
says Genest.
MRS. ANNE BRACEGIRDLE
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS 85
Perhaps poverty keeps them at work, but, be that
as it may, the public gives a sigh of relief when the
few remaining sparks of genius are at last snuffed
out. When one of them is taken from us, and we
read of the death in the morning paper, we murmur,
11 Poor old Jones ! Well, it's certainly time he
shuffled off." Then we drink our coffee placidly,
turn to some other news, and never think of him
again. Many a once-beloved actor gets this cruel
epitaph.
There was nothing superannuated about Brace-
girdle when she made her exit, for the actress still
displayed that comeliness which had, until recently,
held the attention of London. " She was of a
lovely height," says Tony Aston, " with dark brown
hair and eyebrows, black, sparkling eyes, and a
fresh, blushy complexion ; and, whenever she ex-
erted herself, had an involuntary flushing in her
breast, neck, and face, having continually a cheerful
aspect, and a fine set of even white teeth ; never
making an exit, but that she left the audience in an
imitation of her pleasant countenance." When
Aston wrote Mrs. Bracegirdle was still living.
" She has been off the stage these 26 years or
more, but was alive July 20, 1747, for I saw her in
the Strand, London, then with the remains of
charming Bracegirdle." Poor old Diana! Time
brought her at least one revenge ; she had outlived
Nance Oldfield these many years.*
" Bracey," as Gibber loved to call her, had just
left the boards when George Farquhar's lively
* Bracegirdle died in September 1748.
86 NANCE OLDFIELD
comedy, " The Beaux' Stratagem," was produced at
the Hay market. Perhaps she saw the performance
from the audience side of the house, and was
generous enough to admire the sparkle of Oldfield
as Mrs. Sullen ; and perhaps, as she was a very
charitable body, Mistress Bracegirdle went to pay a
last visit to the brilliant author of the play. For
poor, worn-out Farquhar was dying, nor could the
laughter with which the theatre re-echoed bring
much merriment into that poverty-stricken home
which he was so soon to leave for a world where
there would be neither guineas nor debts.
The ill man was game to the last, and his sense
of humour never deserted him. When Oldfield was
rehearsing Mrs. Sullen (a woman who separates
from one husband only to have another, Archer, in
prospect) she told Wilks that "she thought the author
had dealt too freely with Mrs. Sullen, in giving her
to Archer, without such a proper divorce as would
be a security to her honor." Wilks, who was to
play Archer, spoke of this criticism to Farquhar in
the course of a visit to the dying playwright. " Tell
her," gaily replied the latter, " that for her peace of
mind's sake, I'll get a real divorce, marry her myself,
and give her my bond she shall be a real widow in
less than a fortnight." Poor fellow ! He was faith-
ful to Mistress Farquhar unto the end, but who shall
say that he had forgotten the old days which began
so fairly at the Mitre Tavern ?
Soon there will be another theatrical revolution by
which the rival companies of the Hay market and
Drury Lane will be united under one management
MRS. BRACEGIRDLE
As the Sultaness
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS 87
at the latter house, while Owen Swiney will be left
free to devote his attention to Italian opera. This
union comes about through the efforts of Colonel
Brett,* a very dtbonnaire gentleman from Gloucester-
shire, whom Gibber, his warmest admirer, trots out
for our inspection in the perennial "Apology." It
appears that Sir Thomas Skipwith, who has a share
in the Drury Lane Patent, becomes so disgusted
with the antics of Rich and his refusal to make any
accounting of the profits of the house, that he pre-
sents Brett with his interest.t To the Colonel the
gift is a congenial one ; he has passed many a plea-
sant hour behind the scenes at Drury Lane, and
doubtless thinks that in doing so he writes himself
down a very knowing dog.
Probably he is, for Gibber says that though he
spent some time at the Temple, " he so little followed
the Law there that his neglect of it made the Law
(like some of his fair and frail admirers) very often
follow him. As he had an uncommon share of social
wit and a handsome person, with a sanguine bloom
in his complexion, no wonder they persuaded him
that he might have a better chance of fortune by
throwing such accomplishments into the gayer world
than by shutting them up in a study.
" The first view that fires the head of a young
gentleman of this modish ambition just broke lose
from business is to cut a figure (as they call it) in a
* Colonel Brett was the father of Anne Brett, who became a very
dear friend of George I.
t Sir Thomas afterwards asserted that he only gave his share to
Brett strictly "in trust."
88 NANCE OLDFIELD
side box at the play, from whence their next step is.
to the Green Room behind the scenes, sometimes
their non ultra. Hither at last, then, in this hopeful
quest of his fortune, came this gentleman-errant, not
doubting but the fickle dame, while he was thus
qualified to receive her, might be tempted to fall into
his lap. And though possibly the charms of our
theatrical nymphs might have their share in drawing
him thither, yet in my observation the most visible
cause of his first coming was a more sincere passion
he had conceived, for a fair full-bottom'd perriwig
which I then wore in my first play of the ' Fool in
Fashion' in the year 1695."
This love affair would suggest what Mr. Gilbert
calls :
" A Passion a la Plato
For a bashful young potato."
were we not to remember that in Anne's time hand-
some full-bottomed periwigs were regarded with an
enthusiasm far too fervid to be called Platonic.
Actors made it a point to have this indispensable
headgear as elaborate as possible, and it is even
related that Barton Booth and Wilks actually paid
forty guineas each "on the exorbitant thatching of
their heads."
But let loquacious Colley have his say : " For it is
to be noted that the Beaux of those days were of a
quite different cast from the modern stamp, and had
more of the stateliness of the peacock in their mein
than (which now seems to be their highest emulation)
the pert air of a lap- wing. Now, whatever contempt
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS 89
philosophers may have for a fine perriwig, my friend,
who was not to despise the world, but to live in it,
knew very well that so material an article of dress
upon the head of a man of sense if it became him,
could never fail of drawing to him a more partial
regard and benevolence than could possibly be hoped
for in an ill-made one."
Brett expresses such an admiration for this parti-
cular full-bottomed periwig that Gibber is highly
flattered, and the two are soon laughing themselves
into the best of terms. Nay, they spend the night
roistering over a bottle or two of wine, and dear,
vain Colley, like many who come after him, falls into
the belief that he is a bold, fast man. With an air
of conscious rakishness that is charmingly ridiculous,
he writes : "If it were possible the relation of the
happy indiscretions which passed between us that
night could give the tenth part of the pleasure I then
received from them, I could still repeat them with
delight."
Instead of pausing, however, to relate those happy
indiscretions, Gibber prattles on in his colloquial way,
telling us that through the goodly offices of Sir
Thomas Skipwith, Brett was introduced to the
divorced wife of the Earl of Macclesfield, " a lady
who had enough in her power to disencumber him of
the world and make him every way easy for life."
" While he was in pursuit of this affair [coyly adds
the Apologist] which no time was to be lost in (for
* One story of the day made this woman the mother of Richard
Savage.
90 NANCE OLDFIELD
the Lady was to be in town for but three weeks) I
one day found him idling behind the scenes before
the play was begun. Upon sight of him I took the
usual freedom he allow'd me, to rate him roundly for
the madness of not improving every moment in his
power in what was of such consequence to him.
[Oh, fie, thou worldly old Colley.] Why are you not
(said I) where you know you only should be ? If
your design should once get wind in the town, the
ill-will of your enemies or the sincerity of the Lady's
friends may soon blow up your hopes, which in your
circumstances of life cannot be long supported by the
bare appearance of a gentleman."
And now Gibber announces that he expects to
shock us, although the story he goes on to disclose is
not in any sense improper. Could it be that accord-
ing to his eighteenth century reverence for prece-
dence the crime lay in the rough and tumble way in
which, as he ventures to show, an humble player
treated the future husband of a dethroned Countess.
Here, at least, is the awful tale :
" After twenty excuses to clear himself of the
neglect I had so warmly charged him with, he con-
cluded them with telling me he had been out all the
morning upon business and that his linnen was too
much soil'd to be seen in company. Oh, ho ! said I,
is that all ? Come along with me, we will soon get
over that dainty difficulty. Upon which I haul'd
him by the sleeve into my shifting-room, he either
staring, laughing, or hanging back all the way.
There, when I had lock'd him in, I began to strip off
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS 91
my upper cloaths, and bade him do the same ; still
he either did not or would not seem to understand
me, and continuing his laugh, cry'd, What ! is the
puppy mad ? No, No, only positive, said I ; for
look you, in short, the play is ready to begin, and
the parts that you and I are to act to-day are not of
equal consequence ; mine of young Reveller (in
' Greenwich Park ' *) is but a rake ; but whatever
you may be, you are not to appear so ; therefore take
my shirt and give me yours; for depend upon't,
stay here you shall not, and so go about your
business.
" To conclude, we fairly chang'd linnen, nor could
his mother's have wrap'd him up more fortunately ;
for in about ten days he marry'd the Lady."
The gallant Colonel not only married the ex-
Countess but became so flirtatious with at least one
other woman that he suggested to Gibber the most
rzsyuJ scene in the "Careless Husband." This, then,
was the model gentleman to whom Skipwith made
over a share in the Drury Lane patent, and through
whose efforts the rival companies were united in
1708. Swiney, according to the orders of the Lord
Chamberlain, was to conduct the Haymarket for
operatic performances, and the players were all to
act at the older house.
For a time life at the theatre went as merrily as a
marriage bell. The public, of both high and low
degree, crowded Drury Lane, and every one was
happy excepting sour-faced Rich, who saw with
* A play written by Mountford.
92 NANCE OLDFIELD
disgust that the plausible, insinuating Brett was fast
overshadowing him in the management. How
wily Christopher schemed and schemed, and how
the gay Colonel was finally compelled to relinquish
his portion of the patent altogether, are details that
need not be set forth here. It will suffice to say,
that as a result of all this intriguing, affairs at Drury
Lane assumed an almost chaotic character. Nor
was it long before Owen Swiney entered into treaty
with Wilks, Dogget, Mrs. Oldfield and Cibber, who
were to come over to the Hay market as the heads of
a new company.
In this episode the sunny spirit of Nance was
brought prettily into the foreground. " When Mrs.
Oldfield was nominated as a joint sharer in our new
agreement to be made with Swiney [again is the
quotation from Cibber], Dogget, who had no objection
to her merit, insisted that our affairs could never be
upon a secure foundation if there was more than one
sex admitted to the management of them." Beastly,
unchivalrous, narrow-minded Dogget. Were you
alive to-day, how the New Woman would champ
with rage. " He therefore hop'd that if we offer'd
Mrs. Oldfield a Carte Blanche instead of a share, she
would not think herself slighted/' And Oldfield,
with the affability which sat so well upon her, did
not think herself in the least slighted. She "receiv'd
it rather as a favour than a disobligation. Her
demands therefore were two hundred pounds a year
certain, and a benefit clear of all charges, which
were readily sign'd to."
In the meantime Drury Lane is closed by order of
MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS
93
the Lord Chamberlain,* on the ground that in seek-
ing to take from the actors one-third of their benefit
receipts the management have proceeded illegally.
Soon the new forces of Swiney take possession of
the Haymarket, and for a short time London has but
one playhouse. Mayhap Mr. Rich is chagrined, or
perhaps he is not ill-pleased, and in any case he
extracts great comfort from a manifesto published in
his behalf by the treasurer of Drury Lane, sweet-
named Zachary Baggs. In this formidable document,
which seeks to prove that the seceders are a lot of
ingrates, Oldfield is held up to the public as a sad
example of depravity. Her account with Master
Rich is thus itemised :
s. d.
To Mrs. Oldfield, at 4 1. a week salary, which
for 14 weeks and one day; she leaving off acting
presently after her benefit (viz.) on the iyth of
March last, 1708, though the benefit was intended
for her whole nine months acting, and she refused
to assist others in their benefits; her salary for
these 14 weeks and one day came to, and she was
paid
In January she required, and was paid ten guineas,
to wear on the stage in some plays, during the whole
season, a mantua petticoat that was given her for
the stage and though she left off three months before
she should, yet she hath not returned any part of
the ten guineas
And she had for wearing in some plays a suit of
boys cloaths on the stage ; paid ....
By a benefit play ; paid
56 13 4
10 15 o
2 10
62 7
But what cares laughing Nance for Master Baggs'
spiteful paragraph about the mantua petticoat.
Mantua petticoat, forsooth ! she has more artistic
* June 1709.
94 NANCE OLDFIELD
things to think about than that, and so pray do not
plague her, gentle reader, with so commonplace an
incident. Let her act on serenely until that glorious
night in April 1713, when, back at Drury Lane,
under the triumvirate of Gibber, Wilks and Dogget,
she helps to make sedate Addison's equally sedate
" Cato" a triumphant success.
CHAPTER V
A DEAD HERO
"The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds."
So doth noble Cato philosophise when, in Addison's
stately tragedy, he gazes on his sword and plans
to admit the Grim Visitor whom the most of us wish
to keep without our threshold until the last fatal
moment. How those lines used to thrill the classic
hearts of our ancestors ; how Barton Booth, who
" shook the stage, and made the people stare,"
could put into this mild plea for suicide a fervour that
caused Drury Lane to ring with applause. What
mattered it if the actor, as Pope related, wore a long
wig and flowered gown ? Cato was none the less
himself for that, nor did Booth's elegance of delivery
seem unwelcome because his clothes pictured the
dandified spirit of the eighteenth century.
" Cato ! " The play is forgotten now, but there
was magic in its name in the palmy days of its
96 NANCE OLDFIELD
author, gentle, kindly Joseph Addison. So potent
was that magic, such vivid impression did the fate
of the grand old Roman make on more than one
mind, when thus retold in lofty verse, that the
tragedy was cited as a justification of self-destruction.
" What Cato did, and Addison approved
Cannot be wrong."
These lines, written on a scrap of paper by
Eustace Budgell, were found shortly after the death
of that odd genius. From being an honoured con-
tributor to the Spectator, Budgell descended to the
depths of infamy, poverty, and despair, and so one
day he threw himself out of a boat under London
Bridge, and the waters of the Thames closed over him
for ever. He owed his early prosperity to Addison,
his cousin, and by way of gratitude he sought to
throw upon his benefactor's memory the odium of
this moist and melancholy exit from the world.
Their lies no odium, nevertheless, where Addison
is concerned. His own life may have been clouded
towards the last by the mists of disappointment, but
to us admiring moderns he is all sunshine. Not the
fiery sunshine of summer, but the genial, dignified
light of an autumn afternoon when nature seems in
most reflective mood. For there was nothing im-
petuous or ardent in the composition of this good-
humoured philosopher ; and while he railed so well
at the petty sins and vanities of the England in
which he dwelt, the satire had naught of venom,
malice, or uncharitableness.
Nowadays Addison and the Spectator go rolling
A DEAD HERO 97
down to fame together, an indivisible reminder
the very essence indeed of the virtues, peccadilloes,
greatness and meanness of early eighteenth century
life. We may forget that Joe was quite a politician
in his prime, we are even loth to recall that there
was ever such a play as " Cato," but so long as the
English language has power to charm, the dear old
volumes of the Spectator will stand out as a delight-
ful landmark of that literature which forms the
heritage of American and Briton alike.
How fondly do we turn the pages of the well-
read essays, with their pictures of good Sir Roger
de Coverley, Will Honeycomb, and the rest of that
happy crew. And over what portrait do we linger
more lovingly than that of the Spectator himself,
wherein there is many a stroke of the pen that
brings Addison in view. When he tells us, for
instance : " I threw away my rattle before I was
two months old, and would not make use of my
coral until they had taken away the bells from it,"
the writer is indulging in a pretty bit of humour at
the expense of his own sedate youth.
11 I have passed my latter years," the philosopher
goes on to say, " in this city (London), where I am
frequently seen in most public places, though there
are not above half a dozen of my select friends that
know me. . . . There is no place of general resort
wherein I do not often make my appearance : some-
times I am seen thrusting my head into a round
of politicians at Will's,* and listening with great
* Will's and Child's were popular coffee-houses, as were also the
Grecian, bt. James', and the Cocoa Tree.
G
9 8 NANCE OLDFIELD
attention to the narratives that are made in those
little circular audiences ; sometimes I smoke a pipe
at Child's,* and while I seem attentive to nothing
but the postman, overhear the conversation of every
table in the room. I appear on Sunday nights at
St. James' coffee house, and sometimes join the
little committee of politics in the inner room, as one
who comes there to hear and improve. My face is
likewise very well known at the Grecian, the Cocoa
Tree, and in the theatres both of Drury Lane and
the Haymarket. I have been taken for a merchant
upon the Exchange for above these ten years, and
sometimes pass for a Jew in the assembly of stock-
brokers at Jonathan's. In short, wherever I see a
cluster of people, I always mix with them, though I
never open my lips but in my own club."
It is easy to fancy Addison, shy but ever ob-
servant, mingling with the people who thronged the
coffee-houses and there settled the affairs of the
nation, discussed their neighbours, and sipped their
coffee or stronger drink, as the case might be. He
must have laughed in his sleeve many a time as he
heard the know-it-alls predicting that the British
nation was on the brink of perdition or announcing,
in the most confidential of manners, the secret
policies of his Christian Majesty, Louis XIV. of
France. Probably Joe agreed with Steele, who, in
speaking of a certain coffee-house, observed that in
it men differed rather in the time of day wherein
they made a figure, than in any real greatness above
one another.
* See footnote on page 97.
JOSEPH ADDISON
By Sir GODFREY KNELLER
A DEAD HERO 99
" I, who am at the coffee-house at six in the
morning," Dick writes on,* " know that my friend
Beaver the haberdasher has a levee of more undis-
sembled friends and admirers than most of the
courtiers or generals of Great Britain. Every man
about him has, perhaps, a newspaper in his hand ;
but none can pretend to guess what step will be
taken in any one court of Europe, till Mr. Beaver
has thrown down his pipe, and declares what
measures the allies must enter into upon this new
posture of affairs. Our coffee-house is near one of
the inns of court, and Beaver has the audience and
admiration of his neighbours from six till within a
quarter of eight, at which time he is interrupted by
the students of the house ; some of whom are ready
dressed for Westminster at eight in a morning, with
faces as busy as if they were retained in every cause
there ; and others come in their night gowns to
saunter away their time, as if they never designed to
go thither.
" I do not know that I meet in any of my walks,
objects which move both my spleen and laughter so
effectually as those young fellows at the Greecian,
Squire's, Searle's, and all other coffee-houses adjacent
to the law, who rise early for no other purpose but
to publish their laziness. One would think these
young virtuosos take a gay cap and slippers, with a
scarf and party-coloured gown, to be ensigns of
dignity ; for the vain things approach each other
with an air which shews they regard one another
for their vestments. 1 have observed that the
* Spectator, No. 49.
ioo NANCE OLDFIELD
superiority among these proceeds from an opinion
of gallantry and fashion. The gentleman in the
strawberry sash, who presides so much over the
rest, has, it seems, subscribed to every opera this
last winter, and is supposed to receive favours from
one of the actresses."*
As the day lengthens the scene changes. The
gentleman with the strawberry sash and uncertain
morals and his servile subjects disappear, giving
place " to men who have business or good sense in
their faces, and come to the coffee-house either to
transact affairs, or enjoy conversation. The persons
to whose behaviour and discourse I have most
regard, are such as are between these two sorts of
men ; such as have not spirits too active to be
happy and well pleased in a private condition, nor
complexions too warm to make them neglect the
duties and relations of life. Of this sort of men
consist the worthier part of mankind ; of these are
all good fathers, generous brothers, sincere friends,
* Come, says my Friend, let us step into this Coffee House here ;
as you are a Stranger in the Town, it will afford you some Diver-
sion. Accordingly in we went, where a parcel of Muddling
Muckworms were as busy as so many Rats in an old Cheese Loft ;
some Going, some Coming, some Scribling, some Talking, some
Drinking, some Smoaking, others Jangling : and the whole Room
stinking of Tobacco, like a Dutch Scoot or a Boatswain's Cabbin.
The Walls being hung with Gilt Frames, as a Farriers shop with
Horse shoes ; which contain'd abundance of Rarities, viz. Nectar
and Ambrosia, May Dew, Golden Elixirs, Popular Pills, Liquid
Snuff, Beautifying Waters, Dentifrisis Drops, Lozenges, all as
infallible as the Pope,
Where every one above the rest
Deservedly has gain'd the Name of Best
(as the famous Saffold has it). WARD.
A DEAD HERO
I.OJ
and faithful subjects. Their entertainments are
derived rather from reason than imagination ; which
is the cause that there is no impatience or instability
in their speech or action. You see in their counte-
nances they are at home, and in quiet possession of
the present instant as it passes, without desiring to
quicken it by gratifying any passion or prosecuting
any new design. These are the men formed for
society, and those little communities which we
express by the word neighbourhood."
Thus moved the panorama of the coffee-house.
Perhaps nothing contributed more importantly to
the gossip of the latter than did the mention of
quiet Addison himself after the night in April,
1713, which witnessed the triumph of " Cato."
The essayist had always possessed, like many
other literary men, a secret longing to be the author
of a prosperous tragedy, and in his earlier days
made bold to submit a play to the inspection of
Dryden. The poet read it with polite interest,
and, on returning the manuscript to the author,
expressed therefor his profound esteem, with many
apologetic et ceteras, and only regretted that, in his
humble opinion, the piece, if placed upon the stage,
"would not meet with its deserved success." In
other words, Dryden saw that Addison was sadly
wanting in dramatic instinct, but was too forbearing
to say this in plain, set terms. As for the young
man, he must have felt much after the fashion of
the aspiring writer who receives an article back
from an unappreciative magazine with a printed
1.02 NANCE OLDFIELD
slip warning him that " the rejection of manuscript
does not imply lack of merit," &c. &c., the whole
thing being intended as a moral cushion to break the
suddenly descending spirits of the sender.
Years later the great man was favoured with
another cushion of this sort by no less a person
than his friend Alexander Pope, whose august
criticism he asked in behalf of " Cato." The major
part of the play all of it, in fact, excepting the last
act had been written when Addison first began
to fall under the passionate influence of French
tragedy, with its tiresome regularity of form and
attempted imitation of the classic drama. ^ And a
powerful influence it was in the days of good
Queen Anne, so powerful, verily, that it almost
emasculated the art of play-writing, and for a time
well nigh bereft the stage of originality of thought
or freedom of expression. Form, form, that was
the cry still ringing in the ears of the author when
, he put the finishing touches to a production which
was to be famous for the nonce, and then go down
in the dark waters of oblivion with the wreck of
many like it.
"When Mr. Addison," related Pope, "had
* Just as the school of Racine and Boileau set its face against the
extravagances of the romantic coteries, so Addison and his English
followers, adopting the principles of the French classicists, applied
them to the reformation of the English theatre. Hence arose a
great revival of respect for the political doctrines of Aristotle, regard
for the unities of time and place, attention to the proprieties of
sentiment and diction in a word, for all those characteristics of
style afterwards summed up in the phrase "correctness." W. J.
COURTHOPE'S " Addison."
A DEAD HERO 103
finished his ' Cato,' he brought it to me, desired
to have my sincere opinion of it, and left it with
me for three or four days. I gave him my opinion
of it sincerely, which was, ' that I thought he had
better not act it, and that he would get reputation
enough by only printing it.' This I said as think-
ing the lines well written, but the piece was not
theatrical enough. Some time after Mr. Addison
said 'that his own opinion was the same with
mine, but that some particular friends of his, whom
he could not disoblige, insisted on its being acted.' '
These particular friends who were not to be dis-
obliged seem to have been shining lights of the
Whig party. It was feared that the Tories were
conspiring to reinstate the male line of Stuart the
moment Queen Anne should take herself to another
world, and the friends of the Hanoverian succession
grew sorely anxious. They were filled with delight,
therefore, on hearing that Addison had, peacefully
slumbering in his desk, a drama which, as Mayn-
waring explained, was written not for the love
scenes, " but to support the old Roman and English
public spirit"* Here was a chance to inspire the
people with a passion for liberty ; the story of Cato,
served up in all the elegance of French style,
should point a moral against the claims of the
Pretender, and pure politics might thus be taught
from the rostrum of a theatre !
So it came about that one fine day the company
* Those who affected to think liberty in danger, and had affected
likewise to think that a stage play might preserve it. DR. JOHNSON.
104 NANCE OLDFIELD
at Drury Lane began the rehearsal of "Cato,"
under circumstances, however, which hardly pointed
to a successful production. There appears to have
been some difficulty in the assignment of parts,
and it is easy to imagine that at first the players
exercised their prerogative of growling a pre-
rogative not calculated to dispel the doubts fast
/ assailing Addison as to the outcome of the per-
formance. Nance Oldfield made no fuss at playing
^tarcia, Cato's daughter, for she was ever disposed
to be tractable ; but when it came to casting the
noble Roman himself the trouble began. The story
runs that the part was first offered to Gibber, and
that he sensibly refused it. Colley might make a
delightful fop, but the playing of dandies could
hardly lead one up very gracefully to the handling
of Cato.
Next came the suggestion that John Mills 1 *
should try the character, but fortunately he dis-
played no more enthusiasm for it than did Gibber.
Cato was too old a person for him to act, he said,
and so declined to have anything to do with the
elderly hero. Afterwards he was cast for the less
important role of Sempronius, which proved in every
way a better disposition of affairs, for Mills was a
plodder rather than a genius. He belonged to the
order of actors to whom, in the present day, we
apply the charitable word of painstaking, an ad-
* Mills was considered one of the most useful actors that ever
served in a theatre, but, though invested by the patronage of Wilks
with many parts of the highest order, he had no pretensions to quit
the secondary line in which he ought to have been placed.
BELLCHAMBERS.
A DEAD HERO 105
jective which shows very plainly the nature of the
man, while it likewise allows the critic to escape
the charge of unkindness. We all know the pains-
taking player, and always cheerfully acknowledge his
virtues, but who shall blame us if, after giving him
the benefit of his earnestness, we yawn and creep
out into the lobby while he holds the stage ?
That Mills sometimes inspired this feeling of bore-
dom may be imagined from the way in which his
performance of Macbeth was once received. To
those who remembered how magnificently Betterton
had played the part, the chill formalism of the new
aspirant must have seemed presumptuous, and one
night the contrast proved too much for a country
gentleman possessed of more honesty than polite-
ness. After watching the progress of the tragedy
with growing indignation his feelings became un-
bearable at a certain point in the fourth act, where
George Powell came on as Lennox. " For God's
sake, George," shouted the squire, "give us a speech
and let me go home ! " *
Thus every one must have given a sigh of relief
when industrious John objected to the age of Cato ;
every one, at least, excepting Wilks, who had taken
this actor under his theatrical wing and sought to
elevate him above one far greater than either of them
Barton Booth. The fact was that Wilks hid within
* " I recollect," says Bellchambers, " an incident of the same sort
occurring at Bristol, where a very indifferent actor declaimed so
long and to such little purpose that an honest farmer, who sat in the
pit, started up with evident signs of disgust, and waving his hand, to
motion the speaker off, cried out, ' Tak 'un away, tak 'un away, and
let's have another.' "
106 NANCE OLDFIELD
his breast the troublesome, green-eyed monster of
jealousy ; he feared the rising genius of Booth, and,
now that he was part manager of Drury Lane, pro-
bably took pains to keep the rival as much as
possible in the background. Unfortunately for this
plan of annihilation the screen provided in the
commonplace person of Mills proved entirely too
flimsy to hide the coming man. Barton Booth was
in many ways an ideal actor, in that he was blessed
with the poetic imagination and scholarship to under-
stand his roles and the tragic power to play them.
He had, furthermore, a voice of marvellous resonance,
an aristocratic bearing and a handsome face and
figure which were sure to attract attention, whether
he appeared upon the stage or amid the more genial
confines of the Bedford coffee-house.
( It was to Booth, therefore, that Cato was finally
assigned, the other masculine parts being handed
\ over to Gibber, Mills, Wilks, Powell, Ryan, Bowman,
^and Keen. The latter was a popular actor of
majestic mould who used to play the King in
" Hamlet " (a role too often left to the mercies of
third-rate mouthers) in a fashion which would have
justified the loyal and historic gentleman who pre-
ferred that character to all others in the play. As
already mentioned, Marcia was to be acted by Old-
field, and to Mistress Porter, who usually revelled in
the delineation of high and mighty passions, was given
gentle, tearful Lucia, daughter to Lucius (Keen).
The rehearsals now went on apace, but evidently
without much show of enthusiasm. Addison
assisted, probably dispirited and nervous but out-
A DEAD HERO 107
wardly unruffled, for he always presented a well-
starched front to the watching world. Honest Dick
Steele looked on, and in that frank, ingenuous way
he told his friends, with perhaps a suspicious flush
on his winsome face and a swimming gleam in his
eyes, that he was preparing to pack the theatre on
the opening night in the interests of worried Joe.
Poor, good-hearted Dick ! Then there was Parson
Swift, who sat behind the scenes with mild interest
on his face and a sneer in that ugly, gnarled heart of
his. " We stood on the stage," he writes to Stella,
16 and it was foolish enough to see the actors prompt-
ing every moment, and the poet directing them, and
the drab that acts Cato's daughter (Mrs. Oldfield)
out in the midst of a passionate part, and then
calling out ' What's next ? ' "
Lastly came the great Mr. Pope, with that poor,
deformed body and brilliant mind. He was not
content merely to be a " looker on in Vienna," or in
Utica ; he pottered around unceasingly, hobnobbed
with Oldfield (who now began to take the liveliest
interest in the play), and suggested several altera-
tions in the text. Once Nance ventured to criticise
a speech of Portius; the amiable Addison, unlike
the fashion of some other amiable authors, heard her
objections with approval, and soon Mr. Pope was
again called into consultation. There was more
hobnobbing, a change of diction, and the rehearsals
continued. Then, to cap the climax of poetic con-
descension, little Alexander honoured " Cato " with
a flowing prologue wherein he set forth, archaically
enough, that
108 NANCE OLDFIELD
"To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart,
To make mankind in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold :
For this the tragic Muse first trod the stage,
Commanding tears to stream through every age ;
Tyrants no more their savage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept."
At last came the eventful evening of April 13,
when " Cato " saw the light. The theatre was
packed, just as Steele promised that it should be,
yet the audience would have been large had Dick
never existed. There were no press agents to
" boom " matters, but as it became known that the
Whigs stood sponsors for the tragedy there was a
corresponding desire to be in either at its triumph
or its death. The result has passed into history.
The characters were, for the most part, finely acted,
and the play was admired for its lofty sentiments
and elegance of expression, while the Tories, mira-
bile dictu y vied with their enemies in enthusiastic
tokens of approval. The Whigs went to the theatre
expecting to appropriate all of Mr. Addison's illu-
sions to the sacred cause of liberty, and what must
have been their horror on finding that the Tories,
refusing to be discomfited by any of those illusions,
applauded as violently as did the friends of
Hanover ?
Pope has left us a description of this first night, in
a letter to Sir William Trumbull. " Cato," he writes,
" was not so much the wonder of Rome in his days,
as he is of Britain in ours ; and though all the foolish
industry possible has been used to make it thought
A DEAD HERO 109
a party play, yet what the author once said of another
may the most properly in the world be applied to
him on this occasion :
* Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost,
And factions strive who shall applaud him most.' *
" The numerous and violent claps of the Whig
party on the one side of the theatre, were echoed
by the Tories on the other; while the author sweated
behind the scenes with concern to find their applause
proceeding more from the hand than the head.
This was the case too of the prologue writer, who
was clapped into a staunch Whig at almost every
two lines. I believe you have heard that after all
the applause of the opposite faction, my lord Boling-
broke sent for Booth, who played Cato, into the box
between one of the acts, and presented him with
fifty guineas, in acknowledgement (as he expressed
it) for defending the cause of liberty so well against
a Perpetual Dictator.! The Whigs are unwilling to
be distanced this way, and therefore design a present
to the same Cato very speedily ; in the meantime
they are getting ready as good a sentence as the
former on their side : so betwixt them it is probable
that Cato (as Dr. Garth express'd it) may have some-
thing to live upon after he dies."
* From Addison's poem of " The Campaign," wherein the author
sings of the greatness of Marlborough."
t It is suggested by Macaulay that Lord Bolingbroke hinted at
" the attempt which Marlborough had made to convert the Captain-
Generalship into a patent office, to be held by himself for life." The
anecdote of Pope gives us an amusing example of the stealing of
Whig thunder by the clever Tories.
no NANCE OLDFIELD
So important a role did politics play in this first
performance of " Cato " that to many in the house
the merits of the actors must have passed unrecog-
nised. And yet those merits were striking. Who
could have made a lovlier Marcia than did Nance ;
and how thoroughly she must have justified the
passion of that most virtuous of princes, the senten-
tious Juba. The character was not worthy of her
genius, but that did not prevent this true artist from
giving to it all manner of dignity and beauty. Who
could help pitying her lover when Marcia first
repelled his amorous advances :
" I should be griev'd, young Prince, to think my presence
Unbent your thoughts, and slacken'd 'em to arms,
While, warm with slaughter, our victorious foe
Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field."
And when Marcia, having sent away the youth,
explained :
" His air, his voice, his looks, and honest soul
Speak all so movingly in his behalf,
I dare not trust myself to hear him talk,"
the apology came with such delicious grace and
plaintiveness that the house forgot her coldness in
sorrow for her woes.
And Barton Booth ? His superb acting of Cato
raised him to such an airy pinnacle of fame that
he soon became one of the managers of Drury
Lane. The other players were evidently all more
or less effective, barring Gibber, whose Syphax (the
Numidian warrior who seeks the downfall of Cato),
must have made the judicious grieve. Indeed we
can easily believe that he used so many grotesque
A DEAD HERO in
motions and spoke his lines with such a cracked voice
as to win only ridicule and "a loud laugh of
contempt."
Lord Bolingbroke's gift of fifty guineas had a
disturbing effect not only on the Whigs but on
Manager Dogget as well. That worthy feared the
success of " Cato " would cause Booth to claim a
share in the direction of Drury Lane, as he did, of
course, in a very short time. In the hopes of
shutting off all pretensions to this honour by a paltry
expedient Dogget thought that Gibber, Wilks and
himself, as joint managers, could relieve themselves
of every obligation by duplicating the generosity of
the Tory statesman.
"He insinuated to us (for he was a staunch Whig)"
relates Colley, " that this present of fifty guineas was
a sort of Tory triumph which they had no pretence
to ; and that for his part he could not bear that so
redoubted a champion for liberty as Cato should
be bought off to the cause of a contrary party. He
therefore, in the seeming zeal of his heart, proposed
that the managers themselves should make the same
present to Booth which had been made him from the
boxes the day before. This, he said, would recom-
mend the equality and liberal spirit of our manage-
ment to the town, and might be a means to secure
Booth more firmly in our interest, it never having
been known that the skill of the best actor had
receiv'd so round a reward or gratuity in one day
before.
" Wilks, who wanted nothing but abilities to be
112 NANCE OLDFIELD
as cunning as Dogget, was so charm'd with the
proposal that he long'd that moment to make Booth
the present with his own hands ; and though he
knew he had no right to do it without my consent,
had no patience to ask it ; upon which I turned to
Dogget with a cold smile [what a freezing, polar
expression Gibber could put on when he desired]
and told him, that if Booth could be purchas'd at so
cheap a rate, it would be one of the best proofs of
his economy we had ever been beholden to : I there-
fore desired we might have a little patience ; that
our doing it too hastily might be only making sure
of an occasion to throw the fifty guineas away ; for
if we should be obliged to do better for him, we
could never expect that Booth would think himself
bound in honour to refund them."
From this little conversation we see that art is
not always the one beacon light of the player or the
manager. Gibber argued with his natural shrewd-
ness, but Wilks would not be convinced, and began,
"with his usual freedom of speech," to treat the
suggestion "as a pitiful evasion of their intended
generosity."
" But Dogget, who was not so wide of my
meaning, clapping his hand upon mine, said, with
an air of security, O! don't trouble yourself! there
must be two words to that bargain ; let me alone to
manage that matter. Wilks, upon this dark dis-
course, grew uneasy, as if there were some secret
between us that he was to be left out of. Therefore,
to avoid the shock of his intemperance, I was
A DEAD HERO 113
reduc'd to tell him that it was my opinion that
Booth would never be made easy by anything we
could do for him, 'till he had a share in the profits
and management ; and that, as he did not want
friends to assist him, whatever his merit might be
before, every one would think since his acting of
Cato, he had now enough to back his pretentions
to it."
In the end Gibber's objections were overruled,
"and the same night Booth had the fifty guineas,
which he receiv'd with a thankfulness that made
Wilks and Dogget perfectly easy, insomuch that
they seem'd for some time to triumph in their con-
duct, and often endeavour'd to laugh my jealousy
out of countenance. But in the following winter the
game happen'd to take a different turn ; and then,
if it had been a laughing matter," says Colley, " I
had as strong an occasion to smile at their former
security." *
So much for one result of <c Cato's " first perform-
ance. The play had a run of thirty-five nights and
* After Booth was admitted into the management Dogget retired
in disgust from Drury Lane, and brought suit against his former
associates. He was decreed the sum of 600 for his share in the
patent, with allowances for interest. " I desir'd," writes Gibber,
'* we might all enter into an immediate treaty with Booth, upon the
terms of his admission. Dogget still sullenly reply'd, that he had
no occasion to enter into any treaty. Wilks then, to soften him,
propos'd that, if I liked it, Dogget might undertake it himself. I
agreed. No ! he would not be concern'd in it. I then offer'd the
same trust to Wilks, if Dogget approv'd of it. Wilks said he was
not good at making of bargains, but if I was willing, he would rather
leave it to me. Dogget at this rose up and said, we might both do
as we pleas'd, but that nothing but the law should make him part
with his property and so went out of the room."
H
114 NANCE OLDFIELD
the town crowded to the theatre. Even the good
Queen, who must have been more or less bored at
the fuss bestowed upon it, actually suggested that
Mr. Addison should dedicate the tragedy to her
Royal self. To inscribe a work to a sovereign
means little or nothing in these days of republicanism,
real or assumed, but Anne's request came as a great
compliment. It was a compliment, however, which
had to be dispensed with, for Addison had already
proposed to dedicate "Cato" to the Duchess of
Marl borough, and he harboured no wish to mortify
the aggressive Sarah (now out of favour with the
Queen) by acting upon the hint of her one-time
friend and mistress. So the author diplomatically
ignored both horns of the dilemma, or, in other
words, determined to consecrate his tragedy neither
to Queen nor Duchess.
When June was well nigh ended the Drury Lane
players transplanted " Cato " to the scholarly en-
vironment of Oxford, where, as friend Gibber tells
us, " a great deal of that false, flashy wit and forc'd
humour," which had been the delight of London,
was rated at " its bare intrinsick value." The play
was admirably suited to the temper of a university
audience, and its success proved so great, its senti-
ment so uplifted, that Dr. Sandridge, Dean of
Carlisle, wrote to Barton Booth expressing his
wish that "all discourses from the pulpit were as
instructive and edifying, as pathetic and affecting,"
as those provided by Mr. Addison.
The " Apology " gives us an interesting account
of the favour accorded to "Cato," above all other
A DEAD HERO IIJ
modern plays, by the dwellers in thoughtful
Oxford.
"The only distinguish'd merit allow'd to any modern
writer was to the author of " Cato," which play
being the flower of a plant raised in that learned
garden (for there Mr. Addison had his education),
what favour may we not suppose was due to him
from an audience of brethren, who from that local
relation to him might naturally have a warmer
pleasure in their benevolence to his fame ? But not
to give more weight to this imaginary circumstance
than it may bear, the fact was, that on our first day
of acting it, our house was in a manner invested,
and entrance demanded by twelve a clock at noon,
and before one it was not wide enough for many
who came too late for places. The same crowds
continued for three days together (an uncommon
curiosity in that place) and the death of Cato
triumph'd over the injuries of Caesar everywhere.
To conclude, our reception at Oxford, whatever our
merit might be, exceeded our expectation."
The ladies and gentlemen of Drury Lane posted
away from Oxford in a blaze of glory. They
had actually behaved themselves, these despised
mummers, and their contribution towards the repair-
ing of a church was almost sufficient to bring them
within the pale of holiness. " At our taking leave,"
writes Colley, jubilantly, " we had the thanks of the
vice-Chancellor for the decency and order observed
by our whole society, an honour which had not
always been paid upon the same occasions ; for at
n6 NANCE OLDFIELD
the act in King William's time I remember some
pranks of a different nature had been complain'd of.
Our receipts had not only enabled us (as I have
observ'd) to double the pay of every actor, but to
afford out of them towards the repair of St. Mary's
Church the contribution of fifty pounds. Besides
which, each of the three managers had to his respec-
tive share, clear of all charges, one hundred and fifty
more for his one and twenty days' labour, which
being added to his thirteen hundred and fifty shared
in the winter preceding, amounted in the whole to
fifteen hundred, the greatest sum ever known to
have been shared in one year to that time. And to
the honour of our auditors here and elsewhere be it
spoken, all this was rais'd without the aid of those
barbarous entertainments with which, some few
years after (upon the re-establishment of two con-
tending companies) we were forc'd to disgrace the
stage to support it."
The success of "Cato" proved as brilliant in a
literary as in a dramatic sense. The play was trans-
lated into several languages, not forgetting the Latin,
and even Voltaire was pleased, in after years, to
come down from his critical throne and honour Mr.
Addison's verses with his praise.^ " The first
English writer," he said, "who composed a regular
t
* One sees in Voltaire (who observed that "Hamlet" "appears
the work of a drunken savage") the old-fashioned tendency to
belittle Shakespeare. This tendency has one of its most amusing
reflections in a criticism by Hume, who said of the great poet that
"a reasonable propriety of thought he cannot for any time up-
hold."
A DEAD HERO 117
tragedy and infused a spirit of elegance through
every part of it was the illustrious Mr. Addison."
Poor Shakespeare !
Smile as we may over that frigid elegance, it
seemed none the less impressive in the days of auld
lang syne, and even yet we hear echoes of the play
in a round of familiar quotations.
"The woman who deliberates is lost ; "
And
" 'Tis not in mortals to command success,
But we'll do more, Sempronius, we'll deserve it ; "
And
" Curse on his virtues, they've undone his country."
still fall lightly on our ear. But the tragedy is for-
gotten, and why seek to resurrect those once-beloved
characters ? Cato, Marcia, Juba, and the rest figures
of classic marble rather than of flesh and blood
have all gone to that bourne whence no stage
travellers return. They lie buried 'mid all the pomp
of mouldering books, and there let them peacefully
decay.
CHAPTER VI
IN TRAGIC PATHS
THE average comedian will whisper, if you are
fortunate enough to get him in confidential mood,
that he was really designed by nature to tread the
stately walks of tragedy; that had not cruel fate
intervened he would now be enthralling the town
with his Hamlet, Macbeth, or Othello, and that
even yet he has not lost all hope of adorning the
kingdom of Melpomene. But he is not to be
believed, in at least ninety-nine cases out of a
hundred, and while we listen politely to his story of
blasted ambition our hearts are exceeding thankful
that the chance he looked for never came.
Nance Oldfield brilliantly reversed this order of
things. Although she shone in comedy with the
brighter light, she could play serious roles with
majesty and power, and feel, or pretend to feel, a
trifle bored in so doing. " I hate to have a page
dragging my train about," she used to cry, with a
pout of the pretty mouth ; " why don't they give
Porter those parts ? She can put on a better tragedy
face than I can." Yet whatever might be the un-
doubted capabilities of Porter for assuming the tragic
IN TRAGIC PATHS 119
mask, audience and manager sometimes insisted that
Nance should banish all the sunlight and becloud
her features with the sorrows of a high-strung
heroine.
One of these heroines was Andromache, the title
personage of " The Distressed Mother," an adapta-
tion by Ambrose Philips of Racine's "Andromaque."
This play seems heavy enough if we bother to read
it now, but it had a thousand charms for theatre-
goers in the days when Mr. Philips frequented
Button's coffee-house and there hung up a cane
which he threatened to use upon the body of the
great Mr. Pope.* Addison, whom tradition credits
with writing the entertaining epilogue, took all
manner of interest in the tragedy, and the Spectator
treated it to an advance notice which we degenerates
might term an unblushing " boom."
" The players, who know I am very much their
friend," says the Spectator, \ " take all opportunities
to express a gratitude to me for being so. They
could not have a better occasion of obliging me,
than one which they lately took hold of. They '
desired my friend Will Honeycomb to bring me the
reading of a new tragedy ; it is called 'The Distressed
Mother.' I must confess, though some days are )
passed since I enjoyed that entertainment, the
passions of the several characters dwell strongly upon
my imagination ; and I congratulate the age, that
they are at last to see truth and human life repre-
* Pope had ventured to sneer at Philips' " Pastorals."
t Spectator, No. 290, February i, 1711-12. This essay has been
credited to Steele.
120 NANCE OLD FIELD
sented in the incidents which concern heroes and
heroines. The style of the play is such as becomes
those of the first education, and the sentiments
worthy those of the highest figure. It was a most
exquisite pleasure to me, to observe real tears drop
from the eyes of those who had long made it their
profession to dissemble affliction ; and the player,
who read, frequently threw down the book, until he
had given vent to the humanity which rose in him
at some irresistible touches of the imagined sorrow."
This picture of woe would hardly suit the theories
of those hard-hearted players who believe that the
true artist is never " carried away," or affected by
the pathos of his part. Surely, the scene is ridicu-
lous rather than imposing, and one is tempted to
suggest, albeit with bated breath, that the Spectator
was indulging in a bit of good-natured exaggeration.
Exaggeration did we say ? The modern newspaper
writer, who is always glad, when off duty, to call
things by their plain names, would brand the notice
of the " Distressed Mother " as a bare-faced puff.
And who could quarrel with his scepticism ? Actors
are not in the habit of weeping over the reading of
a play ; they have little time for such briny luxury.
Yet in this very number of the Spectator we have
George Powell, who was cast for Orestes in Mr.
Philips' tragedy, writing that the grief which he is
required to portray will seem almost real enough to
choke his utterance. Here is what the hypocrite
says :
" Mr. SPECTATOR, I am appointed to act a part
IN TRAGIC PATHS 121
in the new tragedy called ' The Distressed Mother.'
It is the celebrated grief of Orestes which I am to
personate ; but I shall not act it as I ought, for I shall
feel it too intimately to be able to utter it. I was
last night repeating a paragraph to myself, which I
took to be an expression of rage, and in the middle
of the sentence there was a stroke of self-pity which
quite unmanned me. Be pleased, Sir, to print this
letter, that when I am oppressed in this manner at
such an interval, a certain part of the audience may
not think I am out ; and I hope with this allowance,
to do it with satisfaction. I am, Sir, your most
humble servant, GEORGE POWELL."
Poor dashing, dissipated, brandy-bibbing George !
Perhaps you had as keen an eye to the value of
advertising as have certain players who never heard
your name.^
The production of the " Distressed Mother"
(March, 1712), was accompanied by an exciting
popular demonstration which must for the nonce
have made Powell quite forget those lines which
gave him such exquisite sorrow. It all came from
the jealousy of Mrs. Rogers, she of more virtue on
the stage than off, and who always cherished, with
the assistance of kind friends, a very sincere belief
that her powers far exceeded those of Oldfield. t
* The original cast of the " Distressed Mother " included Booth
(Pyrrhus), Powell (Orestes), Mills (Pylades), Mrs. Oldfield (Andro-
mache), and Mrs. Porter (Hermione).
t The rivalry between Rogers and Oldfield once reached such a
pass that Wilks sought to end it, and stop the complaints of the
former's admirers, by a severe expedient. ** Mr. Wilks," says
122 NANCE OLDFIELD
So when Nance was cast for the distraught Andro-
mache there was trouble. Rogers demanded the
part, and on being refused set about to make things
as unpleasant as possible for her detested rival.
Friends of the disappointed actress packed Drury
Lane when the " Distressed Mother " was per-
formed, and the appearance of Oldfield was made
the signal for a riot. Royal messengers and guards
were sent to put an end to the disorder, but the
play had to be stopped for that night.
Colley, who had ever an eye to the pounds, shil-
lings and pence, was disgusted at what he chose to
call an exhibition of low malevolence. " We have
been forced," he says, "to dismiss an audience of a
hundred and fifty pounds, from a disturbance spirited
up by obscure people, who never gave any better
reason for it, than that it was their fancy to support
the idle complaint of one rival actress against
another, in their several pretentions to the chief
part in a new tragedy. But as this tumult seem'd
only to be the Wantonness of English Liberty, I
shall not presume to lay any further censure upon it."
Finally the combined charms of Oldfield and the
Victor, " soon reduced this clamor to demonstration, by an experi-
ment of Mrs. Oldfield and Mrs. Rogers playing the same part, that
of Lady Lurewell in the ' Trip to the Jubilee ; ' but though obstinacy
seldom meets conviction, yet from this equitable trial the tumults in
the house were soon quelled (by public authority) greatly to the
honour of Mr. Wilks. I am, from my own knowledge thoroughly
convinced that Mr. Wilks had no other regard for Mrs. Oldfield but
what arose from the excellency of her performances. Mrs. Roger's
conduct might be censured by some for the earnestness of her
passion towards Mr. Wilks, but in the polite world the fair sex has
always been privileged from scandal."
IN TRAGIC PATHS 123
" Distressed Mother " triumphed, and young beaux
who had helped to swell the riot were glad to come
back meekly to Drury Lane and extol the attrac-
tions of Andromache. In the play itself Nance
must have been all that the troublous part suggested,
but it was when she tripped on gaily and gave the
humorous epilogue that the house found her most
delightful. She, who could reign so imperially in
tragedy, had glided back to her better-loved king-
dom of comedy, and what cared her captivated
hearers if this self-same epilogue made an inhar-
monious ending to a serious play. It was quite
enough that Andromache, with all her sufferings
dispelled, should say melodiously :
" I hope you'll own, that with becoming art,
I've play'd my game, and topp'd the widow's part.
My spouse, poor man, could not live out the play,
But dy'd commodiously on wedding-day,*
While I his relict, made at one bold fling,
Myself a princess, and young Sty a King.
You, ladies, who protract a lover's pain,
And hear your servants sigh whole years in vain ;
Which of you all would not on marriage venture,
Might she so soon upon her jointure enter ? "
An epilogue leading off with these lines was
hardly an appropriate ending to a tragedy, yet are
we fastidious enough in these days to sneer at the
anomaly ? We have banished prologue and after-
piece as something old-fashioned and inartistic, but
never turn one solitary eyelash when Hamlet follows
* This is a coy reference to Pyrrhus, who was murdered while his
marriage to Hector's widow was being celebrated with royal pomp.
As he fell, it will be remembered, the King placed his crown upon
the head of Andromache.
124 NANCE OLDFIELD
up his death by rushing before the curtain and
grinning his thanks. Desdemonas who come for-
ward, after the smothering scene, to receive flowers,
and Romeos and Juliets who rise from the tomb
that they may bow and smirk before an audience
while we have such as these among us, let us not
cast stones at the early playgoer.
Addison has left, in the Spectator, a delightful
story of dear old Sir Roger de Coverley's ex-
perience with the " Distressed Mother." Sir Roger,
it appears, confessed that he had not seen a play
for twenty years, and was very anxious to know
"who this distressed mother was;" and upon
hearing that she was Hector's widow, he told me
that her husband was a brave man, and that when
he was a schoolboy he had read his life at the end
of the dictionary."^ So the old gentleman, accom-
panied by the Spectator, Captain Sentry, and a
retinue of servants, set out in state for Drury Lane,
and on arriving there went into the pit.
" As soon as the house was full, and the candles
lighted, my old friend stood up, and looked about
him with that pleasure which a mind seasoned with
humanity naturally feels in itself, at the sight of a
multitude of people who seem pleased with one
another, and partake of the same common entertain-
ment. I could not but fancy to myself, as the old
man stood up in the middle of the pit, that he made
a very proper centre to a tragic audience. Upon the
entering of Pyrrhus, the knight told me, that he did
* Spectator, No. 335.
IN TRAGIC PATHS 125
not believe the king of France himself had a better
strut. I was indeed very attentive to my old
friend's remarks, because I looked upon them as a
piece of natural criticism, and was well pleased to
hear him, at the conclusion of almost every scene,
telling me that he could not imagine how the play
would end. One while he appeared much con-
cerned for Andromache ; and a little while after
for Hermione ; and was extremely puzzled to think
what would become of Pyrrhus.
" When Sir Roger saw Andromache's obstinate
refusal to her lovers importunities, he whispered
me in the ear, that he was sure she would never
have him ; to which he added, with a more than
ordinary vehemence, ' You can't imagine, sir, what it
is to have to do with a widow.' Upon Pyrrhus's
threatening afterwards to leave her, the knight
shook his head, and muttered to himself, 'Ay, do
if you can.' This part dwelt so much upon my
friend's imagination, that at the close of the third
act, as I was thinking of something else, he
whispered me in my ear, ' These widows, sir, are the
most perverse creatures in the world. But pray,'
says he, ' you that are a critic, is the play according
to your dramatic rules, as you call them ? Should
your people in tragedy always talk to be under-
stood ? Why, there is not a single sentence in this
play that I do not know the meaning of/
" The fourth act very luckily began before I had
time to give the old gentleman an answer. ' Well, 1
says the knight, sitting down with great satisfaction,
' I suppose we are now to see Hector's ghost.' He
126 NANCE OLDFIELD
then renewed his attention, and, from time to time,
fell a praising the widow. He made, indeed, a little
mistake as to one of her pages, whom at his first
entering he took for Astyanax ; but quickly set
himself right in that particular, though, at the same
time he owned he should have been very glad to
have seen the little boy, who, says he, must needs
be a very fine child by the account that is given of
him. Upon Hermione's going off with a menace
to Pyrrhus, the audience gave a loud clap, to which
Sir Roger added, ' On my word, a notable young
baggage ! '
We can imagine Sir Roger going, a year later,
to see Mrs. Oldfield carry all before her as Jane
Shore in Nicholas Rowe's play of that name. The
author had once been an ardent admirer of the
glacierlike but lovely Bracegirdle, at whose haughty
shrine he long worshipped in the hopes that the ice
of her reserve might some day melt ; and the wits
of the coffee-house were wont to say, not without
a grain of truth, that when the poet wrote dramas
to fit Bracegirdle as the heroine, the lovers therein
always pleaded his own passion.^ Now that the
charmer had left the stage, Rowe was forced to
entrust the title character of Jane Shore to
Nance, who vowed, no doubt, she was thoroughly
bored at having to walk once again through a
* As Gibber says, Mrs. Bracegirdle " inspired the best authors to
write for her, and two of them [Rowe and Congreve] when they
gave her a lover in a play, seem'd palpably to plead their own
passions, and make their private court to her in fictitious
characters."
IN TRAGIC PATHS 127
vale of tears. But she made another triumph (the
author himself coached her in the part), and helped
to give the production all manner of success.
It is a curious fact that the writing of the tragedy
was indirectly due to political disappointment. Rowe
had set himself assiduously to the study of Spanish
with the idea of securing from Lord Halifax a diplo-
matic position, and his reward for this energy was so
intangible that he soon gave up hopes of foreign
travel and turned his attention to the tribulations of
Jane. In other words, the noble Halifax merely
expressed his satisfaction that Mr. Rowe could now
read "Don Quixote " in the original.
Thus Nance played on, sometimes in comedy,
and again in tragedy, when, despite her customary
objections, the pages had to drag her train about.
It was a train that swept all before it.
The speaking of trains and pages suggests the
fact that in old times the heroes and heroines of
tragedy always wore, either in peculiarity of dress
or pomp of surroundings, the badge of greatness.
Nowadays a few bars of romantic music, to usher
these characters on the stage, will suffice. But
things were different then ; our ancestors insisted that
the aforesaid dramatis personna should be labelled,
frilled and furbelowed.
Addison has an interesting essay on the subject.*
" But among all our tragic artifices," he says, " I am
the most offended at those which are made use of to
inspire us with magnificent ideas of the persons that
* Spectator, No. 42.
128 NANCE OLDFIELD
speak. The ordinary method of making an hero, is
to clap a huge plume of feathers upon his head
which rises so very high, that there is often a greater
length from his chin to the top of his head than to
the sole of his foot. One would believe that we
thought a great man and a tall man the same thing.
This very much embarrasses the actor, who is forced
to hold his neck extremely stiff and steady all the
while he speaks ; and notwithstanding any anxieties
which he pretends for his mistress, his country, or
his friends, one may see by his action, that his
greatest care and concern is to keep the plume of
feathers from falling off his head. For my own part,
when I see a man uttering his complaints under such
a mountain of feathers, I am apt to look upon him
rather as an unfortunate lunatic, than a distressed
hero.
"As these superfluous ornaments upon the head
make a great man, a princess generally receives her
grandeur from those additional encumbrances that
fall into her tail ; I mean the broad sweeping train
that follows her in all her motions, and finds con-
stant employment for a boy who stands behind her
to open and spread it to advantage. I do not know
how others are affected at this sight, but I must
confess my eyes are wholly taken up with the page's
part ; and, as for the queen, I am not so attentive to
any thing she speaks, as to the right adjusting of her
train, lest it should chance to trip up her heels, or
incommode her, as she walks to and fro upon the
stage. It is, in my opinion, a very odd spectacle to
see a queen venting her passion in a disordered
IN TRAGIC PATHS 129
motion, and a little boy taking care all the while
that they do not ruffle the tail of her gown. The
parts that the two persons act on the stage at the
same time are very different. The princess is afraid
lest she should incur the displeasure of the king her
father, or lose the hero, her lover, whilst her atten-
dant is only concerned lest she should entangle her
feet in her petticoat."
In a succeeding paragraph the reader finds that a
cherished nineteenth-century custom the represent-
ing of a vast army by the employment of half-a-dozen
ill-fed, unpainted supers has at least the sanction of
age : " Another mechanical method of making great
men, and adding dignity to kings and queens, is to
accompany them with halberts and battle-axes.
Two or three shifters of scenes, with the two candle-
snuffers, make up a complete body of guards upon
the English stage ; and by the addition of a few
porters dressed in red coats, can represent above a
dozen legions. I have sometimes seen a couple of
armies drawn up together upon the stage, when the
poet has been disposed to do honour to his generals.
It is impossible for the reader's imagination to mul-
tiply twenty men into such prodigious multitudes,
or to fancy that two or three hundred thousand
soldiers are fighting in a room of forty or fifty yards
in compass. Incidents of such a nature should be
told, not represented."
Addison remarks that "the tailor and painter
often contribute to the success of a tragedy more
i
130 NANCE OLD FIELD
than the poet," a trite saying which holds good now,
and he ends his essay with the belief that " a good
poet will give the reader a more lively idea of an
army or a battle in a description, than if he actually
saw them drawn up in squadrons and battalions, or
engaged in the confusion of a fight. Our minds
should be open to great conceptions, and inflamed
with glorious sentiments by what the actor speaks,
more than by what he appears. Can all the trap-
pings or equipage of a king or hero give Brutus half
the pomp and majesty which he receives from a few
lines in Shakespeare ?" Which is all very true, yet
" the tailor and painter " will continue popular, no
doubt, until the crack of doom.
The month of December 1714 saw the reopening
^of the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, under letters
patent originally granted by Charles II. to Chris-
topher Rich, and restored by his broken- English
Majesty George I. The renewal created a dan-
gerous rival to Drury Lane, but it is not probable
that the king worried over having planted such a
,thorn in the sides of Messrs. Steele, Booth, Wilks,
jand Gibber.* 1 He remembered, he told Mr. Craggs,
" when he had been in England before, in King
Charles his time, there had been two theatres in
London ; and as the patent seemed to be a lawful
grant, he saw no reason why two play-houses might
not be continued."
Several useful players left Drury Lane to go over
* On the death of Queen Anne the old licence or patent of Drury
Lane lapsed, and when the new one was issued Steele was named
therein as a partner.
IN TRAGIC PATHS 131
into Lincoln's Inn Fields,* chief among them being
Mrs. Rogers, who felt greatly relieved in transferring
her affectations of virtue to a house where she would
no longer be overshadowed by the genius of Old-
field. As for Nance, she was faithful to the old
theatre, and continued to be the fairest though
perhaps the frailest of its pillars, notwithstanding the
personal charms of Mrs. Horton. The latter was a
strolling player recently admitted to the sacred
precincts of Drury. She had been in the habit of
"ranting tragedy in barns and country towns, and
playing Cupid in a booth, at suburban fairs. The
attention of managers was directed towards her ;
and Booth, after seeing her act in Southwark,
engaged her for Drury Lane, where her presence
was more agreeable to the public than particularly
pleasant to dear Mrs. Oldfield."t
So wagged the mimic world with Nance as its
most attractive figure. Sometimes she laughed her
way through a play ; and again she committed
suicide for the edification of the audience, as when
she appeared in " Busiris." This was a windy tragedy
by Dr. Young (he of the " Night Thoughts "),
wherein Wilks, as Memnon, also had to kill himself.
The performance was, naturally enough, far from
cheerful, and no particular inspiration could have
'Tis true, they none of them had more than a negative merit, in
being only able to do us more harm by their leaving us without
notice, than they could do us good by remaining with us: For
though the best of them could not support a play, the worst of them
by their absence could maim it ; as the loss of the least pin in a
watch may obstruct its motion. GIBBER.
t Dr. Doran's " Annals of the Stage."
132 NANCE OLD FIELD
been obtained from the presence of Busiris himself,
that semi-savage Egyptian king to whom Ovid
referred :
" 'Tis said that Egypt for nine years was dry ;
Nor Nile did floods, nor heaven did rain supply.
A foreigner at length informed the King
That slaughtered guests would kindly moisture bring.
The King replied, ' On thee the lot shall fall ;
Be thou, my guest, the sacrifice for all.' "
Certainly a most ungenial host.
There were times when Oldfield could even
arouse enthusiasm amid the dullest and most un-
appealing surroundings. This she did, for instance,
Jin the stupid "Sophonisba" of James Thomson,
[who could write delightful poetry about nature with-
out being able to carry any of that nature into the
art of play-making. It was in this artificial tragedy
that the famous line occurred : " Oh Sophonisba !
Sophonisba, oh ! " which was afterwards parodied by
"Oh! Jemmy Thomson! Jemmy Thomson, oh!"
and it was in the same ill-fated compilation that
Gibber had the distinction of being hissed off the
stage. The latter, unlike Oldfield, had a sneaking
fondness for tragedy, and when " Sophonisba " was
first read in the green room he appropriated to his
own use the dignified character of Scipio. His
egotism and foolishness had their full reward. For
two nights successively, as Davies tells us, " Gibber
was as much exploded as any bad actor could be.
Williams, by desire of Wilks, made himself master
of the part; but he, marching slowly, in great
military distinction, from the upper part of the
IN TRAGIC PATHS 133
stage, and wearing the same dress as Gibber, was
mistaken for him, and met with repeated hisses,
joined to the music of cat-calls [notice, ye theatre-
goers of 1898, that the cat-call is not the invention
of the modern gallery god] ; but, as soon as the
audience were undeceived, they converted their
groans and hisses to loud and long continued ap-
plause." Three years later, in 1733, Gibber retired
from the stage.
With Mrs. Oldfield the picture was far different.
She could not make of Thomson's tragedy a success,
yet she played Sophonisba (one of the last parts in
which she was ever seen) with a grandeur of effect
that well earned the undying gratitude of the author.*
In after years her old admirers were wont to thrill
with pleasure as they recalled the passionate inten-
sity she gave to that much-quoted line,
"Not one base word of Carthage, for thy soul,"
as she stood glaring at the astonished Massinissa.
Among those who saw Sophonisba was Chet-
wood, whose " General History of the Stage" gives
us many a charming glimpse of dead and gone
actors. Dead and gone ? Nay, rather let it be
said that they still live in the ever fresh and graphic
pages of contemporary critics, and thus refute the
gentle pessimism of Mr. Henley when he asks so
gracefully :
* Mrs. Oldfield, in the character of Sophonisba, has excelled N
what, even in the fondness of an author, I could either wish or
imagine. The grace, dignity, and happy variety of her action have
been universally applauded, and are truly admirable. THOMSON.
134 NANCE OLDFIELD
" Where are the passions they essayed,
And where the tears they made to flow ?
Where the wild humours they portrayed
For laughing worlds to see and know ?
Othello's wrath and Juliet's woe ?
Sir Peter's whims and Timon's gall ?
And Millamant and Romeo ?
Into the night go one and all."
" I was too young," says Chetwood, " to view her
first dawn on the stage, but yet had the infinite satis-
faction of her meridian lustre, a glow of charms not
to be beheld but with a trembling eye ! which held
her influence till set in night."
Of Nance's tendency to escape tragic plays the
same writer tells us : " When ' Mithridates ' was
revived, it was with much difficulty she was pre-
vail'd upon to take the part ; but she perform J d it to
the utmost length of perfection, and, after that, she
seem'd much better reconciled to tragedy. What a
majestical dignity in Cleopatra ! and, indeed, in
every part that required it : Such a finish'd figure on
the stage, was never yet seen. In ' Calista, the
Fair Penitent,' she was inimitable, in the third act,
with Horatio, when she tears the letter with
*' To atoms, thus !
Thus let me tear the vile detested falsehood,
The wicked lying evidence of shame ! "
(Her excellent clear voice of passion, with manner
and action suiting, us'd to make me shrink with awe,
and seem'd to put her monitor Horatio into a mouse-
hole. I almost gave him up for a troublesome
puppy; and though Mr. Booth play'd the part of
Lothario, I could hardly lug him up to the import-
IN TRAGIC PATHS 135
ance of triumphing over such a finish'd piece of
perfection, that seemed to be too much dignified to
lose her virtue."
Perhaps the reader may think that this chapter,
like several others, is (as the theatre-goer said of
"Hamlet") too " deuced full of quotation." Yet
what can give a better picture of old stage life than
these quaint and often eloquent records of the past ?
Pray be lenient, therefore, thou kindly critic, if the
most faded books of the theatrical library are taken
down from the dusty shelf, and a few of the neglected
pages are printed once again. As these very books
seem all the better in their dingy bindings, so do the
old ideas, the odd conceits, the stories that charmed
dead generations, take on a keener zest when clothed
in the formal language of other days.
If we want to get that formal language in all its
glory, let us bring from the library a copy of some
early eighteenth-century tragedy. Shall we close
our eyes and choose one at random ? Well, what
have we ? The "Tamerlane" of our friend Nicholas
Rowe, in which is set forth the story of the generous
Emperor of Tartary, the " very glass and fashion of
all conquerors." The play is prefaced by a fulsome
" Epistle Dedicatory," addressed to the sacred
person of the " Right Honourable William, Lord
Marquis of Harrington," and showing, almost
pathetically, how frequently the literary workers of
Queen Anne's " golden age " were wont to beg the
influence of some powerful patron. The dedication
seems absolutely grovelling when viewed from the
136 NANCE OLDFIELD
present standards, but Mr. Rowe and his friends
saw therein nothing more remarkable than respect-
ful homage to one of the world's great men. The
republic of letters was then an empty name.^
The author of " Tamerlane " fears that in thus
calling attention to the play he may appear guilty of
" impertinence and interruptions," and, he adds, " I
am sure it is a reason why I ought to beg your
Lordship's pardon, for troubling you with this
tragedy ; not but that poetry has always been, and
will still be the entertainment of all wise men, that
have any delicacy in their knowledge." Then, after
wasting a little necessary flattery on the noble
marquis, he starts off into an unblushing eulogy of
King William III., whose clemency was mirrored,
supposedly, by the hero of the tragedy. " Some
people [who do me a very great honour in it] have
fancy'd, that in the person of Tamerlane, I have
alluded to the greatest character of the present age.
I don't know whether I ought not to apprehend a
great deal of danger from avowing a design like
that : It may be a task indeed worthy of the
greatest genius, which this or any other time has
produc'd ; but therefore I ought not to stand the
shock of a parallel lest it should be seen, to my dis-
advantage, how far the Hero has transcended the poef s
thoughts " and so on, ad nauseam.
To turn the leaves of the play, after wading
through the slime of the " Epistle," is to find
amusing proof of the high-flown and at times bom-
* " Tamerlane" was, brought out in 1702, with Better-ton Tin the
title role.
IN TRAGIC PATHS 137
bastic expression which elicited such admiration
from audiences of the old regime. (Do not laugh
at it, reader ; you tolerate an equal amount of
absurdity in modern melodrama). The very first
lines are charmingly suggestive of the starched and
stately past. " Hail to the sun ! " says the Prince of
Tanais :
" Hail to the sun ! from whose returning light
The cheerful soldier's arms new lustre take
To deck the pomp of battle."
Playwrights of Rowe's cult loved to hail the sun.
Just why the orb of day had to be saluted with such
frequency no one seemed able to determine, but the
honour was continually bestowed, to the great edifi-
cation of the groundlings. When Young wrote
" Busiris," he paid so much attention to old Sol
that Fielding burlesqued the learned doctor's weak-
ness through the medium of " Tom Thumb," and
wrote that " the author of * Busiris ' is extremely
anxious to prevent the sun's blushing at any indecent
object ; and, therefore, on all such occasions, he
addresses himself to the sun, and desires him to
keep out of the way."
After the Prince of Tanais's homage to the sun
we hear something fulsome about the virtues of
King William, alias Tamerlane :
" No lust of rule, the common vice of Kings,
No furious zeal, inspir'd by hot-brain'd priests,
111 hid beneath religion's specious name,
E'er drew his temp'rate courage to the field :
But to redress an injur'd people's wrongs,
To save the weak one from the strong oppressor,
Is all his end of war. And when he draws
138 NANCE OLD FIELD
The sword to punish, like relenting Heav'n,
He seems unwilling to deface his kind."
A few lines later and we find one of the characters
drawing a parallel between Tamerlane, otherwise
William, and Divinity :
" Ere the mid-hour of night, from tent to tent,
Unweary'd, thro' the num'rous host he past,
Viewing with careful eyes each several quarters ;
Whilst from his looks, as from Divinity,
The soldiers took presage, and cry'd, Lead on,
Great Alha, and our emperor, lead on,
To victory, and everlasting fame."
How changeth the spirit of each age ! Imagine
Bronson Howard or Augustus Thomas writing a
play wherein the President of the United States
was brought into such irreverent contact with the
Deity.*
But we need not follow the platitudes of Tamer-
lane and his companions, nor weep at the sententious
wickedness of Bajazet, that ungrateful sovereign
typifying Louis Quatorze, King of France, Prince
of Gentlemen, and Right Royal Hater of His Pro-
testant Majesty William of Orange. Heaven rest
their souls ! and with that pious prayer we may bid
them farewell, as
" Into the night go one and all."
* Yet it cannot be easily forgotten that a certain clergyman,
preaching, several years ago, at the funeral of a rich man's son,
compared the poor boy to Christ. And this very ecclesiastic
probably looks upon the stage as a monument of sacrilegiousness.
CHAPTER VII
NANCE AT HOME
" HOME ? " An actress at home ? Does it not
seem strange to apply the dear old English noun, so
redolent of peace, and quiet, and privacy, to the
feverish life of a mummer ? We go, night after
night, to see our favourite players shining 'mid the
fierce glare of the footlights, watch them approvingly
as they pass from role to role, and finally begin to
believe, like the egotists we are, that they have no
existence apart from the one we are pleased to
applaud. What fools some of us must be to think
there is never a time when the paint and powder,
the tinsel and eternal artifice of the stage yea, even
our own condescending admiration pall on the
jaded spirits of the poor player.
" How sparklingly is Miss Smith acting Lady
Teazle to-night ! " we say, elegantly pressing our
hands together in token of august favour. We are
entranced, and it follows, therefore, that the actress
must be entranced likewise. Mayhap Miss Smith
does not share the same ecstacy ; perhaps, as she
stands behind the screen in Joseph Surface's rooms,
Sir Peter's wife is wishing that the comedy were
140 NANCE OLDFIELD
ended and she were comfortably ensconced in her
cosy little lodgings round the corner. She pictures
that crackling wood fire, and her old terrier basking
in the gentle heat, and the tea-urn hissing near by
(or is it a cold bottle of beer in the portable
refrigerator ?) and in the background sweet good
Mr. Smith, who does nothing but spend his lady's
salary. In that temple of domesticity there are no
thoughts of rouge, or paint-pots, or of Richard
Brinsley Sheridan it is merely home. Dost thou
always hurry back to so attractive a one, thou
patronising theatre-goer ?
Our Nance had a home to which she was glad
enough to hurry back, like the aforesaid Miss Smith,
after the play was over at Drury Lane. There was
no husband there to await her, but a very devoted
knight in the person of Mr. Arthur Maynwaring,
who, though he gave not his name nor the ceremony
of bell, book, and candle to the union, played the
part of spouse to the fair charmer. The town looked
with good-natured tolerance on the moral code, or
the want thereof, of the frail one, just as other
towns, in later days, have looked with equal benevo-
lence upon the peccadillos of some petted favourite.
The times were not of the straightlaced order and no
one expected from an actress wonders of chastity or
conventionality. Are we ourselves exacting where
the Thespian is concerned ?
"Even her amours," says Chetwood in treating
of Mistress Oldfield, " seemed to lose that glare
which appears round the persons of the failing fair ;
neither was it ever known that she troubled the
ANNE OLDFIELD
By JONATHAN RICHARDSON
Fashion'd alike by Nature and by Art
To please, engage, and interest ev"ry heart.
In public life, by all who saw, approval ;
In private life, by all who knew her, lov'd.
NANCE AT HOME 141
repose of any lady's lawful claim ; and was far more
constant than millions in the conjugal noose." Being
thus acquitted of predatory designs upon the peace
of English wives, and having the further virtue of
constancy, a host of Londoners, men and women,
high and low alike, gazed with charitable eyes upon
Nance's private life. And she, dear girl, sinned on /
joyously.
Mr. Maynwaring, who helped Oldfield to break
the spirit of one commandment, was a brilliant figure
in the reign of Queen Anne, albeit, like other bril-
liant figures of that period, he has passed into the
darkness of oblivion. A clever dabbler in literature,
an honest politician a politician with scruples was
as rare in those days as he is now and a man of
honour who could drink as much as his friends, the
volatile Arthur was, perhaps, best known as the
most attractive talker of the famous Kit-Cat Club.
The Kit-Cat Club ! What a wealth of anecdote
doth its name conjure up to the student of the past I
'Twas in this famous organisation that noblemen and
wits met on common ground, drank many a toast to
the House of Hanover or to some reigning belle of
London town, and exercised a patronising censorship
over the world of letters. They were " the patriots
that saved Briton," says Horace Walpole, in referring
to their anti-Jacobitism, and yet the most of them are
forgotten.
If tradition is to be believed (and what siren is
more comfortable to hearken unto than tradition ?)
these self-same patriots took their name of " Kit-
Cats " from prosaic mutton pies. 'Twould be
142 NANCE OLDFIELD
horrible to think on this gastronomic derivation of
the title were we not to remember, quite fortunately,
that geese saved classic Rome. Why, therefore,
should not the preservers of perfidious Albion
suggest the aroma of a lamb pasty ?
It seems that the Club had its first headquarters
in Shire Lane, near Temple Bar, at the establish-
ment of Christopher Cat, a pastrycook who helped
to enliven the inner man by delicious meat pies
dubbed " Kit-Cats." Hence the name of that
notable coterie of Whigs which included Addison
and Dick Steele, Congreve and His Grace of
Devonshire.^
Maynwaring came of good English stock, and in
early life showed the results of his relationship to the
aristocratic house of Cholmondeley by supporting
the lost cause of James II. So fervent an admirer
was he of that apology for royalty that he took up
the pen, if not the sword, in his behalf, and steeped
the mightier weapon with satirical ink when he
wrote a pamphlet entitled " The King of Hearts/'
Rumour paid to the young author an unintentional
compliment by insisting that the brochure came from
the great Mr. Dryden, but that genius denied the soft
impeachment while gracefully praising the unknown
writer.
* Our modern celebrated clubs are founded upon eating and
drinking, which are points wherein most men agree, and in which
the learned and illiterate, the dull and the airy, the philosopher
and the buffoon, can all of them bear a part. The Kit-Cat itself
is said to have taken its original from a mutton pie. The Beef-Steak
and October clubs are neither of them averse to eating and drinking,
if we may form a judgment of them from their respective titles.
ADDISON in the Spectator.
NANCE AT HOME 143
This pursuit of Jacobitism was varied by the study
of law a study "sometimes relieved with a tem-
porary application to music and poetry " and when
the disconsolate Arthur had lost his father, and
thereby gained 800 pounds a year, he drowned his
sorrows by an almost exclusive devotion to " society
and pleasantry." We are told^ that on the ratifica-
tion of the Peace of Ryswick he went to Paris, where
he was exceedingly well received in consequence of
the numerous introductory letters which had been
furnished him from various quarters. He there con-
tracted an intimacy with Boileau,
" Whose rash envy would allow
No strain that shamed his country's creaking lyre,
That whetstone of the teeth, monotony in wire."
" The French poet invited Maynwaring to his
country seat, where he behaved to him in a very
hospitable manner, and frequently conversed with
him respecting the merits of our English poets, of
whom, however, he affected to know but little, and
for whom he pretended to care still less. Monsieur
de la Fontaine was also at times one of their company,
and always spoke in very respectful terms of the
poetry of the sister nation. Boileau's pretending to
be ignorant of Dryden * argued himself unknown ' ;
but, perhaps, another reason may be assigned why
the French writers found it convenient to know as
little as possible of their English contemporary, who
in many of his admirable prefaces and dedications has
taken some trouble to explain the frivolity of the
* " Memoirs of the Celebrated Persons comprising the Kit-Cat
Club."
I 4 4 NANCE OLDFIELD
French poets, their tiresome petit mafore-ship, and
all the finessing and trick with which they endeavour
to make amends to their readers for positive deficiency
of genius."
After playing the dilettante in France, Maynwaring
returned home, and in time became a staunch Whig,
a Government official, and, later on, a Member of
Parliament. The cause of the Pretender knew him
no more, and in future this brilliant gentleman would
be one of the greatest friends of that stupid Hano-
verian family which waited drowsily, across the sea,
for the death of Anne.
But what counted all the glamour of public life
compared to the possession of Nance Oldfield and
an honoured seat at the festive board of the Kit-Cat
Club ? Love and conviviality, youth and wit, carried
the day, and through the influence of these seductive
companions handsome Arthur failed to achieve great-
ness as a statesman. But when it came to waging
political warfare against sour Swift, or to assisting
Dick Steele with the " Tatler," or better still
toasting some fair one at the Club,^ this don viveur
was in his finest mood.
* The (Kit-Cat) club originated in the hospitality of Jacob Tonson,
the bookseller, who, once a week, was host at the house in Shire
Lane to a gathering of writers. In an occasional poem on the Kit-
Cat club, attributed to Sir Richard Blackmore, Jacob is read
backwards into Bocaj, and we are told :
" One Night in Seven at this convenient seat
Indulgent Bocaj did the Muses treat ;
Their Drink was gen'rous Wine and Kit- Cat's Pyes their Meat.
Hence did th' Assembly's Title first arise,
And Kit-Cat Wits spring first from Kit-Cat's Pyes."
About the year 1700 this gathering of wits produced a club in which
NANCE AT HOME 145
It is to be supposed that at some time or other
the health of Mistress Oldfield was drunk by the
Kit- Cats, whose custom of honouring womankind in
this bibulous way may have given rise to Pope's
plaintive query :
" Say why are beauties prais'd and honour'd most,
The wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast ?
Why deck'd with all that land and sea afford,
Why Angels call'd, and angel-like adored ? "
And if the actress was thus deified or spiritualised,
who drained his glass more fervently than did Arthur
Maynwaring? For whatever may have been the
faults of this dashing Whig, he had the courage of
his sins, and took up his abode with Anne in the full
light of day, as though a marriage ceremony were
a bagatelle not worth the recollecting. The world
was forgiving, to be sure, nor is it probable that
either one of this easily-mated pair suffered any loss
of public esteem by the union. Dukes nay, even
Duchesses were glad to meet Nance, and Royalty
allowed her to bask in the sunshine of its gracious
approval. " She was to be seen on the terrace at
Windsor, walking with the consorts of dukes, and
the great Whig chiefs were associated with foremost Whig writers,
Tonson being secretary. It was as much literary as political, and
its " toasting glasses," each inscribed with lines to a reigning beauty,
caused Arbuthnot to derive its value from "its pell mell pack of
toasts."
Of old Cats and young Kits.
Tonson built a room for the Club at Barn Elms to which each
member gave his portrait by Sir Godfrey Kneller, who was himself
a member. The pictures were on a new-sized canvas adopted to the
height of the walls, whence the name " Kit-Cat " came to be applied
generally to three-quarter length portraits. HENRY MORLEY'S Notes
on the Spectator.
K
146 NANCE OLDFIELD
with countesses, and wives of English barons, and
the whole gay group might be heard calling one
another by their Christian names."
No wonder that the women of fashion, none of
them saints, loved Oldfield and winked at the elas-
ticity of her moral ethics. The dear creature was so
bright in conversation, so full of espieglerie, and,
still more important, she looked so charming in her
succession of handsome toilettes, that she could be
ever sure of a cordial welcome. " Flavia," as Steele
calls her, " is ever well-dressed, and always the
genteelest woman you meet, but the make of her
mind very much contributes to the ornament of her
body. She has the greatest simplicity of manners
of any of her sex. This makes everything look
native about her, and her clothes are so exactly
fitted, that they appear, as it were, part of her
person. Every one that sees her knows her to be
of quality ; but her distinction is owing to her
manner, and not to her habit. Her beauty is full
of attraction, but not of allurement. There is such
a composure in her looks, and propriety in her dress,
that you would think it impossible she should change
the garb you one day see her in, for anything so
becoming until you next day see her in another.
There is no mystery in this, but that however she
is apparelled, she is herself the same : for there is
so immediate a relation between our thoughts and
gestures that a woman must think well to look well/'
Here, verily, was an actress who could set the
town wild by the beauty and exquisite taste of
NANCE AT HOME 147
her costumes, and who was conscientious enough,
nevertheless, to keep the millinery phase of her art
modestly in the background. You, ladies, who de- %
pend for theatrical success upon the elegance of
your gowns, and fondly believe that fairness of face
and litheness of figure will atone for a thousand
dramatic sins, take pattern by the industry of Old-
field. It will be a much better pattern than those
over which you are accustomed to worry your
pretty heads. The enterprising dressmakers who
go to the play to get inspiration for new clothes may
cease to worship you, but think of the other sort of
inspiration which you will give to lovers of the
drama! Then shall there be no more announce-
ments to the effect that, "Miss Lighthead will act
Lady Macbeth in ten Parisian gowns made by
Worth," or that when she treats us to the death of
Marguerite Gautier (the aforesaid Mdlle. Gautier
dying, as everybody knows, in actual poverty) " Miss
Lighthead will wear diamonds representing one
hundred thousand dollars."
There is not much to say about the domesticity
of Nance and Arthur Maynwaring. How could
there be ? The lady kept house for her lord and
master with grace and modesty (if it seems not
paradoxical to mention modesty in this alliance), and
it is safe to believe that more than one member of\
the Kit-Cat Club often tasted a bit of beef and
pudding, and sipped a glass of port, at the table of
the happy pair. Congreve, the particular friend
and prottgt of the host, must have dined more than
once with brilliant Nance, regaling his plump being
148 NANCE OLDFIELD
with the joy of food and drink, and wondering,
perhaps, how any one could prefer the hostess to his
particular chere-amie y Anne Bracegirdle. And Old-
field, of what did she think as she gazed into the
rounded face of Mr. Congreve, or listened to the
merry wit of her devoted liege ? Did the ghost of
poor, dead Farquhar ever arise before her, the re-
minder of a day when love was younger and passion
stronger ? Let us ask no impertinent questions.
What with acting, and supping, and an easy con-
science, Mistress Oldfield gaily trod the primrose
path of dalliance, and Cupid hovered near, albeit
there was no law to chain him to the scene. But
one day he took to his wings and flew away, after
witnessing the untimely death (November 1712) of
Mr. Maynwaring. The latter made his exit with
the assistance of three physicians, and Nance was
near to smooth the departure.^ Then came the
funeral, and after that Mrs. Mayn Mrs. Oldfield
dried her lovely eyes (did she not have enough
weeping to do when she played in tragedy ?), and
began once more to think upon the joys of existence.
When General Churchill, a nephew of the great
Duke of Marlborough, suggested to the discon-
solate widow-by-brevet that she should share his
home, the proposal was accepted, and the actress
* He died at St. Albans, November 13, 1712, of a consumption,
and was attended in his last illness by Doctors Garth, Radcliffe and
Blackmore. In his will he appointed Mrs. Oldfield, the celebrated
actress, his executrix, with whom he had lived for several years,
and by whom he had a son, named Arthur Maynwaring. His estate
was equally divided between this child, its mother and his sister.
" Memoirs of the Celebrated Persons Comprising the Kit-Kat Club."
NANCE AT HOME 149
entered for a second time into a free-and-easy
compact, and for a second time remained faithful
thereto until her new admirer went the way of
Mr. May n waring. It was even rumoured scan-
dalous gossip ! that the two were married ; and
one day the Princess of Wales, afterwards Queen
Caroline, asked the " incomparable sweet girl," who
was attending a royal levee, whether such were
indeed the case. "So it is said, may it please
your Royal Highness," diplomatically replied Nance,
" but we have not owned it yet."
To Churchill our unsteady heroine presented one \
son, and it was through the marriage of the latter )
that the swift-running blood of Oldfield now courses
through the veins of the first Earl of Cadogan's/
descendants.* This son and the one who bore the
name of Maynwaring were the only two children
credited, or discredited, to the actress, but there
appears to have been a mysterious daughter, a
Miss Dye Bertie, who became, as Mrs. Delany tells
us, "the pink of fashion in the beau monde, and
married a nobleman." It would not be wise, how-
ever, to peer too closely into the dim vista of the
past. The picture might prove unpleasant.
* Her son, Colonel Churchill, once, unconsciously, saved Sir
Robert Walpole from assassination, through the latter riding home '
from the House in the Colonel's chariot instead of alone in his own.
Unstable Churchill married a natural daughter of Sir Robert, and
their daughter Mary married, in 1777, Charles Sloane, first Earl of
Cadogan. . . . When Churchill and his wife were travelling in
France, a Frenchman, knowing he was connected with poets or
players, asked him if he was Churchill the famous poet. " I am
not," said Mrs. Oldfield's son. * Ma foi 1 " rejoined the polite
Frenchman, " so much the worse for you." DR. DORAN.
150 NANCE OLDFIELD
Surely we may have charity for Oldfield, when
she dispensed the same virtue to those around her.
Towards none did she show it more sweetly than to
that disreputable fraud and alleged man of genius,
Richard Savage. In his own feverish day Dick
Savage cut a literary swath more wide than
enviable, but when he is viewed from the unsym-
pathetic light of the present he seems merely a
clever vagabond. Yet Dr. Johnson, who could be
so stern towards some of his contemporaries, con-
descended to love the aforesaid vagabond, in a
ponderous, elephantine way, and deified him by
writing the life of the ingrate, or an apology
therefor. Savage had, once upon a time, led the
youthful Johnson more than a few feet away from
the path of rectitude, but the philosopher forgave,
without forgetting, the wiles of the tempter, and
treated him with a generosity by no means de-
served. In the years of his prosperity and the
remembrance did him credit Johnson could never
forget that Savage and himself had been poor
together, and had often wandered through London
with hardly a penny to show between them.
" It is melancholy to reflect," says Boswell, " that
Johnson and Savage were sometimes in such ex-
treme indigence that they could not pay for a
lodging ; so that they have wandered together
whole nights in the streets. Yet in these almost
incredible scenes of distress, we may suppose that
Savage mentioned many of the anecdotes with
which Johnson afterwards enriched the life of this
unhappy companion, and those of other poets.
NANCE AT HOME 151
" He told Sir Joshua Reynolds, that one night in
particular, when Savage and he walked round St
James's Square for want of a lodging, they were
not at all depressed by their situation ; but in high
spirits and brimful of patriotism, traversed the square
for several hours, inveighed against the Minister, and
resolved they would stand by their country."
The claim of Savage that he was the illegitimate
son of the Countess of Macclesfield a claim which
he was always asserting to the point of coarseness
seems to have been the stock-in-trade of this
vagabond's life. There never was proof that the
relationship which he thus flaunted really existed ;
for, although the conduct of the Countess 1 * was
unpardonable, the poet could never show that he
had been the mysterious infant which had this lady
for its mother and Lord Rivers for an unnatural
father. The child disappeared, and nothing more
was ever known of its existence.
But Savage discovered, or affected to discover,
that he was the missing one, and from that moment
made the Countess miserable by his importunities
for recognition and money, more particularly for the
latter. " It was to no purpose," records Dr. John-
son, " that he frequently solicited her to admit him
to see her ; she avoided him with the most vigilant
precaution, and ordered him to be excluded from her
* Anne Mason, wife of Charles Gerrard, first Earl of Macclesfield,
was divorced from that nobleman by an Act of Parliament. Another
earl, Richard Savage, Lord Rivers, was the co respondent. This
was the same Countess of Macclesfield who subsequently married
Cibber's friend, Colonel Brett.
152 NANCE OLDFIELD
house, by whomsoever he might be introduced, and
what reason soever he might give for entering it."
And the Doctor, who had an abiding and very
misplaced confidence in the fellow, adds plaintively :
" Savage was at the same time so touched with the
discovery of his real mother that it was his frequent
practice to walk in the dark evenings for several
hours before her door in hopes of seeing her as she
might come by accident to the window, or cross her
apartment with a candle in her hand."
" Touched with the discovery," forsooth ! 'Twas
a species of blackmail cloaked in the guise of filial
sentiment.
This talented blackguard was wont to pray for
alms from Mistress Oldfield ; and that dear charit-
able creature (are not most actresses dear, charitable
creatures?) would often waste her practical sym-
pathy upon him. She despised the man, but, with
that generosity so characteristic of her craft, was
ever ready to relieve his necessities.^ Well, well,
how the glitter from a few guineas can envelop
* In this (Johnson's) " Life of Savage " 'tis related that Mrs. Old-
field was very fond of Mr. Savage's conversation, and allowed him
an annuity during her life of 50. These facts are equally ill-
grounded; there was no foundation for them. That Savage's
misfortunes pleaded for pity, and had the desired effect on Mrs.
Oldfield's compassion, is certain ; but she so much disliked the man,
and disapproved his conduct, that she never admitted him to her
conversation, nor suffered him to enter her house. She indeed often
relieved him with such donations as spoke her generous disposition.
But this was on the solicitation of friends, who frequently set his
calamities before her in the most piteous light ; and, from a principle
of humanity, she became not a little instrumental in saving his life.
GIBBER'S " Lives of the Poets."
NANCE AT HOME 153
the fragile doner in a golden light, and throw over
her faults the soft glow of forgiveness.
Savage himself once turned player, and no one
must have been more amused thereat than the
Oldfield. It happened during the summer of 1723,
when the poet, who was in his customary state of
(theatrical) destitution, determined to replenish his
shabby purse by bringing out a tragedy. While
this play, "The Tragedy of Sir Thomas Overbury,"*
was in rehearsal at Drury Lane, Colley Gibber kept
the author in clothes, and the Laureate's son Theo-
philus, then a very young man, studied the part of
Somerset. The principal actors were not in Lon-
don just then, it being the off season, when the
younger players strutted across the classic boards of
the house, and Savage determined himself to enact
Sir Thomas. He did so. with melancholy results;
even Johnson admits the failure of so presumptuous
a leap before the footlights, " for neither his voice,
look, nor gesture were such as were expected on the
stage ; and he was so much ashamed of having been
reduced to appear as a player, that he always blotted
out his name from the list when a copy of his
tragedy was to be shown to his friends."t
* Savage, with his usual bad taste, published this tragedy as the
work of " Richard Savage, son of tfo late Earl Rivers"
t In the publication of his performance he was more successful,
for the rays of genius that glimmered in it, that glimmered through
all the mists which poverty and Gibber had been able to spread
over it, procured him the notice and esteem of many persons
eminent for their rank, their virtue, and their wit. Of this play,
acted, printed, and dedicated, the accumulated profits arose to an
hundred pounds, which he thought at that time a very large sum,
having been never master of so much before. In the " Dedication,"
154 NANCE OLDFIELD
What a sublime hypocrite our Richard was, to be
sure. That he felt so keenly the disgrace (?) of
" having been reduced to appear as a player " was,
no doubt, a sentiment intended for the exclusive ear
of the great lexicographer, whose prejudice against
the stage and its followers was strong to the point of
absurdity. Despite the qualms of the poet over
exposing his sacred self to the gaze of an audience
he had no sensitiveness in receiving the money of an
actress, and he was willing enough to have her aid
in another direction.
That aid was cheerfully given once upon a time
when Savage came dangerously near the scaffold.
This prince of scamps and wanderer among the
beery precincts of pot-houses happened to stroll
one night, accompanied by two choice spirits (and
himself full of spirits) into a disreputable coffee-
house near Charing Cross. The three men rudely
pushed their way into a parlour where some other
roisterers were drinking ; the intrusion was naturally
resented, " and as each and every one of the party
chanced to be better filled with wine than with
politeness, a brawl was the consequence. Swords
were drawn and Savage killed a Mr. Sinclair, after
which drunken act he cut the head of a barmaid who
tried to hold him. Then more swearing, shrieking
and sword-thrusting, a cry for soldiers, a flight from
for which he received ten guineas, there is nothing remarkable.
The preface contains a very liberal enconium on the blooming
excellence of Mr. Theophilus Gibber, which Mr. Savage could not
in the latter part of his life see his friends about to read without
snatching the play out of their hands. DR. JOHNSON.
NANCE AT HOME 155
the coffee-house, and an almost instant arrest. A
pretty picture, was it not ?
When Savage was put on trial for his life, he
pleaded that the killing of Sinclair was done in self-
defence, and his acquittal would probably have fol-
lowed but for the shrewdness of the prosecution.
This prosecution was conducted by Francis Page,
whose severity Pope immortalised in the lines :
" Slander or poison dread from Delia's rage
Hard-words or hanging if your judge be Page."
Page surely understood human nature, or that
portion of it appertaining to the average jurymen,
and he disposed of Mr. Savage's defence by one
well-directed blow when he said to the good men
and true : " Gentlemen of the jury, you are to con-
sider that Mr. Savage is a very great man, a much
greater man than you or I, gentlemen of the
jury; that he wears very fine clothes, much finer
clothes than you or I, gentlemen of the jury ; that he
has abundance of money in his pocket, much more
money than you or I, gentlemen of the jury ; but,
gentlemen of the jury, is it not a very hard case,
gentlemen of the jury, that Mr. Savage should
therefore kill you, or me, gentlemen of the jury."
Whereupon the defendant began to make a speech
in his own behalf, but his flow of eloquence was
quenched by the judge, and the jury soon found
Savage as well as Gregory, one of his companions in
the drunken broil, to be guilty of murder. Many
influences were now brought to bear on Queen
Caroline, consort of George II., to secure a pardon
156 NANCE OLD FIELD
for the rascal, but that good lady was for a time
obdurate. She had heard a few choice stories anent
the man, and among them, one which Dr. Johnson
glosses over in this way : " Mr. Savage, when he
had discovered his birth, had an incessant desire to
speak to his mother, who always avoided him in
public, and refused him admission into her house.
One evening walking, as it was his custom, in the
street that she inhabited, he saw the door of her
house by accident open, he entered it, and, finding
no person in the passage to hinder him, went up-
stairs to salute her. She discovered him before he
entered her chamber, alarmed the family with the
most distressful outcries, and when she had by her
screams gathered them about her, ordered them to
drive out of the house that villain who had forced
himself in upon her and endeavoured to murder her.
Savage, who had attempted with the most submissive
tenderness to soften her rage, hearing her utter so
detestable an accusation, thought it prudent to
retire."
Thus the Queen refused to interfere until the
Countess of Hertford pleaded the cause of the im-
prisoned poet. In the meantime Mistress Oldfield
interceded with the mighty Robert Walpole, and the
result of all this wire-pulling was that Savage received
the kings pardon,^ being thus left free to continue
the persecution of his alleged mother, to beg from
* March 1728. It is cheerful to know that Mr. Gregory also
escaped hanging. It was contended during the trial, and afterwards,
that the testimony against both these defendants was more damning
than the facts warranted.
NANCE AT HOME 157
friends and strangers alike, and to follow a mode of
life which scandalised even his kindly biographer.
And when Oldfield, the latchets of whose shoes he
was not worthy to tie, played her last part and
passed away from the earthly stage, Richard wore
mourning for her, as for a mother, "but did not
celebrate her in elegies ;* because he knew that too
great profusion of praise would only have revived
those faults which his natural equity did not allow
him to think less because they were committed by
one who favoured him ; but of which, though his
virtue would not endeavour to palliate them, his
gratitude would not suffer him to prolong the memory
or diffuse the censure."
. Poor, crusty Samuel ! what rot you could write
now and then, and how you did hate players and
their craft. But may not the bewildered reader ask
how the aphorisms of the doctor and the disrepu-
table affairs of Savage concern that home life of
Nance to which the chapter is presumably conse-
crated ? In answer the writer can only cry " Peccavi,"
and, having done so, will sin boldly again by giving
one more anecdote. The story concerns Savage,
but Steele is the hero of it, and as winsome Dick is
always welcome, we may take leave of the other
Dick in a pleasant way.
Savage was once desired by Sir Richard (says
Johnson), with an air of the utmost importance, to
come very early to his house the next morning. Mr.
* Nevertheless Savage did write a poem in Oldfield's honour,
although he did not sign his virtuous name thereto. The verses are
quoted by Chetwood. Vide Chapter XI.
158 NANCE OLDFIELD
Savage came as he had promised, found the chariot
at the door, and Sir Richard waiting for him and
ready to go out. What was intended, and whither
they were to go, Savage could not conjecture, and
was not willing to inquire ; but immediately seated
himself with Sir Richard. The coachman was
ordered to drive, and they hurried with the utmost
expedition to Hyde Park Corner, where they stopped
at a petty tavern and retired to a private room. Sir
Richard then informed him that he intended to
publish a pamphlet, and that he had desired him
to come thither that he might write for him. He
soon sat down to the work. Sir Richard dictated,
and Savage wrote, till the dinner that had been
ordered was put upon the table. Savage was sur-
prised at the meanness of the entertainment, and
after some hesitation ventured to ask for wine, which
Sir Richard, not without reluctance, ordered to be
brought. They then finished their dinner, and pro-
ceeded in their pamphlet, which they concluded in
the afternoon.
Mr. Savage then imagined his task over, and
expected that Sir Richard would call for the reckon-
ing and return home ; but his expectations deceived
him, for Sir Richard told him that he was without
money, and that the pamphlet must be sold before
the dinner could be paid for ; and Savage was there-
fore obliged to go and offer their new production to
sale for two guineas, which with some difficulty he
obtained. Sir Richard then returned home, having
retired that day only to avoid his creditors, and com-
posed the pamphlet only to discharge his reckoning.
NANCE AT HOME 159
Savage also told Johnson another merry tale of
careless Dick. " Sir Richard Steele having one day
invited to his house a great number of persons of
the first quality, they were surprised at the number
of liveries which surrounded the table ; and after
dinner, when wine and mirth had set them free
from the observation of a rigid ceremony, one of
them inquired of Sir Richard how such an expensive
train of domestics could be consistent with his
fortune. Sir Richard very frankly confessed that
they were fellows of whom he would very willingly
be rid. And being then asked why he did not
discharge them, declared that they were bailiffs,
who had introduced themselves with an execution,
and whom, since he could not send them away, he
had thought it convenient to embellish with liveries,
that they might do him credit while they stayed.
His friends were diverted with the expedient, and
by paying the debt discharged their attendants,
having obliged Sir Richard to promise that they
should never again find him graced with a retinue of
the same kind."
These little pleasantries are echoes of the halcyon
days when Steele thought Savage a very fine fellow,
made him an allowance and even proposed to
become the poet's father-in-law. But the recipient
of all this favour was caddish enough to ridicule his
patron, a kind friend mentioned the fact to Sir
Richard, and the knight shut his doors on the
ingrate. Let us, likewise, give the fellow his cong&.
CHAPTER VIII
THE MIMIC WORLD
WE have seen that Oldfield affected to despise
tragedy, and was wont to suggest Mistress Porter as
a lady better suited than herself to the purposes of
train-bearing. And as the present chapter will be
devoted to a few of Nance's contemporaries let us
linger, if only for an instant, over the imposing
memory of one whom cynical Horace Walpole
thought even finer than Garrick in certain scenes of
passion. This "ornament to human nature," as a
biographer warmly called the Porter, played her first
childish part in a Lord Mayor's pageant during the
reign of James II., appearing as the Genius of
Britain, and incidentally falling under the august
notice of another genius of Britain, the great Mr.
Betterton. That worthy man regarded the little
girl with prophetic eyes, saw in her a wealth of
undeveloped talent, and was soon instructing the
chit in the mysteries of dramatic art. Sometimes
the actress-in-miniature revolted, poor mite (" she
should have been in the nursery, the minx," says
some practical reader) and then noble Thomas would
give vent to an awful threat. She must speak and
THE MIMIC WORLD 161
act as she was directed, or else horrible thought
the child should be thrown into the basket of
an orange-girl and buried under one of the vine
leaves which hid the luscious fruit ! And with that
punishment hanging over her, the novice went on
learning and originating, until one day London woke
up to find a new tragedienne within its boundaries.
'Twas a tragedienne, be it added, who possessed
no wonderful charm of person. She was pleasing
in figure and bearing, but her voice was naturally
harsh, her features did not shine forth loveliness, and
when the scene wherein she walked called neither
for vehemence of feeling, nor melting tenderness,
her elocution became a monotonous cadence.* Yet
in moments of dramatic excitement, or in places
where the deep note of pathos had to be sounded,
Porter played with a distinction that either thrilled
the spectator or reduced him to the verge of tears.
She threw cadence and monotony to the four winds
of heaven, or rather to the four corners of the stage,
and spoke with the earnestness of one inspired.
As Queen Catherine Mrs. Porter was all mourn-
ful grace and dignity, as Lady Macbeth she breathed
* Mrs. Porter was tall, fair, well-shaped, and easy and dignified
in action. But she was not handsome, and her voice had a small
degree of tremor. Moreover, she imitated, or, rather, faultily
exceeded, Mrs. Barry in the habit of prolonging and toning her
pronunciation, sometimes to a degree verging upon a chant ; but
whether it was that the public ear was at that period accustomed
to a demi-chant, or that she threw off the defect in the heat of
passion, it is certain that her general judgment and genius, in the
highest bursts of tragedy, inspired enthusiasm in all around her,
and that she was thought to be alike mistress of the terrible and the
tender. THOMAS CAMPBELL.
1 62 NANCE OLD FIELD
of battle, murder and sudden death, and in the rdle
of Belvidera she showed yet another phase of her
incomparable art. " I remember Mrs. Porter, to
whom nature had been so niggard in voice and face,
so great in many parts, as Lady Macbeth, Alicia in
* Jane Shore,' Hermione in the ' Distressed Mother,'
and many parts of the kind, that her great action,
eloquence of look and gesture, moved astonishment ;
and yet I have heard her declare she left the action
to the possession of the sentiments in the part she
performed." Thus wrote Chetwood, whose good
fortune it was to see Oldfield, and Porter, and a host
of other famous players, not forgetting, in later days,
the wonderful Garrick himself.
Unlike several of her ilk, Mistress Porter could
play the heroine off the stage as well as on. She
lived at Heywoodhill, near Hendon, and used to
wend her way homeward every night, at the conclu-
sion of the play, in a one-horse chaise. The roads
were dangerous, and highwaymen lurked in the
neighbourhood, but the actress put her faith in Pro-
vidence and a brace of pistols which she always
carried. The pistols came very nicely to her rescue
one evening when a robber waylaid the chaise and
put to the traveller the conventional question as to
whether she most valued her money or her life.
Nothing daunted by the impertinence of this ethical
query, Mrs. Porter pointed one of the weapons at
the intruder, and he, so goes the story, gracefully
surrendered, for the reason that he was himself
without firearms. The man made the best of the
situation, however, by assuring the occupant of the
THE MIMIC WORLD 163
vehicle that he was " no common thief, and had
been driven to his present course by the wants of a
starving family. He told her, at the same time,
where he lived, and urged his distresses with such
earnestness, that she spared him all the money in
her purse, which was about ten guineas." *
Thereupon the highwayman departed, and Mrs.
Porter whipped up her horse. In her excitement
she must have used the lash too freely, for the animal
started to run, the chaise was overturned, and the
actress dislocated her thigh bone. When she had
in part recovered from the accident, the victim made
up a purse of sixty pounds, subscribed among her
friends, and sent it to the poverty-stricken family of
the desperado. How Nance would have laughed at
the story had she been at the theatre to hear it told.
But there was no more merriment for this daughter
of smiles ; she was lying cold and still amid the stony
grandeur of Westminster Abbey.
Poor Porter outlived Oldfield for more than thirty
years and, having also outlived an annuity settled
upon herself, spent her declining days in what polite
writers call straightened circumstances. One of the
closing scenes of her career shows us a meeting
between this veteran of the stage and Dr. Johnson,
who could allow his kindness of heart and sense of
generosity to overcome his hatred of things theatrical.
It is easy to imagine the whole interview : the
shrunken face of the Porter beaming all over with
an appreciation of the honour paid her, and the
t Bellchamber's " Memoirs." This episode happened in the
summer of 1731.
164 NANCE OLDFIELD
Doctor full of benevolence and patronising courtesy,
even to the extent of drinking cheap tea without a
grumble. After the philosopher takes his leave he
will likewise take with him a vivid memory of the
beldam's many wrinkles so many, indeed, that " a
picture of old age in the abstract might have been
taken from her countenance." *
Of a different calibre was Lacy Ryan, an ill-
trained genius who could shine pretty well in both
tragedy and comedy and from whom, according to
Foote,
"... succeeding Richards took the cue,
And hence his style, if not the colour, drew."t
Like Mrs. Porter, Ryan was a youthful disciple of
Betterton, and was brought to the notice of Roscius
in a curious fashion. One day, when Lacy had just
begun, as a boy of sixteen or seventeen, to court the
dramatic muses, he was cast for the role of Seyton,
the old officer who attends on Macbeth, and was, no
doubt, charmed with the assignment. To wait upon
Macbeth, in however humble a capacity, was in itself
no mean honour, and when the aforesaid Macbeth
* Dr. Johnson was pleased to avow that " Mrs. Porter in the
vehemence of rage, and Mrs. Clive in the sprightliness of humour,
he had never seen equalled."
f Justice has scarcely been done to Ryan's merit. Garrick, on
going with Woodward to see his Richard with a view of being
amused, owned that he was astonished at the genius and power he
saw struggling to make itself felt through the burden of ill-training,
uncouth gestures, and an ungraceful and slovenly figure. He was
generous enough to own that all the merit there was in his own
playing of Richard he had drawn from studying this less fortunate
player. PERCY FITZGERALD.
THE MIMIC WORLD 165
would be Betterton himself, the importance of the
task was re-doubled.
That afternoon Ryan came on the stage in all
the glory of a full-bottomed wig (imagine playing
Shakespeare these days with full-bottomed wigs)
and a smiling young face, being very much pleased
with himself and the world in general. To Betterton,
who had expected to see in Seyton a henchman of
mature years, and who up to this moment had been
unconscious of Lacy's existence, the appearance of
the boy came as a shock. Had the witches of the
tragedy been turned into beautiful children he could
not have been more surprised. However, he gave
the new Seyton an encouraging look, and the
stripling played the part in a way to earn the appro-
bation of the great actor. After the performance
was over, Betterton scolded old Downes, the
prompter, for " sending a child to him instead of a
man advanced in years."
This anecdote seems to show that the art of
" make-up " had not reached perfection in those
times, for a few well-put strokes of the pencil should
have destroyed the juvenile aspect of Seyton.
It must not be supposed, nevertheless, that the
decoration of the face was unknown, and an entry in
Pepys' delightful diary proves that " make-up " of a
certain kind flourished at the Restoration. " To the
King's house," says Pepys, " and there going in met
with Knipp, and she took us up into the tireing-
rooms ; * and to the women's shift, where Nell
* Mrs. Knipp was an actress belonging to the King's Company
and Mr. Pepys had for her a timid admiration.
1 66 NANCE OLD FIELD
(Gwyne) was dressing herself, and was all unready,
and is very pretty, prettier than I thought. (Imagine
the gloating eyes of the old hypocrite.) And into
the scene-room, and there sat down, and she gave us
fruit : and here I read the questions to Knipp, while
she answered me, through all her part of ' Flora's
Figarys/ which was acted to-day. But, Lord! to
see how they were both painted, would make a man
mad, and did make me loath them : and what base
company of men comes among them ; and how loudly
they talk! And how poor the men are in clothes,
and yet what a show they make on the stage by
candle-light, is very observable. But to see how
Nell cursed, for having so few people in the pit,
was strange," et cetera.*
To leave the merry days of Charles II, and
wander back to those of Queen Anne, it may be said
that Ryan made his first success as the Marcus in the
original production of " Cato." It was a success
rather added to than otherwise by an adventure of
which this actor was the unfortunate victim. " In
the run of that celebrated tragedy," writes Chetwood,
" he was accidently brought into a fray with some
of our Tritons on the Thames ; and, in the scufHe,
a blow on the nose was given him by one of these
* In his notes to Gibber's " Apology," Lowe suggests the plausible
theory that young actors playing "juveniles" did not use any
'** make-up " or paint, but went on the stage with their natural
complexion. He instances this paragraph from Gibber : " The first
thing that enters into the head of a young actor is that of being a
heroe : In this ambition I was soon snubb'd by the insufficiency of
my voice ; to which might be added an uniform'd meagre person
(tho' then not ill-made) with a dismal pale complexion."
THE MIMIC WORLD 167
water-bullies, who neither regard men or manners.
I remember, the same night, as he was brought on
the bier, after his suppos'd death in the fourth act of
" Cato," the blood, from the real wound in the face,
gush'd out with violence ; that hurt had no other
effect than just turning his nose a little, tho' not to
deformity ; yet some people imagine it gave a very
small alteration to the tone of his voice, tho' nothing
disagreeable." And a very good advertisement it
was, no doubt.
In later years another much-discussed accident
befell Mr. Ryan. As he was going home from the
theatre one night, the actor was attacked by a foot-
pad, and received in his face two bullets which broke
a portion of his jaw. " By the help of a lamp [again
is the quotation from Chetwood] the robber knew
Mr. Ryan, as I have been informed, begg'd his
pardon for his mistake, and ran off. Of this hurt,
too, he recover'd, after a long illness, and play'd
with success, as before, without any seeming altera-
tion of voice or face. His Royal Highness, upon
this accident (was it the Prince of Wales, after-
wards George II?) sent him a handsome present ;
and others, of the nobility, copy'd the laudable ex-
ample of the second illustrious person in the three
kingdoms."
This was Lacy Ryan, who in his time played many
different parts, among them lago, Hamlet, Macduff,
Captain Plume, and Orestes. He was not in any
sense of the word a great actor, but he well adorned
the station of theatrical life in which it had pleased
1 68 NANCE OLDFIELD
heaven to place him, and strutted his lengthy hour
upon the stage with much satisfaction to his com-
panions and the public. Even when Ryan had to
kill a bully in self-defence (it was a fellow named
Kelly, who loved to haunt the coffee-houses, pick
quarrels with peaceable citizens, and then half
murder them), the world looked on approvingly, and
averred that the player had acted with his usual
conscientiousness.
Another contemporary of Nance was Benjamin
Johnson,* who achieved curiously enough some of
his greatest successes in the plays of his namesake,
the other Ben Jonson. He began life as a scene
painter, but afterwards turned his attention to the
front, rather than the back, of the stage or, as he
would humorously explain, " left the saint's occupa-
tion to take that of a sinner." Johnson seems to
have been a man of the world, and he saw a good
deal of life, even though he never passed through
the rough-and-tumble adventures of Lacy Ryan.
When he was born (1665) Betterton dominated the
boards; when he died (1742) Garrick had become
the talk of London ; and it is probable that in his
latter years Ben could tell many a story of interesting
experiences.
There was one story, at least, that this actor used
to relate with much unction after a visit which he
once paid to Dublin. The hero of the affair was an
* Ben Johnson excelled greatly in all his namesake's comedies,
then frequently acted. He was of all comedians the chastest and
closest observer of nature. Johnson never seemed to know that he
was before an audience ; he drew his character as the poet designed
it. DAVIES.
THE MIMIC WORLD 169
Irishman, named Baker, who relieved the monotony
of his work as a master pavior by acting Sir John
Falstaff and other parts. When he was in the streets,
overseeing the labours of his men, this pavior-artist
usually rehearsed one of his characters, muttering
the lines, gesticulating, and almost forgetting that he
was without the sacred walls of a theatre. The
workmen soon got accustomed to these out-of-door
performances, and everything proceeded with the
utmost smoothness, until one exciting day when
Baker chanced to be alone with two new paviors.
These recruits (countrymen from Cheshire) were
much alarmed at a sudden change in the demeanour
of their master, whose eyes began to roll and lips to
move under the pressure of some strange emotion.
Baker was merely rehearsing Falstaff; but the two
men made up their little minds that he had lost his
head, and they felt quite sure that their employer
was a dangerous lunatic, when he gave them a
piercing glance, and cried :
11 Soft ! who are you ? Sir Walter Blunt : there's
honour for you ! here's no vanity ! I am as hot as
molten lead, and as heavy too. God keep lead out
of me ! "
" Wauns ! I'se blunt enough to take care of you,
I'se warrant you," shouted one of the workmen, who
had now recovered what he presumed to be his wits,
and thereupon he and his companion laid violent
hands on Baker. A crowd soon gathered, and
despite the indignant cries of the master-pavior, who
declared he was never more sane, this son of Thespis
was tied hand and foot, and carried home in triumph
1 70 NANCE OLDFIELD
with a howling mob for attendants. That ended
Mr. Baker's rehearsal for the nonce ; and it is
to be presumed that, when next he essayed the
lusty Sir John, he made sure of an appreciative
audience.
It is a seductive occupation to delve into the lives
of these bygone players, and there is always tempta-
tion to tarry long and lovingly amid such chequered
careers. But, like poor Joe, of Dickens, we must
keep moving on, and so leave Johnson and Baker
for another actor who waits to strut across the stage
of these " Palmy Days." Thomas Elrington is the
new-comer ; the same Elrington who sought to out-
shine the tragic Barton Booth, without possessing
either the genius or the scholarship of that noble son
of Melpomene. As a boy, Thomas was apprenticed
by an impecunious father to an upholsterer in
Covent Garden, but he cared more for the theatre
than for his trade, and was, no doubt, regarded by
his employer as a future candidate for the gallows.
" I remember when he was an apprentice," relates
Chetwood, " we play'd in several private plays ;
when we were preparing to act * Sophonisba, or
v Hannibal's Overthrow,' after I had wrote out my
part of Massiva I carried him the book of the play
to study the part of King Masinissa. I found him
finishing a velvet cushion, and gave him the book :
but alas ! before he could secrete it, his master (a
hot, voluble Frenchman), came in upon us, and the
book was thrust under the velvet of the cushion.
His master, as usual, rated him for not working,
THE MIMIC WORLD 171
with a ' Morbleu ! why a you not vark, Tom ? ' and
stood over him so long that I saw, with some morti-
fication, the book irrecoverably stitch'd up in the
cushion never to be retriev'd till the cushion is worn
to pieces. Poor Tom cast many a desponding look
upon me when he was finishing the fate of the play,
while every stitch went to both our hearts.
" His master observing our looks, turn'd to me,
and with words that broke their necks over each
other for haste, abused both of us. The most
intelligible of his great number of words were Jack
Pudenges, and the like expressions of contempt.
But our play was gone for ever.
"Another time," continues the biographer, "we
were so bold to attempt Shakespeare's ' Hamlet,'
where our 'prentice Tom had the part of the Ghost,
father to young Hamlet. His armour was composed
of pasteboard, neatly painted. The Frenchman had
intelligence of what we were about, and to our great
surprise and mortification, made one of our audience.
The Ghost in its first appearance is dumb to Horatio.
While these scenes past, the Frenchman only mut-
tered between his teeth, and we were in hopes his
passion would subside ; but when our Ghost began
his first speech to Hamlet, ' Mark me,' he replied,
' Begar, me vil marke you presently ! ' and, without
saying any more, beat our poor Ghost off the stage
through the street, while every stroke on the paste-
board armour grieved the auditors (because they did
not pay for their seats), insomuch that three or four
ran after the Ghost, and brought him back in
triumph, with the avenging Frenchman at his heels,
172 NANCE OLDFIELD
who would not be appeas'd till our Ghost promised
him never to commit the offence of acting again. A
promise made, like many others, never to be kept."
Elrington ultimately became a favourite player
with Dublin audiences, and then contested with
Booth in the latter's own ground of London. He
never equalled the classic Barton, yet made a success
in tragedy, and was once asked (1728-9) to join the
forces of Drury Lane for a term of years. He told
the managers that he could not think of permanently
leaving Ireland, where he was so well rewarded for
his services, and added, " There is not a gentleman's
house there to which I am not a welcome visitor,"
which shows that an actor can be a snob, like the
worst of us.
When Elrington died, two years after the taking
off of Oldfield, his epitaph was written in these
flattering lines :
" Thou best of actors here interr'd,
No more thy charming voice is heard,
This grave thy corse contains :
Thy better part, which us'd to move
Our admiration, and our Love,
Has fled its sad remains.
"Tho' there's no monumental brass,
Thy sacred relicks to encase,
Thou wondrous man of art !
A lover of the muse divine,
O ! Elrington, shall be thy shrine,
And carve thee in his heart."
One of Elrington's friends and artistic associates
happened to be John Evans, a player possessed of
THE MIMIC WORLD 173
talent, fatness, and indolence. As adventures seem
to be in order in this chapter, let us recall two which
occurred to this gentleman at a time when he was in
high favour with the Irish. The first episode, making
a warlike prologue to the second, had for its scene a
tavern in the good city of Cork, where Evans had
been invited to sup by some officers stationed in
the neighbourhood. Jack responded gladly to the
hospitable suggestion ; the gathering proved a great
success, the wine was circulated generously, and
many toasts were offered. When the actor was called
upon for a sentiment, he proposed the health of his
gracious sovereign, Anne, whereat all in the company
were pleased with the exception of one disloyal red-
coat. Whether the latter had within him the
contrariness which cometh with too liberal dalliance
with the flowing bowl, or whether he chanced to be
a Jacobite, further deponent sayeth not, but it is at
least certain that the officer was not pleased at the
honour paid to the Queen whose uniform he was
willing to wear. So Mr. Malcontent leaves the room,
and then sends up word to poor, inoffensive Jack,
that he will be delighted to see that worthy below
stairs ; whereupon Jack quietly steals away and finds
his would-be antagonist lurking behind a half-opened
door. The soldier makes a lunge with his sword at
the player, who succeeds in disarming the coward,
and there the matter apparently stops.
But the end was not yet. When Evans went to
Dublin, he found that his late challenger was circula-
ting a lie, which made it appear that the comedian
had in somewise affronted the whole British Army.
174 NANCE OLDFIELD
No sooner did Jack put his face upon the stage than
a great clamour arose, and it was decreed by the
bullies among the audience (of whom there are ever
a few in every house), that no play should be pre-
sented until the culprit had publicly begged pardon
for a sin which he never committed. The play was
" The Rival Queens," the part assigned to Evans
that of Alexander, but 'twas some time before this
Alexander could be induced to crave the forgiveness
of the excitable Dublinites. Finally he yielded to
expediency, and, coming forward to the centre of the
stage, expressed his contrition. At this, a puppy in
the pit cried out " Kneel, you rascal ! " and Evans,
now thoroughly exasperated, tartly answered : " No,
you rascal ! I'll kneel to none but God, and my
Queen." Then the performance began.*
How Chetwood bubbles over with a stream of
ever-flowing anecdote. Much that he gives us in his
" General History of the Stage" is only gossip, yet
what is there more fascinating than tittle-tattle about
players ? The gossip of the drawing-room is merely
inane, or else scandalous ; but shift the scene to the
theatre, and a story no longer bores ; it is consecrated
by the sacrament of interest. Is any apology neces-
sary, therefore, if the quotation marks be again
brought into requisition. This time the anecdote is
of Thomas Griffith, an excellent comedian, and a
harmless poet.
* " As there were many worthy gentlemen of the army who knew
the whole affair, the new rais'd clamour ceas'd, and the play went
through without any molestation, and, by degrees, things return'd to
their proper channel. By this we may see, it is some danger for an
actor to be in the right. CHETWOOD.
THE MIMIC WORLD 175
" After his commencing actor, he contracted a
friendship with Mr. Wilks ; which chain remained
unbroke till the death of that excellent comedian.
Tho' Mr. Griffith was very young, Mr. Wilks took
him with him to London (from Dublin), and had him
entered for that season at a small salary. The
" Indian Emperor" being ordered on a sudden to be
played, the part of Pizarro, a Spaniard, was wanting,
which Mr. Griffith procured, with some difficulty.
Mr. Be.tterton being a little indisposed, would not
venture out to rehearsal, for fear of increasing his
indisposition, to the disappointment of the audience,
who had not seen our young stripling rehearse. But,
when he came ready, at the entrance, his ears were
pierced with a voice not familiar to him. He cast
his eyes upon the stage, where he beheld the
diminutive Pizarro, with a truncheon as long as him-
self (his own words.)
" He steps up to Downs, the prompter, and cry'd,
' Zounds, Downs, what sucking scaramouch have you
sent on there ? ' * Sir,' replied Downs, ' He's good
enough for a Spaniard ; the part is small.' Betterton
return'd, * If he had made his eyebrows his whiskers,
and each whisker a line, the part would have been
two lines too much for such a monkey in buskins.'
" Poor Griffith stood on the stage, near the door,
and heard every syllable of the short diaiogue, and
by his fears knew who was meant by it ; but, happy
for him, he had no more to speak that scene. When
the first act was over (by the advice of Downs) he
went to make his excuse with ' Indeed, Sir, I had
not taken the part, but there was only I alone out
176 NANCE OLDFIELD
of the play.' * I ! I ! ' reply 'd Betterton, with a smile,
' Thou art but the tittle of an I.' Griffith seeing him
in no ill humour told him, ' Indians ought to be the
best figures on the stage, as nature had made them.'
'Very like/ reply'd Betterton, 'but it would be a double
death to an Indian cobbler to be conquer'd by such
a weazle of a Spaniard as thou art. And, after this
night, let me never see a truncheon in thy hand again,
unless to stir the fire.' .... He took his advice, laid
aside the buskin, and stuck to the sock, in which he
made a figure equal to most of his contemporaries :
" Our genius flutters with the plumes of youth,
But observation wings to steddy truth."
No one can resist telling another story, this time of
fat Charles Hulet, whose abilities were only equalled
by his corpulence. Having been apprenticed to a
bookseller, he straightway proceeded to take a
violent interest in the drama, and would often while
away the evenings by spouting Shakespeare and
other authors. In lieu of a company to support him
young Hulet would designate each chair in the
kitchen to represent one of the characters in the play
he was reciting. " One night, as he was repeating
the part of Alexander, with his wooden representa-
tive of Clytus (an old elbow-chair), and coming to
the speech where the old General is to be kill'd, this
young mock Alexander snatch'd a poker instead of
a javelin, and threw it with such strength against
poor Clytus, that the chair was kill'd upon the spot,
and lay mangled on the floor. The death of Clytus
made a monstrous noise, which disturbed the master
THE MIMIC WORLD 177
in the parlour, who called out to know the reason ;
and was answered by the cook below, * Nothing, sir,
but that Alexander has kill'd Clytus.' "
In latter days Hulet took great pride in the sonorous
tones of his voice, and loved nothing more dearly
than to steal up behind a man and startle the unsus-
pecting one by giving a very loud " Hem." It was a
" Hem," however, which helped to make the actor's
winding-sheet, for one fine day he repeated the trick,
burst a blood-vessel, and died within twenty-four
hours.
Heaven bless all these merry vagabonds ! We may
not always wish to follow in their footsteps, but we
like to keep near them and pry into their careless,
happy lives. When the Bohemians enter a pot-
house we are too virtuous, presumably, to go in like-
wise, but we stand without, to get a tempting whiff
of hot negus and a snatch of some genial jest or
tuneful song. Then, if our players stray, perchance,
into the gloomy precincts of a pawn-shop, are we
not quite prepared to steal up to the window and
discover what tribute is being paid to mine uncle ?
And so, speaking of pot-houses, and negus, and pawn-
shops, let us end our extracts from the invaluable
Chetwood with this unconventional reminiscence of
another player, Mr. John Thurmond. " It was a
custom at that time for persons of the first rank and
distinction to give their birthday suits to the most
favoured actors. I think Mr. Thurmond was
honoured by General Ingolsby with his. But his
finances being at the last tide of ebb, the rich suit
M
178 NANCE OLD FIELD
was put in buckle (a cant word for forty in the hun-
dred interest). One night, notice was given that the
General would be present with the Government at
the play, and all the performers on the stage were
preparing to dress out in the suits presented. The
spouse of Johnny (as he was commonly called) try'd
all her arts to persuade Mr. Holdfast, the pawnbroker
(as it fell out, his real name) to let go the cloaths for
that evening, to be returned when the play was over.
But all arguments were fruitless ; nothing but the
Ready, or a pledge of full equal value. Such
people would have despised a Demosthenes, or a
Cicero, with all their rhetorical flourishes, if their
oratorian gowns had been in pledge. Well ! what
must be done ? The whole family in confusion and
all at their wits-end ; disgrace, with her glaring eyes
and extended mouth, ready to devour. Fatal ap-
pearance !
" At last Winny, the wife (that is, Winnifrede),
put on a compos'd countenance (but, alas ! with a
troubled heart) ; stepp'd to a neighbouring tavern,
and bespoke a very hot negus, to comfort Johnny in
the great part he was to perform that night, begging
to have the silver tankard with the lid, because, as
she said, ' a covering, and the vehicle silver, would
retain heat longer than any other metal/ The re-
quest was comply'd with, the negus carry 'd to the
play-house piping hot, popp'd into a vile earthen
mug the tankard f argent travelled incog, under
her apron (like the Persian ladies veil'd), popp'd into
the pawnbroker's hands, in exchange for the suit
put on and play'd its part, with the rest of the
THE MIMIC WORLD 179
wardrobe ; when its duty was over, carried back to
remain in its old depository ; the tankard return'd
the right road ; and, when the tide flowed with its
lunar influence, the stranded suit was wafted into
safe harbour again, after paying a little for 'dry
docking/ which was all the damage received."
And Mr. Chetwood adds :
" Thus woman's wit (tho' some account it evil)
With artful wiles can overreach the Devil."
Among such as these, good, bad and indifferent,
moral and otherwise, did Mistress Oldfield pass what
hours she consecrated to the theatre. In the early
years, when merely a poor, struggling postulant be-
fore the altar of fame, the girl must have been more
or less intimate with her dramatic associates, but as
time went on and Nance blazed into a star of the
first magnitude, the old feeling of fellowship may
have become weakened. Not that the actress was,
in any sense snobbish ; rather let it be said that the
circumstances of her celebrity proved quite enough,
in the course of human affairs, to separate her from
the other players. Indeed, one of her biographers
relates that Oldfield always went in state to Drury
Lane, accompanied by two footmen, and that she
seldom spoke to any one of the actors.*
* She always went to the house (i.e., the theatre) in the same
dress she had worn at dinner in her visits to the houses of great
people ; for she was much caressed on account of her general merit,
and her connection with Mr. Churchill. She used to go to the
playhouse in a chair, attended by two footmen ; she seldom spoke to
any one of the actors, and was allowed a sum of money to buy her
own clothes." General Biographical Dictionary."
i8o NANCE OLD FIELD
Nance may have made her entry into the green-
room amid royal auspices, but who can for a second
believe that " she seldom spoke to any one of the
actors " ? There was in her composition too much
of sunshine to warrant any such belief, and then
we know that behind the scenes she was ever
affable and friendly. If she did not brook familiarity
which comes of contempt, and if she moved about
among her companions with dignity, then so much
the better.
Of Nance's sweetness of temper and sterling com-
mon-sense, Gibber has left us an attractive memory.
It seems that when the Drury Lane management
determined to revive " The Provoked Wife " of Sir
John Vanbrugh (January 1726), Colley suggested
that Wilks should take a rest during the run of the
piece, and allow Barton Booth to play the lover, Con-
stant. The idea did not meet with Wilks' approval ;
" down dropt his brow, and furPd were his features";
and the green-room became the scene of a violent
spat between Gibber and himself, with Mrs. Old-
field and other members of the company as excited
listeners. Finally the author of the "Apology"
said : " Are you not every day complaining of your
being over-labour'd ? And now, upon the first
offering to ease you, you fly into a passion, and
pretend to make that a greater grievance than
t'other : But, Sir, if your being in or out of the
play is a hardship, you shall impose it upon your-
self: The part is in your hand, and to us it is a
matter of indifference now whether you take it or
leave it."
SIR JOHN VANBRUGH
Bv Sir GODFREY KXELLER
THE MIMIC WORLD 181
Upon this Mr. Wilks " threw down the part upon
the table, cross'd his arms, and sate knocking his
heel upon the floor, as seeming to threaten most
when he said least." Hereupon Booth generously
yielded up the much disputed Constant to his rival
with the remark that "for his part, he saw no such
great matter in acting every day ; for he believed it
the wholsomest exercise in the world ; it kept the
spirits in motion, and always gave him a good
stomach " and the elegant Barton, be it remem-
bered, was a great eater.
" Here," says Gibber, " I observ'd Mrs. Oldfield
began to titter behind her fan. But Wilks being
more intent upon what Booth had said, reply'd,
every one could best feel for himself, but he did not
pretend to the strength of a pack-horse ; therefore
if Mrs. Oldfield would chuse anybody else to play
with her, he should be very glad to be excus'd.
This throwing the negative upon Mrs. Oldfield was,
indeed, a sure way to save himself ; which I could
not help taking notice of, by saying it was making
but an ill compliment to the company to suppose
there was but one man in it fit to play an ordinary
part with her.
" Here Mrs. Oldfield got up, and turning me half
round to come forward, said with her usual frankness,
' Pooh ! you are all a parcel of fools, to make such a
rout about nothing ! ' Rightly judging that the
person most out of humour would not be more
displeas'd at her calling us all by the same name.
As she knew, too, the best way of ending the debate
1 82 NANCE OLD FIELD
would be to help the weak, she said, she hop'd Mr.
Wilks would not so far mind what had past as to
refuse his acting the part with her ; for tho' it might
not be so good as he had been us'd to, yet she
believed those who had bespoke the play would
expect to have it done to the best advantage, and it
would make but an odd story abroad if it were
known there had been any difficulty in that point
among ourselves. To conclude, Wilks had the
part."
Verily, Oldfield was a gentlewoman.
CHAPTER IX
"GRIEF A LA MODE"
" UNDERTAKER [To his men\. Well, come you that
are to be mourners in this house, put on your sad
looks, and walk by me that I may sort you. Ha,
you ! a little more upon the dismal ; [forming their
countenances^ this fellow has a good mortal look
place him near the corpse : that wainscot face must
be o' top of the stairs ; that fellow's almost in a
fright (that looks as if he were full 1 of some strange
misery) at the entrance to the hall. So but I'll fix
you all myself. Let's have no laughing now on any
provocation. [Makes faces .] Look yonder, that hale,
well-looking puppy ! You ungrateful scoundrel, did
not I pity you, take you out of a great man's
service, and shew you the pleasure of receiving
wages ? Did not I give you ten, then fifteen, now
twenty shillings a week, to be sorrowful ? and the
more I give you, I think, the gladder you are.
" Enter a BOY.
" BOY. Sir, the grave-digger of St. Timothy's in
the Fields would speak with you.
" UNDERTAKER. Let him come in.
184 NANCE OLD FIELD
"Enter GRAVE-DIGGER.
" GRAVE-DIGGER. I carried home to your house
the shroud the gentleman was buried in last night ;
I could not get his ring off very easilly, therefore I
brought you the finger and all ; and, sir, the sexton
gives his service to you, and desires to know whether
you'd have any bodies removed or not : if not, he'll
let them be in their graves a week longer.
" UNDERTAKER. Give him my service ; I can't tell
readilly : but our friend, Dr. Passeport, with the
powder, has promised me six or seven funerals this
week."
These extracts are not from the manuscript of a
modern farce-comedy,* but belong to Steele's play
/of " The Funeral, or Grief a la Mode." If they
have about them all the air of fin-de-siecle wit, so
much the more eloquently do they testify to the
freshness of Dick's satire. Freshness, satire, and
death ! Surely the three ingredients seem unmix-
able ; yet when poured into the crucible of Steele's
genius they resulted in a crystal that sparkled de-
lightfully amid the lights of a theatre a crystal
which might still shed brilliancy if some enterprising
manager would exhibit it to a jaded public.
In " The Funeral " the author impaled, with many
a merciless slash of the pen, the hypocrisy and vulgar
flummery that characterised the whole gruesome
ceremony of conducting to its earthly resting-place
* In "A Milk White Flag," a good specimen of "up-to-date'*
farce, Mr. Hoyt dallies entertainingly and discreetly with the
blithesome topics of undertakers, corpses, and widows.
"GRIEF A LA MODE" 185
the body of a well-to-do sinner. For the average
Englishman loved a funeral and all its ghastly
accompaniments as passionately as though he had
Irish blood in his veins, and often insisted upon
investing the burial of his friends with the mockery,
rather than the sincerity, of woe.
Grief thus became a pleasure, and it was a pleasure,
be it added, which was not taken too sadly. (Pardon
the paradox.) The spirits of the deceased's many
admirers had to be raised, and the enlivening pro-
cess was set in motion by means of numerous liba-
tions, not of tea, but of lusty wine. When the wife
of mine host of the " Crown and Sceptre " left this
world of cooking and drinking, the women who
crowded to the good lady's funeral had to drown
their sorrows in a tun of red port,* and it is evident
that at the burial of men the grief of the mourners
required an equal amount of quenching. Indeed,
the most absurd expenditures and preparations were
* In writing of the customs connected with old-time English
funerals, Misson says : " The relations and chief mourners are in a
chamber apart, with their more intimate friends ; and the rest of the
guests are dispersed in several rooms about the house. When they
are ready to set out, they nail up the coffin, and a servant presents
the company with sprigs of rosemary : Every one takes a sprig and
carries it in his hand till the body is put into the grave, at which
time they all throw their sprigs in after it. Before they set out, and
after they return, it is usual to present the guests with something to
drink, either red or white wine, boil'd with sugar and cinnamon, or
some such liquor. Butler, the keeper of a tavern, told me there was
a tun of red port drank at his wife's burial, besides mull'd white
wine. Note, no men ever go to women's burials, nor the women to
the men's ; so that there were none but women at the drinking of
Butler's wine. Such women in England will hold it out with the
men, when they have a bottle before them, as well as upon t'other
occasion, and tattle infinitely better than they."
1 86 NANCE OLD FIELD
made for what should be the simplest of ceremonies,
and the result oftentimes proved garish in the
extreme. As an example of the display in this
direction, John Ashton quotes from \\\tDailyCourant
a report of the obsequies of Sir William Pritchard,
sometime Lord Mayor of London. After a vast
deal of pomp wasted in St. Albans and other places
upon the unappreciative and inanimate Pritchard, the
remains reached the country seat of the deceased, in
the county of Buckingham. " Where, after the body
had been set out, with all ceremony befitting his
degree, for near two hours, 'twas carried to the
church adjacent in this order, viz., 2 conductors
with long staves, 6 men in long cloaks two and two,
the standard, 18 men in cloaks as before, servants
to the deceas'd two and two, divines, the minister of
the parish and the preacher, the helm and crest,
sword and target, gauntlets and spurs, born by an
officer of Arms, both in their rich coats of Her
Majesty's Arms enbroider'd ; the body, between 6
persons of the Arms of Christ's Hospital, St. Bar-
tholomew's, Merchant Taylor's Company, City of
London, empaled coat and single coat ; the chief
mourner and his four assistants, followed by the
relations of the defunct, &c."^ In this aggregation
* The will of Benjamin Dod, a Roman Catholic citizen of London
(died 1714) runs in part as follows: "I desire four and twenty
persons to be at my burial ... to every of which four and twenty
persons ... 1 give a pair of white gloves, a ring of ten shillings
value, a bottle of wine at my funeral, and half a crown to be spent at
their return that night ; to drink my soul's health, then on her
Journey for Purification in order to Eternal Rest. I appoint the
room, where my corpse shall lie, to be hung with black, and four and
" GRIEF A LA MODE" 187
of grandeur the mere bagatelle in the shape of a
corpse seems almost completely overshadowed, and
it is thus comforting to reflect that the latter finally
had interment in a " handsome large vault, in the
isle on the north side of the church, betwixt 7 and 8
of the clock that evening." The dear departed, or
grief for his memory, frequently played but too small
a role in all these trappings of despondency, and the
insignificance of the deceased might only be likened
to the secondary position of a man at his own
wedding. It was all fuss and mortuary feathers,
mourning rings and mulled wine in the one case,
just as in the other it is entirely a show of bride and
blushes, flounces and femininity.
Was it any wonder that when Dick Steele, setat
twenty-six, an officer of Fusiliers, and a merry
vagabond, wanted to redeem his reputation by
writing a rollicking comedy, his thoughts turned
to the satirising of the British undertaker ? For
the young man must prove to the town that he was
not the hypocrite several of his kind friends had
twenty wax candles to be burning ; on my coffin to be affixed a cross
and this inscription, Jesus Hominum Salvator. I also appoint my
corpse to be carried in a herse drawn with six white horses, with
white feathers, and followed by six coaches, with six horses to each
coach, to carry the four and twenty persons. . . . Item, I give to
forty of my particular acquaintance, not at my funeral, to every one
of them a gold ring of ten shillings value. ... As for mourning, I
leave that to my executors hereafter nam'd; and I do not desire
them to give any to whom I shall leave a legacy. ... I will have no
Presbyterian, Moderate Low Churchmen, or Occasional Conformists,
to be at or have anything to do with my funeral. I die in the Faith
of the True Catholic Church. I desire to have a tomb stone over
me, with a Latin inscription, and a lamp, or six wax candles, to burn
seven days and nights thereon." Vide ASHTON.
1 88 NANCE OLDFIELD
dubbed him. The fact was, that he had been
virtuous enough to write a pious work entitled,
"The Christian Hero/' which he afterwards pub-
lished, but as he had not grown sufficiently master
of himself to live up to its golden precepts (nay,
rather did he continue to spend his evenings in the
taverns), the author came in for many a taunt and
sneer. Why did he not practice what he preached ?
was the sarcastic query of his intimates.
Yet there was no thought of cant in what the
soldier had done. His design in issuing the
11 Christian Hero " was, as he explained in after
years, " principally to fix upon his own mind a
strong impression of virtue and religion, in oppo-
sition to a stronger propensity towards unwarrant-
able pleasures." This secret admiration was too
weak ; he therefore printed the book with his name,
in hopes that a standing testimony against himself,
and the eyes of the world (that is to say, of his
acquaintances) upon him in a new light, would make
him ashamed of understanding and seeming to feel
what was virtuous, and living so contrary to life.
But the man was weak where the author was
willing, and thus gay Richard went on "living so
contrary a life" with true Celtic perversity, and
made of himself anything but a Christian Hero.
Rather was he a jolly Pagan, with a passion for his
wine and his coffee-house, and a kindly, merry word
even for those who twitted him upon his incon-
sistency. It was plain, therefore, that he must be
some other sort of hero, and so he evolved the
brilliant satire of "The Funeral," to "enliven his
SIR RICHARD STEELE
By Sir GODFREY KXEU.ER
"GRIEF A LA MODE" 189
character, and repel the sarcasms of those who
abused him for his declarations relative to religion."
In the twinkling of an eye Steele became the
spoiled darling of the day. The comedy, which
was produced at Drury Lane in 1702, was the talk
of the enthusiastic town, and the playwright arose
from his beer-mugs, his wine-flagons, and his con-
templation of ideal Christianity, to find himself/
famous. He had opened a new vein of satire,
and a vein moreover which upheld virtue and
laughed to scorn hypocrisy and vice. That was
a moral which the dramatists of his epoch seldom
taught.* And so the people crowded to the theatre,
applauded the sentiment of the play, guffawed at the
keen wit of the dialogue, and swore that this young
rascal Steele was the prince of bright fellows. Then
they went home and revelled, as before, in the
funerals of their friends.
What of this remarkable comedy ? Its story
turned upon the marriage of the elderly Lord
Brumpton to a designing young minx who estranges
the nobleman from his son, Lord Hardy, the gentle-
manly, poverty-stricken leading man of the piece.
When Brumpton has a cataleptic fit, and is apparently
dead as a doornail, the spouse confides his body to
the undertaker with feelings of serene pleasure.
But let the lines of the play, or a portion thereof,
unfold the situation.
* The " Funeral " is the merriest and most perfect of Steele's
comedies. The characters are strongly marked, the wit genial, and
not indecent. Steele was among the first who set about reforming
the licentiousness of the old comedy. His satire in the " Funeral "
is not against virtue, but vice and silliness. DR. DORAN.
190 NANCE OLDFIELD
The scene is at Lord Brumpton's house ; the
nobleman has just been pronounced defunct, and
Sable, the undertaker, has arrived. The latter, who
is being bantered by two of the characters, Mr. Camp-
ley and Cabinet, is evidently a bit of a philosopher,
albeit an uncanny one, for he says :
" There are very few in the whole world that live
to themselves, but sacrifice their bosom-bliss to enjoy
a vain show and appearance of prosperity in the eyes
of others ; and there is often nothing more inwardly
distressed than a young bride in her glittering
retinue, or deeply joyful than a young widow in her
weeds and black train ; of both which the lady of
this house may be an instance, for she has been the
one, and is, I'll be sworn, the other.
" CABINET. You talk, Mr. Sable, most learnedly.
" SABLE. I have the deepest learning, sir, experi-
ence ; remember your widow cousin, that married
last month.
" CABINET. Ay, but how cou'd you imagine she
was in all that grief an hypocrite ! Could all those
shrieks, those swoonings, that rising falling bosom,
be constraint ? You're uncharitable, Sable, to
believe it. What colour, what reason had you for
it?
SABLE. First, Sir, her carriage in her concerns
with me, for I never yet could meet with a sorrowful
relict but was herself enough to make a hard bar-
gain with me. Yet I must confess they have
frequent interruptions of grief and sorrow when
they read my bill ; but as for her, nothing she
"GRIEF A LA MODE" 191
resolv'd, that look'd bright or joyous, should after
her love's death approach her. All her servants
that were not coal-black must turn out ; a fair com-
plexion made her eyes and heart ake, she'd none but
downright jet, and to exceed all example, she hir'd
my mourning furniture by the year, and in case of
my mortality, ty'd my son to the same article ; so in
six weeks time ran away with a young fellow."
And so on (with a cynicism of which, of course,
no modern "funeral director" would be guilty out
loud), until the undertaker's men come on the scene.
"Where in the name of goodness have you all
been ? " asks SABLE. " Have you brought the saw-
dust and tar for embalming ? have you the hangings
and the sixpenny nails, and my lord's coat of arms ?"
" SERVANT. Yes, sir, and had come sooner, but I
went to the herald's for a coat for Alderman Gather-
grease that died last night he has promised to
invent one against to-morrow.
" SABLE. Ah ! pox take some of our cits, the first
thing after their death is to take care of their birth
let him bear a pair of stockings, he is the first of
his family that ever wore one. . . . And you, Mr.
Blockhead, I warrant you have not call'd at Mr.
Pestle's the apothecary : will that fellow never pay
me ? I stand bound for all the poison in that
starving murderer's shop : he serves me just as Dr.
Quibus did, who promised to write a treatise against
water-gruel, a healthy slop that has done me more
injury than all the Faculty : look you now, you are
all upon the sneer, let me have none but downright
192 NANCE OLDFIELD
stupid countenances. I've a good mind to turn you
all off, and take people out of the playhouse ; but
hang them, they are as ignorant of their parts as
you are of yours. . . . Ye stupid rogues, whom I
have picked out of the rubbish of mankind, and fed
for your eminent worthlessness, attend, and know
that I speak you this moment stiff and immutable to
all sense of noise, mirth or laughter. [Makes mouths
at them as they pass by him to bring them to a
constant countenance^ So, they are pretty well
pretty well." {Exit.
When the stage is clear Lord Brumpton and his
servant Trusty enter. The former has wakened
from his cataleptic trance, as the faithful Trusty
watched beside him, and is horrified to learn of
Lady Brumpton's lack of grief. But hush ; he will
conceal himself, for here comes my lady, accom-
panied by her woman and confidant, Mistress
Tattleaid.
" Enter WIDOW and TATTLEAID, meeting and running
to each other.
" WIDOW. Oh, Tattleaid, his and our hour has
come !
" TAT. I always said by his church yard cough,
you'd bury him, and still you were impatient.
" WIDOW. Nay, thou hast ever been my comfort,
my confident, my friend, and my servant; and now
I'll reward thy pains ; for tho' I scorn the whole sex
of fellows I'll give them hopes for thy sake; every
smile, every frown, every gesture, humour, caprice
and whimsy of mine shall be gold to thee, girl;
"GRIEF A LA MODE" 193
thou shalt feel all the sweets and wealth of being
a fine rich widow's woman. Oh ! how my head runs
my first year out, and jumps to all the joys of
widowhood ! If thirteen months hence a friend
should haul one to a play one has a mind to see,*
what pleasure tVill be when my Lady Brumpton's
footman called (who kept a place for that very
purpose) to make a sudden insurrection of fine wigs
in the pit and side-boxes. Then, with a pretty
sorrow in one's face, and a willing blush for being
stared at, one ventures to look round, and bow to
one of one's own quality. Thus \yery directly] to
a snug pretending fellow of no fortune. Thus [as
scarce seeing him\ to one that writes lampoons.
Thus [fearfully] to one who really loves. Thus
{looking down] to one woman-acquaintance, from
box to box, thus [with looks differently familiar],
and when one has done one's part, observe the
actors do theirs, but with my mind fixed not on
those I look at, but those that look at me. Then
the serenades the lovers ! [A query if the
theatres were patronised only by those who looked
solely at the stage, what would be the size of the
audiences ?]
"TAT. Oh, madam, you make my heart bound
within me : I'll warrant you, madam, 1 11 manage
them all ; and indeed, madam, the men are really
very silly creatures, 'tis no such hard matter they
rulers ! they governors ! I warrant you indeed.
* A well-regulated widow kept herself at home for six weeks after
the death of her husband, and denied herself the theatre and other
public amusements for a twelvemonth.
N
194 NANCE OLDFIELD
" WIDOW. Ay, Tattleaid, they imagine themselves
mighty things, but government founded on force only,
is a brutal power we rule them by their affections,
which blinds them into belief that they rule us, or at
least are in the government with us. But in this
nation our power is absolute ; thus, thus, we sway
[playing her fan]. A fan is both the standard and
the flag of England. I laugh to see men go on our
errands, strut in great offices, live in cares, hazards and
scandals, to come home and be fools to us in brags
of their dispatches, negotiations, and their wisdoms
as my good dear deceas'd use to entertain me ;
which I, to relieve myself from, would lisp some
silly request, pat him on the face. He shakes his
head at my pretty folly, calls me simpleton ; gives me
a jewel, then goes to bed so wise, so satisfied, and so
deceived."
This pleasant conversation Lord Brumpton over-
hears, as he does also the inmost secrets of his lawyer,
Puzzle. The latter gentleman, who has studied hard
to cheat his good-natured employer, and succeeded, is
a daringly drawn satire on the pettifogging attorney
of the period.* Note the following words of wisdom,
apropos to the drawing of wills, which Mr. Puzzle
addresses to his nephew.
* Of the attorney of Queen Anne's day Ward wrote : " He's an
Amphibious Monster, that partakes of two Natures, and those
contrary ; He's a great Lover both of Peace and Enmity ; and has no
sooner set People together by the Ears, but is Soliciting the Law to
make an end of the Difference. His Learning is commonly as little
as his Honesty ; and his Conscience much larger than his Green Bag.
Catch him in what Company soever, you will always hear him
stating of Cases, or telling what notice my Lord Chancellor took of
" GRIEF A LA MODE" 195
" PUZZLE. As for legacies, they are good or not,
as I please ; for let me tell you, a man must take pen,
ink and paper, sit down by an old fellow, and pretend
to take directions, but a true lawyer never makes any
man's will but his own ; and as the priest of old
among us got near the dying man, and gave all
to the Church, so now the lawyer gives all to the
law.
"CLERK. Ay, sir, but priests then cheated the
nation by doing their offices in an unknown language.
" PUZZLE. True, but ours is a way much surer ;
for we cheat in no language at all, but loll in our own
coaches, eloquent in gibberish, and learned in jingle.
Pull out the parchment [referring to the will of LORD
BRUMPTON], there's the deed ; I made it as long as I
could. Well, I hope to see the day when the in-
denture shall be the exact measure of the land that
passes by it ; for 'tis a discouragement to the gown,
that every ignorant rogue of an heir should in a word
or two understand his father's meaning, and hold ten
acres of land by half-an-acre of parchment. Nay, I
hope to see the time when that there is indeed some
progress made in, shall be wholly affected ; and by
the improvement of the noble art of tautology, every
Inn in Holborn an Inn of Court. Let others think
of logic, rhetoric, and I know not what impertinence,
but mind thou tautology. What's the first excellence
him, when he beg'd leave to supply the deficiency of his Counsel.
He always talks with as great assurance as if he understood what he
only pretends to know : And always wears a Band, and in that lies
his Gravity and Wisdom. He concerns himself with no Justice but
the Justice of a Cause: and for making an unconscionable Bill he
outdoes a Taylor."
196 NANCE OLD FIELD
in a lawyer ? Tautology. What's the second ?
Tautology. What's the third ? Tautology ; as an
old pleader said of action."
Who shall say that the tautological sentiments of
Mr. Puzzle are not still inculcated? Nay, the
whole play furnishes a capital instance of the truism
that the world changes but little, and, furthermore,
that the mould of nigh two centuries cannot spoil
the wit of sparkling Steele. Ah, Dick I Dick ! you
may have been a sorry dog, with your toasts and
your taverns, yet 'tis a thousand pities that a few
dramatists of to-day cannot drink inspiration from
the same cups.
To continue our cheerful journey with this unusual
" Funeral," we soon find ourselves introduced to
Lord Hardy, the unjustly discarded son of Brumpton.
Hardy is a high-spirited, honest man of quality, a
trifle out at elbows just now, owing to the stoppage
of financial supplies from the paternal mansion. His
straits are oft severe, and it is fortunate that he has
in Trim a faithful servant who knows so well how to
keep the duns at bay. " Why, friend, says I [Trim
is describing to Hardy his method of dealing with
his lordship's creditors], how often must I tell you my
lord is not stirring. His lordship has not slept well,
you must come some other time ; your lordship will
send for him when you are at leisure to look upon
money affairs ; or if they are so saucy, so impertinent
as to press a man of your quality for their own, there
are canes, there's Bridewel, there's the stocks for
your ordinary tradesmen ; but to an haughty, thriving
"GRIEF A LA MODE" 197
Covent Garden mercer, silk or laceman, your lord-
ship gives your most humble service to him, hopes
his wife is well ; you have letters to write, or you
would see him yourself, but you desire he would
be with you punctually on such a day, that is to say,
the day after you are gone out of town." Which
shows very plainly that Trim could have earned
large wages had he lived in the nineteenth century.
These " Palmy Days " are not long enough, how-
ever, to permit the introduction of all the characters,
nor the outlining of the entire story, with its brisk
love-interest. But this bit of dialogue, which occurs
after Sable has discovered the much-alive Lord
Brumpton, is too good to be ignored :
" SABLE. Why, my lord, you can't in conscience
put me off so ; I must do according to my orders,
cut you up, and embalm you, except you'll come
down a little deeper than you talk of; you don't con-
sider the charges I have been at already.
" LORD BRUMPTON. Charges ! for what ?
" SABLE. First, twenty guineas to my lady's woman
for notice of your death (a fee I've before now known
the widow herself go halves in), but no matter for
that in the next place, ten pounds for watching you
all your long fit of sickness last winter
" LORD BRUMPTON. Watching me ? Why I had
none but my own servants by turns !
" SABLE. I mean attending to give notice of your
death. I had all your long fit of sickness, last winter,
at half a crown a day, a fellow waiting at your gate
to bring me intelligence, but you unfortunately
198 NANCE OLDFIELD
recovered, and I lost all my obliging pains for your
service.
" LORD BRUMPTON. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Sable, thou'rt a
very impudent fellow. Half a crown a day to attend
my decease, and dost thou reckon it to me ?
" SABLE. ... I have a book at home, which I
call my doomsday-book, where I have every man of
quality's age and distemper in town, and know when
you should drop. Nay, my lord, if you had reflected
upon your mortality half so much as poor I have for
you, you would not desire to return to life thus in
short, I cannot keep this a secret, under the whole
money I am to have for burying you."
Of course Lady Brumpton is discomfited and dis-
graced at the end of the play, and, of course, Lord
Brumpton is reconciled to his son for Steele took
care that virtue should be rewarded and the moral
code otherwise preserved. As to her ladyship, who
has proved a very entertaining sort of villain, we
shall take leave of her in one of the best scenes of
the comedy :
" WIDOW. [Reading the names of the visitors who
have called to leave their condolences .] Mrs. Frances
and Mrs. Winnifred Glebe, who are they ?
" TATTLEAID. They are the country great fortunes,
have been out of town this whole year ; they are
those whom your ladyship said upon being very well-
born took upon them to be very ill-bred.
" WIDOW. Did I say so ? Really I think it was
apt enough ; now I remember them. Lady Wrinkle
oh, that smug old woman ! there is no enduring
"GRIEF A LA MODE" 199
her affectation of youth ; but I plague her ; I always
ask whether her daughter in Wiltshire has a grand-
child yet or not. Lady Worth I can't bear her
company ; [aside\ she has so much of that virtue in
her heart which I have in mouth only. Mrs. After-
day Oh, that's she that was the great beauty, the
mighty toast about town, that's just come out of the
small-pox ; she is horribly pitted they say ; I long to
see her, and plague her with my condolence. . . .
But you are sure these other ladies suspect not in
the least that I know of their coming ?
" TAT. No, dear madam, they are to ask for me.
" WIDOW. I hear a coach. \Exit TATTLEAID.] I
have now an exquisite pleasure in the thought of
surpassing my Lady Sly, who pretends to have out-
grieved the whole town for her husband. They are
certainly coming. Oh, no ! here let me thus let
me sit and think. [Widow on her couch ; while she is
raving, as to herself, TATTLEAID softly introduces the
ladies.] Wretched, disconsolate, as I am ! . . . Alas !
alas ! Oh ! oh ! I swoon ! I expire ! [Faints.
" SECOND LADY. Pray, Mrs. Tattleaid, bring some-
thing that is cordial to her. [Exit TATTLEAID.
"THIRD LADY. Indeed, madam, you should have
patience ; his lordship was old. To die is but going
before in a journey we must all take.
Enter TATTLEAID, loaded with bottles ; THIRD LADY
takes a bottle from her and drinks.
"FOURTH LADY. Lord, how my Lady Fleer
drinks ! I have heard, indeed, but never could believe
it of her. [Drinks also.
200 NANCE OLDFIELD
" FIRST LADY. \_Whispers.~\ But, madam, don't you
hear what the town says of the jilt, Flirt, the men
liked so much in the Park ? Hark ye was seen
with him in a hackney coach.
" SECOND LADY. Impudent flirt, to be found out!
" THIRD LADY. But I speak it only to you.
" FOURTH LADY. [ Whispers next womanJ] Nor I,
but to no one.
. " FIFTH LADY. [ Whispers the WIDOW.] I can't
believe it ; nay, I always thought it, madam.
" WIDOW. Sure, 'tis impossible ! the demure, prim
thing. Sure all the world is hypocrisy. Well, I
thank my stars, whatsoever sufferings I have, I have
none in reputation. I wonder at the men ; I could
never think her handsome. She has really a good
shape and complexion but no mein ; and no woman
has the use of her beauty without mein. Her charms
are dumb, they want utterance. But whither does
distraction lead me to talk of charms ?
" FIRST LADY. Charms, a chit's, a girl's charms !
Come, let us widows be true to ourselves, keep our
countenances and our characters, and a fig for the
maids.
" SECOND LADY. Ay, since they will set up for our
knowledge, why should not we for their ignorance ?
" THIRD LADY. But, madam, o' Sunday morning
at church, I curtsied to you and looked at a great fuss
in a glaring light dress, next pew. That strong, mas-
culine thing is a knight's wife, pretends to all the
tenderness in the world, and would fain put the un-
wieldly upon us for the soft, the languid. She has
of a sudden left her dairy, and sets up for a fine town
"GRIEF A LA MODE" 201
lady ; calls her maid Cisly, her woman speaks to her
by her surname of Mrs. Cherry fist, and her great
foot-boy of nineteen, big enough for a trooper, is
stripped into a laced coat, now Mr. Page forsooth.
" FOURTH LADY. Oh, I have seen her. Well, I
heartily pity some people for their wealth ; they
might have been unknown else you would die,
madam, to see her and her equipage : I thought her
horses were ashamed of their finery ; they dragged
on, as if they were all at plough, and a great bashful-
look'd booby behind grasp' d the coach, as if he had
never held one.
" FIFTH LADY. Alas ! some people think there is
nothing but being fine to be genteel ; but the high
prance of the horses, and the brisk insolence of the
servants in an equipage of quality are inimitable.
" FIRST LADY. Now you talk of an equipage, I
envy this lady the beauty she will appear in a mourn-
ing coach, it will so become her complexion ; I con-
fess I myself mourned for two years for no other
reason. Take up that hood there. Oh, that fair face
with a veil ! [ They take up her hood.
" WIDOW. Fie, fie, ladies. But I have been told,
indeed, black does become
" SECOND LADY. Well, I'll take the liberty to speak
it, there is young Nutbrain has long had (I'll be
sworn) a passion for this lady ; but I'll tell you one
thing I fear she'll dislike, that is, he is younger
than she is.
" THIRD LADY. No, that's no exception ; but I'll
tell you one, he is younger than his brother.
" WIDOW. Talk not of such affairs. Who could
202 NANCE OLDFIELD
love such an unhappy relict as I am ? But, dear
madam, what grounds have you for that idle story ?
" FOURTH LADY. Why he toasts you and trembles
where you are spoke of. It must be a match.
" WIDOW. Nay, nay, you rally, you rally ; but I
know you mean it kindly.
" FIRST LADY. I swear we do.
[TATTLEAID whispers the WIDOW.
" WIDOW. But I must beseech you, ladies, since
you have, been so compassionate as to visit and
accompany my sorrow, to give me the only comfort
I can now know, to see my friends cheerful, and to
honour an entertainment Tattleaid has prepared
within for you. If I can find strength enough I'll
attend you ; but I wish you would excuse me, for I
have no relish of food or joy, but will try to get a
bit down in my own chamber.
" FIRST LADY. There is no pleasure without you.
" WIDOW. But, madam, I must beg of your lady-
ship not to be so importune to my fresh calamity as
to mention Nutbrain any more. I am sure there is
nothing in it. In love with me, quotha ! "
[WIDOW is led away. Exeunt LADIES.
Thus runs the comedy, trippingly as the tongue
of a gay raconteur. Sometimes the scenes are ex-
aggerated, sometimes the characters may be over-
drawn, but the satire is true, and the wit is of the
best. Take, for instance, the picture reproduced
above. Are not its colours albeit bold and merci-
lesstinged with the redeeming hue of naturalness ?
And of you, fair daughters of Eve (if any of you
"GRIEF A LA MODE" 203
condescend to read these pages), let the author ask
one impertinent little question : Is there not some-
thing in the conversation of Dick Steele's First
Lady, or his Second Lady, or all the other Ladies,
which suggests the charity and intellectuality that
doth hedge in an afternoon tea ?
CHAPTER X
THE BARTON BOOTHS
" Sweet are the charms of her I love,
More fragrant than the damask rose ;
Soft as the down of turtle-dove,
Gentle as winds when zephyr blows ;
Refreshing as descending rains,
On sun-burnt climes, and thirsty plains."
THUS rhapsodised the great Barton Booth, who
could write harmless poetry when the cares of acting
did not press too hard upon him. In this case the
verses were addressed to the object of his passion,
a lady who seems to have been, at first, a trifle par-
simonious in her smiles ; for, in another song in-
tended for the same siren, the lover asks :
" Can then a look create a thought
Which time can ne'er remove ?
Yes, foolish heart, again thou'rt caught,
Again thou bleed'st for Love.
She sees the conquest of her eyes,
Nor heals the wounds she gave ;
She smiles when'er my blushes rise,
And, sighing, shuns her Slave.
Then, Swain, be bold ! and still adore her
Still the flying fair pursue :
Love, and friendship, still implore her,
Pleading night and day for you."
BARTON BOOTH
> e s v
THE BARTON BOOTHS 205
Who was this " flying fair " that the swain pursued
with such despairing fervour ? Nance Oldfield ? Nay,
there was no romance there, for while Booth could
make the most exquisite stage love to the actress,
he never carried that love beyond the mimic world.
Rather was it the lovely Mistress Santlow, that
dancing bit of sunshine, who turned the heads of
many an amorous spectator, and had enough of
the temptress about her to lead a mighty warrior
from the path of domestic constancy, and bring a
Secretary of State almost to the verge of matrimony.*
She seemed the apotheosis of grace, did this merry,
moving Hester, and when she forsook the art she
so delightfully adorned, and took to the " legitimate,"
there were not a few among her admirers who re-
gretted the change. " They mourned," says Dr.
Doran, "as if Terpsichore herself had been on earth
to charm mankind, and had gone never to return.
They remembered, longed for, and now longed in
vain for that sight which used to set a whole audience
half distraught with delight, when in the very ecstacy
of her dance, Santlow contrived to loosen her cluster-
ing auburn hair, and letting it fall about such a
neck and shoulders as Praxiteles could more readily
imagine than imitate, danced on, the locks flying
in the air, and half-a-dozen hearts at the end of every
one of them."
At the end of one of those locks was the throb-
bing heart of Barton Booth, which he had completely
lost in watching the auburn hair and the poetic
movements of the coryphee :
* The Duke of Marlborough and Secretary Craggs respectively.
206 NANCE OLDFIELD
" But now the flying fingers strike the lyre,
The sprightly notes the nymph inspire.
She whirls around 1 she bounds 1 she springs !
As if Jove's messenger had lent her wings.
Such were her lovely limbs, so flushed her charming face
So round her neck ! her eyes so fair !
So rose her swelling chest 1 so flow'd her amber hair 1
While her swift feet outstript the wind,
And left the enamor'd God of Day behind."
Certes, Booth was in love when he wrote this
eulogy.
But however sprightly and deftly did this charmer
pirouette, she could not deny herself the luxury of
appearing as a regular actress. Her first venture in
this direction was as the Eunuch of " Valentinian,"
wherein she donned boy's attire, and was much more
successful in masculine garb than have been not a few
better artists. From this part to that of Dorcas
Zeal in Shadwell's play, " The Fair Quaker of
Deal,"* was but a step, and a step, be it said, which
for the moment consoled the public for her desertion
from the ballet. According to Gibber, Santlow was
the happiest incident in the fortune of the play, and
the Laureate tells us that she was " then in the full
bloom of what beauty she might pretend to."t He
adds that " before this she had only been admired as
the most excellent dancer, which perhaps might not
a little contribute to the favourable reception she now
met with as an actress in this character which so
happily suited her figure and capacity: the gentle
* Produced at Drury Lane in February, 1710.
f It might appear from this remark of Colley's that the Santlow
was not over handsome. Yet if a picture taken from life does not
belie her the dancer was most fair to look upon.
THE BARTON BOOTHS 207
softness of her voice, the composed innocence of her
aspect, the modesty of her dress, the reserv'd deceny
of her gesture, and the simplicity of the sentiments
that naturally fell from her, made her seem the
amiable maid she represented. In a word, not the
enthusiastick Maid of Orleans was more serviceable
of old to the French army when the English had
distressed them, than this fair Quaker was at the
head of that dramatick attempt upon which the sup-
port of their weak society depended."
This " weak society " was the new company re-
cruited by William Collier for Drury Lane Theatre^-
and wherein could be found, in addition to the lighty
limbed Hester, such players as her adoring swain,
Barton Booth, Theophilus Keen, George Powell,
Francis Leigh, Mrs. Bradshaw and Mrs. Knight.
Colley was at that time (1710) in opposition to
Drury, his interest lying with the Hay market man-
agement, and it is very evident that the success of
the " Fair Quaker " a success made in face of the
counter attraction furnished by the long trial of Dr.
Sacheverel went sorely against the grain with him.*
The fact was that things at the Hay market were not
* Shadwell evidently had Gibber in mind when he wrote in the
preface to the " Fair Quaker of Deal " : " This play was written
about three years since, and put into the hands of a famous comedian
belonging to the Haymarket Playhouse, who took care to beat down
the value of it so much as to offer the author to alter it fit to appear
on the stage, on condition he might have half the profits of the
third day ; that is as much as to say, that it may pass for one of
his, according to custom. The author not agreeing to this reason-
able proposal, it lay in his hands till the beginning of this winter,
when Mr. Booth read it, and liked it, and persuaded the author
that, with a little alteration, it would please the town."
208 NANCE OLDFIELD
flourishing, and the prosperity enjoyed by the Drury
Lane comedy and the Sacheverel show seemed
tantalising to bear.
Even in after years Colley grew bitter in thinking
of the " Fair Quaker," and could not help indulging
in a dig at its expense when he came to write the
" Apology." He likewise paid his satirical compli-
ments to the new-fangled Italian opera which was
given at the Haymarket during the season of 1709-
10, on the days when the regular dramatic company
did not appear. The opera had already proved a
drawing attraction, but at the time here mentioned
the popular interest in the performances had fallen
off, and the dear and ever fickle public, of high and
low degree, prefered either Drury Lane or the trial
of Sacheverel to the artistic delights of music and the
drama at the rival house. And so Gibber plaintively
sighs.
"The truth is, that this kind of entertainment
[opera] being so entirely sensual, it had no possi-
bility of getting the better of our reason but by its
novelty ; and that novelty could never be supported
but by an annual change of the best voices, which,
like the finest flowers, bloom but for a season, and
when that is over are only dead nosegays. From
this natural cause we have seen within these two
years even Farinelli singing to an audience of five
and thirty pounds, and yet, if common fame may be
credited, the same voice, so neglected in one country,
has in another had charms sufficient to make that
crown sit easy on the head of a Monarch, which the
THE BARTON BOOTHS 209
jealousy of politicians (who had their views in his
keeping it) fear'd, without some such extraordinary
amusement, his Satiety of Empire might tempt him
a second time to resign." *
That Gibber knew something of the wrangles
which inevitably follow in the wake of an operatic
troupe may be seen from the next paragraph :
" There is, too, in the very species of an Italian
singer such an innate, fantastical pride and caprice,
that the government of them (here at least) is almost
impracticable. This distemper, as we were not
sufficiently warn'd or apprized of, threw our musical
affairs into perplexities we knew not easily how to
get out of. There is scarce a sensible auditor in the
Kingdom that has not since that time had occasion
to laugh at the several instances of it. But what is
still more ridiculous, these costly canary birds have
sometimes infested the whole body of our dignified
lovers of musick with the same childish animosities."
It was merely an illustration of the melancholy
fact that the heavenly maid of music is too often
attended by the handmaiden of discord. But to
continue :
44 Ladies have been known," says Colley, " to
decline their visits upon account of their being of a
different musical party. Caesar and Pompey made
not a warmer division in the Roman Republick than
* The monarch alluded to was evidently Victor Amadeus, King of
Sardinia. The tenor Farinelli (whose real name was Carlo Broschi)
was born in the dukedom of Modena in 1705, and died 1782.
O
210 NANCE OLDFIELD
those heroines, their country women, the Faustina
and Cuzzoni, blew up in our commonwealth of
academical musick by their implacable pretensions
to superiority.^ And while this greatness of soul is
their unalterable virtue, it will never be practicable
to make two capital singers of the same sex do as
they should do in one opera at the same time ! No,
tho' England were to double the sums it has already
thrown after them. For even in their own country,
where an extraordinary occasion has called a greater
number of their best to sing together, the mischief
they have made has been proportionable ; an in-
stance of which, if I am rightly informed, happen'd
at Parma, where upon the celebration of the marri-
age of that Duke, a collection was made of the most
eminent voices that expence or interest could
purchase, to give as complete an opera as the whole
vocal power of Italy could form.
" But when it came to the proof of this musical
project, behold ! what woful work they made of it !
every performer would be a Caesar or Nothing ;
their several pretentions to preference were not to
be limited within the laws of harmony ; they would
all choose their own songs, but not more to set off
themselves than to oppose or deprive another of an
* Francesca Cuzzoni and Faustina Bordoni Hasse, whose famous
rivalry in 1726 and 1727 is here referred to, were singers of remark-
able powers. Cuzzoni's voice was a soprano, her rival's a mezzo-
soprana, and while the latter excelled in brilliant execution, the
former was supreme in pathetic expression. Dr. Burney (" History
of Music," iv. 319) quotes from M. Quantz the statement that so
keen was their supporter's party spirit, that when one party began
to applaude their favourite, the other party hissed ! R. W. LOWE,
" Notes to the Apology."
THE BARTON BOOTHS 211
occasion to shine. Yet any one would sing a bad
song, provided nobody else had a good one, till at
last they were thrown together like so many feather'd
warriors, for a battle-royal in a cock-pit, where every
one was oblig'd to kill another to save himself ! What
pity it was these froward misses and masters of
musick had not been engag'd to entertain the court
of some King of Morocco, that could have known
a good opera from a bad one ! With how much
ease would such a director have brought them to
better order ? But alas ! as it has been said of
greater things,
' Suis et ipsa Roma viribus ruit.'
Imperial Rome fell by the too great strength of its
own citizens ! So fell this mighty opera, ruin'd by
the too great excellency of its singers ! For, upon
the whole, it proved to be as barbarously bad as if
Malice itself had composed it."
It was a pity, no doubt, that the light of opera
shone but dimly at the Haymarket, yet the ill wind
which almost extinguished that light blew a blessing
towards the nimble Santlow. For the dear creature
prospered exceeding well as Dorcas Zeal ; the heart
of the public waxed, warm toward the ex-dancer, and
so did the cardiac organ of Barton Booth. A few
years later Booth married the charmer, and she,
having become virtuous and prim, made the remain-
der of his life a bed of domestic roses.
And now for the brief story of Booth's dignified
career. Barton came of good English stock, and his
father, with a true British desire to rule the destinies
212 NANCE OLD FIELD
of his family, mapped out a clerical life for the boy.
But the latter had no thought of the pulpit, and from
the time that he acted in the " Andria" of Terence,
at Westminster School, his hope was all for the
stage. 'Tis very easy to applaud that hope now ;
perhaps his relations looked upon it as a temptation
offered by the Evil One. When he reached the
mature age of seventeen, and had orders to begin
his university training, what does the youth do but
run away from home, and, taking the theatrical bull
by the horns, appear on the Dublin boards.
" He first apply'd to Mr. Betterton, then to
Mr. Smith, two celebrated actors," says Chetwood,
" but they decently refused him for fear of the
resentment of his family. But this did not prevent
his pursuing the point in view ; therefore he resolv'd
for Ireland, and safely arrived in June 1698. His
first rudiments Mr. Ashbury* taught him, and his
first appearance was in the part of Oroonoko, where
he acquitted himself so well to a crowded audience,
that Mr. Ashbury rewarded him with a present of
five guineas, which was the more acceptable as his
last shilling was reduced to brass (as he inform'd
me). But an odd accident fell out upon this occa-
sion. It being very warm weather, in his last scene
of the play, as he waited to go on, he inadvertently
wiped his face, that, when he enter'd, he had the
appearance of a chimney-sweeper (his own words).
At his entrance he was surprised at the variety of
* Joseph Ashbury, Master of the Revels, in Ireland, actor, and
manager of the theatre in Dublin.
THE BARTON BOOTHS 213
noises he heard in the audience (for he knew not
what he had done), that a little confounded him, till
he received an extraordinary clap of applause, which
settled his mind. The play was desir'd for the next
night of acting, when an actress fitted a crape to his
face, with an opening proper for the mouth, and
shap'd in form for the nose ; but, in the first scene,
one part of the crape slip'd off. ' And zounds ! '
said he (he was a little apt to swear), * I look'd like
a magpie. When I came off, they lamp-black'd me
for the rest of the night, that I was flayed before it
could be got off again.' "*
But Booth was too much in earnest to be daunted
by anything so trifling as the misplacing of a mask.
He studied hard, despite a youthful liking for the
jolly joys of Bacchus, and soon made for himself an
enviable position upon the Dublin stage. For the^
youth had all the qualities that went toward the for-'
mation of a fine actor ; he possessed keen dramatic
instinct, poetic sensibility, a beautiful voice, a hand- s
some person, and, above all, a dogged ambition. In
after years, when his health began to fail and the
sweets of success had, perhaps, become a trifle cloy-
ing, the tragedian often went through a part in a per-
functory manner. f But those early days in Ireland
* Chetwood adds in a footnote : " The composition for blackening
the face are ivory-black and pomatum, which is, with some pains,
clean' d with fresh butter." " Oroonoko " was what we would now
call a " black face " part.
t He (Booth) would play his best to a single man in the pit whom
he recognised as a playgoer, and a judge of acting; but to an
unappreciating audience he could exhibit an almost contemptuous
disinclination to exert himself. On one occasion of this sort he was
214 NANCE OLDFIELD
marked the sunrise of his genius a time no less
noble, in its freshness and promise, than the later
glory of the noontide and there was in his perform-
ance nothing but youthful ardour and devotion.
With that ardour, only whetted by his popularity
in Dublin, Barton travelled to London (1701), and
there offered respectful incense at the shrine of
Betterton. 'Twas a shrine at which the public still
worshipped ; and when Roscius extended a helping
hand to the kneeling postulant, and brought him
before the patrons of Lincoln's Inn Fields, the suc-
cess of Booth seemed assured. The latter never
forgot the generosity and kindly interest of his idol,
and he spoke with all the sincerity of gratitude when
he once said : " When I acted the Ghost with Bet-
terton (as Hamlet), instead of my awing him, he
terrified me. But divinity hung round that man.''
Had he been of an egotistic mould Barton might
have added, that his Ghost was considered hardly
less effective than the Hamlet of the mighty Bet-
terton.
made painfully sensible of his mistake and a note was addressed to
him from the stage-box, the purport of which was to know whether
he was acting for his own diversion or in the service and for the
entertainment of the public? On another occasion, with a thin
house and a cold audience, he was languidly going through one of
his usually grandest impersonations, namely, Pyrrhus. At his very
dullest scene he started into the utmost brilliancy and effectiveness.
His eye had just previously detected in the pit a gentleman, named
Stanyan, the friend of Addison and Steele, and the correspondent
of the Earl of Manchester. Stanyan was an accomplished man and
a judicious critic. Booth played to him, with the utmost care and
corresponding success. "'No, no!" he exclaimed, as he passed
behind the scenes, " I will not have it said at Button's that Barton
Booth is losing his powers ! " DR. DORAN.
THE BARTON BOOTHS 2IJ
For a decade, or longer, Booth went on this pro-
sperous way, gaining in favour with the theatre-
goers, and increasing his artistic resources. During
this period he married the daughter of a baronet,
and she lived for six years, but not long enough to
witness his triumphs in the " Distressed Mother "
and the classic " Cato." As Chetwood well said,
" Pyrrhus in the ' Distressed Mother' placed him in
the seat of Tragedy, and Cato fixed him there."
We have already read something of the " Distressed
Mother," and of the production of Addison's tragedy, ^
and so there is no need to linger over the episodes^
which caused Booth to be acclaimed Betterton's /
logical successor.
We remember, likewise, that the original Cato
was admitted to a share in the management of
Drury Lane, as a result of the increased fame accru-
ing from his impersonation of the grand old Roman.
It was an incident, into which politics entered not a
little ; there were wires to pull, and Lord Boling-
broke had his hand in the theatrical pie. " To
reward his merit," chronicles Chetwood, " he (Booth)
was joined in the patent, tho' great interest was
made against him by the other patentees, who, to
prevent his soliciting his patrons at Court, then at
Windsor, gave out plays every night, where Mr.
Booth had a principal part. Notwithstanding this
step, he had a chariot and six of a nobleman's wait-
ing for him at the end of every play, that whipt
him the twenty miles in three hours, and brought
him back to the business of the theatre the next
night."
216 NANCE OLDFIELD
"He told me," adds the writer, "not one noble-
man in the Kingdom had so many sets of horses at
command as he had at that time, having no less than
eight ; the first set carrying him to Hounslow from
London, ten miles ; and the next set, ready waiting
with another chariot to carry him to Windsor."
Evidently the inspired Barton, with all his high-
flown talent, had an eye for the main chance. In
this respect he resembled one greater than he
David Garrick.
Like Garrick, too, the enterprising Booth had his
Peg Woffington, in the pretty person of Susan
Mountford, a daughter of the great Mistress Ver-
bruggen. He never placed a wedding-ring upon a
finger of this young woman, but he gave her his
protection after the death of the baronet's daughter,
and continued to do so until the fragile creature ran
off with a craven fellow named Minshull. This
Minshull made away with over ^3000, the sum
of Susan's savings,^ and the erring woman, alike
false to her virtue and the destroyer of that virtue,
ended her darkening days amid the clouds of
insanity.
The picture is far prettier with Hester Santlow
leaping into the affections of the actor, and finally
marrying him according to the law of the land. She
* In the year 1714, they (Booth and Susan) bought several tickets
in the State Lottery, and agreed to share equally whatever fortune
might ensue. Booth gained nothing; the lady won a prize of
5000 pounds, and kept it. His friends counselled him to claim half
the sum, but he laughingly remarked that there had never been any
but a verbal agreement on the matter ; and since the result had
been fortunate for his friend, she should enjoy it all. Dr. DORAN.
THE BARTON BOOTHS 217
loved the great man tenderly, ministered to his
wants with a wifely devotion which would hardly
suit the " New Woman," and when he was wont to
eat too much (for he had given up the flowing bowl *
and must cultivate some other species of gluttony),
the ex-dancer would have the dinner-table removed.
Strange, is it not, that the wife who could be so
full of constancy, and all the other virtues, previously
lived a notoriously loose existence ? For it had
been the fate of Santlow to stand continually in the
glare of that fierce light which beats upon the stage,
and never, perhaps, did she give the town more to
talk about than by her celebrated rencontre with
Captain Montague. The story affords a glimpse of
the free-and-easy manners which sometimes prevailed
in theatres, and will bear the telling, ere we bid
farewell to its fair heroine.
" About the year 1717," " writes Gibber, " a young
actress of a desirable person (Santlow), sitting in an
upper box at the Opera, a military gentleman (Mon-
tague) thought this a proper opportunity to secure a
little conversation with her, the particulars of which
were probably no more worth repeating than it
seems the Damoiselle then thought them worth
listening to ; for, notwithstanding the fine things he
said to her, she rather chose to give the Musick the
* Booth told Gibber that he " had been for sometime too frank a
lover of the bottle ; but having had the happiness to observe into
what contempt and distress Powel had plung'd himself by the same
vice, he was so struck with the terror of his example, that he fix'd a
resolution (which from that time to the end of his days he strictly
observ'd) of utterly reforming it." And Colley adds ; " An un-
common act of philosophy in a young man ! "
2i 8 ; NANCE OLDFIELD
preference of her attention. This indifference was
so offensive to his high heart, that he began to
change the Tender into the Terrible, and, in short,
proceeded at last to treat her in a style too grossly
insulting for the meanest female ear to endur unre-
sented. Upon which, being beaten too far out of her
discretion, she turn'd hastily upon him with an angry
look and a reply which seem'd to set his merit in so
low a regard, that he thought himself oblig'd in
honour to take his time to resent it.
"This was the full extent of her crime, which his
glory delay 'd no longer to punish than 'till the next
time she was to appear upon the stage. There, in
one of her best parts, wherein she drew a favourable
regard and approbation from the audience, he, dis-
pensing with the respect which some people think
due to a polite assembly, began to interrupt her
performance with such loud and various notes of
mockery, as other young men of honour in the same
place had sometimes made themselves undauntedly
merry with. Thus, deaf to all murmurs or entreaties
of those about him, he pursued his point, even to
throwing near her such trash as no person can be
suppos'd to carry about him unless to use on so
particular an occasion.
"A gentlemen then behind the scenes,^ being
shocked at his unmanly behaviour, was warm enough
to say, that no man but a fool or a bully could be
capable of insulting an audience or a woman in so
monstrous a manner. The former valiant gentle-
man, to whose ear the words were soon brought by
* Secretary Craggs.
THE BARTON BOOTHS 219
his spies, whom he had plac'd behind the scenes to
observe how the action was taken there, came
immediately from the pit in a heat, and demanded
to know of the author of those words if he was the
person that spoke them ? to which he calmly reply'd,
that though he had never seen him before, yet
since he seem'd so earnest to be satisfy 'd, he would
do him the favour to own, that indeed the words
were his, and that they would be the last words he
should chuse to deny whoever they might fall upon.
" To conclude, their dispute was ended the next
morning in Hyde Park, where the determin'd com-
batant who first ask'd for satisfaction was oblig'd
afterwards to ask his life too ; whether he mended it
or not, I have not yet heard ; but his antagonist in a
few years afterwards died in one of the principal
posts of the Government."
There were no more such scenes after Santlow
became Mrs. Barton Booth. Everything was re-
spectability, and the voice of the turtle-dove appears
to have been heard in the home of the happy couple.
Yea, the husband waxed ecstatic after several years
of married bliss, once more tuned his lyre, and burst
forth into verses, wherein he set forth, among other
things :
" Happy the hour when first our souls were joined !
The social virtues and the cheerful mind
Have ever crowned our days, beguiled our pain ;
Strangers to discord and her clamorous train," &c.
The lines suggest placidity of existence, and
placid, indeed, was the married life of Booth, barring
his moments of ill-health. When his career is com-
220 NANCE OLDFIELD
pared to that of certain other players, it stands out
in rather pleasant relief, by virtue of its even tenor
and prosperity. It was free from the vicissitudes
which have waylaid the paths of equally great artists,
and the current of his genius ran on without a ripple,
save that of sickness. There was one direction,
however, wherein Booth found variety and excite-
ment, and that was in the wondrous diversity of parts
which he assumed. In tragedy, his work took a
wide range, going all the way from Laertes to
Othello, while he sallied forth now and again into
the field of comedy, and emerged therefrom with
honour. He did not, to be sure, distinguish himself
so brilliantly as a comedian as he did in tragic garb,
yet he wooed Thalia in a genteel way which seldom
failed to please. Nay, it is chronicled that he im-
personated capon-lined Falstaff in a fashion that
amused even phlegmatic Queen Anne. But the
actor of long ago thought nothing of such catholicity
in art. He often worked like a horse, that he might
later play like a god.^
Perhaps the most annoying disturbance which ever
came into Booth's theatrical life, and not a great dis-
turbance at that, was the jealousy which existed
between Wilks and himself. Wilks was impetuous,
* To show the versatility of Booth it need only be mentioned that
his parts (among many not herein named) included the Ghost,
Laertes, Horatio and the Prince in "Hamlet," Dick in "The
Confederacy," Captain Worthy in the " Fair Quaker of Deal,"
Pyrrhus, Cato, Young Bevil in the " Conscious Lovers," Tamerlane,
Oronooko, Jaffier, Othello, King Lear, Hotspur, Wildair, Sir Charles
Easy, Falstaff, Cassio, Macbeth, Banquo, Lennox, Henry VIII. and
Cinna. Few living players can match such a repertoire.
THE BARTON BOOTHS 221
bad tempered and crotchety, and it is possible that
the envy was, originally, rather of his own making.
But be that as it may, Booth suffered many a pang
from the successes of the more dashing Wilks, and
the latter never lost an opportunity of thwarting his
associate. We remember how the commonplace
Mills was pushed forward, with the idea of hiding
the genius of Barton, and Gibber refers more than
once to this short-sighted policy of Wilks. " And
yet, again," he writes, " Booth himself, when he
came to be a manager, would sometimes suffer his
judgment to be blinded by his inclination to actors
whom the town seem'd to have but an indifferent
opinion of." And thereupon Colley asks " another
of his old questions " viz., " Have we never seen
the same passions govern a Court ! How many
white staffs and great places do we find, in our
histories, have been laid at the feet of a monarch,
because they chose not to give way to a rival in
power, or hold a second place in his favour ? How
many Whigs and Tories have chang'd their parties,
when their good or bad pretentions have met with a
check to their higher preferment ? "
The fact is that there was never any artistic sym-
pathy between the two distinguished actors. Booth
could play comedy, and play it quite well, but his soul
was all for tragedy. On the other hand, while Wilks
knew how to tread the sombre paths of high drama
(he even made a creditable Hamlet), the comedian
looked with more regard upon his own peculiar vein
of work, the impersonation of the graceful, the
genteel, and the elegantly picturesque. In one way
222 NANCE OLDFIELD
the latter proved more generous than his rival. " It
might be imagin'd," runs on Gibber, " from the
difference of their natural tempers, that Wilks should
have been more blind to the excellencies of Booth
than Booth was to those of Wilks ; but it was not
so. Wilks would sometimes commend Booth to
me ; but when Wilks excell'd the other was silent."^
But all these petty heartburnings and jealousies
were buried in the grave of Wilks. That incompar-
able player, whose sprightliness seemed to defy the
grim tyrant, and who could act the lithesome youth
upon the stage even though he had to hobble to his
hackney-coach when the piece was ended, made his
last exit in the autumn of 1732. Booth followed on
the same long journey in the May of 1733, after an
illness during which the great patient was dosed
with crude mercury, bled, plastered, blistered, and
otherwise helped onward to his death. Verily, it
is a wonder that the physicians of old did not
extinguish the whole human race.
The still attractive Santlow (or rather Mrs. Booth)
survived the tragedian, and her sorrow may have
been assuaged by the remembrance that she was left
* During Booth's inability to act . . . Wilks was called upon to
play two of his parts : Jaffier and Lord Hastings in "Jane Shore."
Booth was, at times, in all other respects except his power to go on
the stage, in good health, and went among the players for his
amusement. His curiosity drew him to the playhouse on the nights
when Wilks acted these characters, in which himself had appeared
with uncommon lustre. All the world admired Wilks except his
brother manager : amidst the repeated bursts of applause which he
extorted, Booth alone continued silent. DAVIES.
THE BARTON BOOTHS 223
the sole heir of her husband. " I have considered
my circumstances," wrote Booth in his will, " and
finding upon a strict examination that all I am now
possessed of does not amount to two-thirds of the
fortune my wife brought me on the day of our mar-
riage, together with the yearly additions and advan-
tages since arising from her laborious employment
on the stage during twelve years past, I thought my-
self bound by honesty, honour, and gratitude due to
her constant affection, not to give away any part of
the remainder of her fortune at my death " ; and
with that eloquent stroke of the pen the testator cut
off with nothing a sister and a brother whom he had
sufficiently helped during his lifetime.
Surely so noble an actor deserves an epitaph.
Perhaps none could be more worthy than this esti-
mate of the man, made by Aaron Hill: "He had
learning to understand perfectly whatever it was his
part to speak, and judgment to know how far it
agreed or disagreed with his character. Hence arose
a peculiar grace which was visible to every spectator,
tho' few were at the pains of examining into the
cause of their pleasure. He could soften, or slide
over, with a kind of elegant negligence, the impro-
prieties in a part he acted ; while, on the contrary,
he would dwell with energy upon the beauties, as if
he exerted a latent spirit which had been kept back
for such an occasion, that he might alarm, waken, and
transport, to those places only, where the dignity of
his own good sense could be supported with that of
his author."
224 NANCE OLDFIELD
If some players of to-day will take a lesson by
this description, the judicious Booth need not have
lived in vain. His soul, like that of the late lamented
John Brown, will go marching on.
CHAPTER XI
THE FADING OF A STAR
THE life of Mistress Oldfield, like that of Barton
Booth, was cast in pleasant places. Yet the lady had
her little agitations, and found them, no doubt, rather
an incentive to existence than otherwise. Take, for
instance, the excitement surrounding the production,
during the Drury Lane season of 1711-12, of Mrs.
Centlivre's play, " The Perplexed Lovers." To the
lovely Nance was entrusted the duty of speaking the
epilogue thereto, wherein Prince Eugene (at that
time on a visit to England) and the Duke of Marl-
borough were lauded in the true spirit of ancient
flunkey ism. But the animosity which politics doth
breed ran high, and the first night of the perform-
ance went by without the introduction of the eulogy.
Some patriots objected to the sentiments which it
contained, and the managers were cautious. As for
Oldfield, she might have been cautious, too, and with
reason, for she had received letters threatening her
with dire pains and penalties if she spoke the offend-
ing words, but Anne stood ready to deliver them at
whatsoever time the patentees might name. So when
the second night of " The Perplexed Lovers "
p
226 NANCE OLDFIELD
arrived, and a special licence from the Lord Cham-
berlain had been secured, the actress came valiantly
forward and spoke the epilogue with success. Per-
haps Eugene of Savoy thanked Mrs. Oldfield let
us hope that he did and it is at least certain that
after the withdrawal of the play his Highness sent
Mrs. Centlivre an elaborate gold snuff-box.*
And who was the gratified Centlivre ? A mas-
culine looking female with a talent for play-writing,
a tendency to appear in men's parts, and last, but
far from least, a nice little wen adorning her left
eyelid. She possessed other characteristics too, but
those herein mentioned are the only ones which
stand out clearly after the lapse of nearly two
centuries. This doughty woman had been married
twice before she went to Windsor, where she once
more entered into the matrimonial noose, or rather,
again inveigled an unfortunate into that treacherous
device. The visit to the seat of Royalty was sig-
nalised by her acting of Alexander the Great, but
from the atmosphere of Kings and Queens she
passed without a murmur to the humbler air of a
kitchen. In other words, she married a Mr.
Centlivre, chief cook to her well-fed Majesty Queen
* Speaking of the beau's outfit in the reign of Queen Anne, Ashton
says : " His snuff-box, too, was an object of his solicitude, though,
as the habit of taking snuff had but just come into vogue, there
were no collections of them, and no beau had ever dreamed of
criticizing a box, as did Lord Petersham, as, ' a nice Summer box.'
. . . Those of the middle classes were chiefly of silver, or tortoise-
shell, or mother-of-pearl ; sometimes of * aggat ' or with a * Moco
Stone ' in the lid. A beau would sometimes either have a looking-
glass, or the portrait of a lady inside the lid."
THE FADING OF A STAR 227
Anne ; and the mean-livered Pope would refer to
her, later on, as " the cook's wife in Buckingham
Court." She might, indeed, be a cook's wife, but
she knew how to write with vivacity, and produced
many an entertaining play. Among them were " A
Bold Stroke for a Wife " and " The Wonder," that
comedy which Garrick would so relish in after
years.
The nature of the aforesaid "Wonder" was
explained in the satirical reflection of the secondary
title, "A Woman Keeps a Secret!" And Mrs.
Centlivre had this to say in her epilogue, upon the
mooted question of feminine loquacity :
" Keep a secret, says a beau,
And sneers at some ill-natured wit below ;
But faith, if we should tell but half we know,
There's many a spruce young fellow in this place,
Wou'd never presume to show his face ;
Women are not so weak, whate'er men prate ;
How many tip-top beaux have had the fate,
T'enjoy from mama's secrets their estate !
Who, if her early folly had made known,
Had rid behind the coach that's now their own."
Mrs. Oldfield received fresh cause for nervous-
ness, had she been of a timid temperament, when,
some years later, during the season of 1717-18,
Gibber's political play of "The Non-Juror" was
brought out. The comedy was a blow aimed at
the Jacobites and the Pretender, who had met with
such disastrous treatment in the rebellion of 1715,
and was a skilfully-wrought laudation of the Hano-
verian dynasty.*
* The piece was published and dedicated to George I., who
acknowledged his sense of the honour by paying to Gibber the sum
228 NANCE OLDFIELD
" About this time," writes Gibber, telling of the
play's presentation, " Jacobitism had lately exerted
itself by the most unprovoked rebellion that our
histories have handed down to us since the Norman
Conquest ; I therefore thought that to set the
authors and principles of that desperate folly in a
fair light, by allowing the mistaken consciences of
some their best excuse, and by making the artful
Pretenders to Conscience as ridiculous as they were
ungratefully wicked, was a subject fit for the honest
satire of comedy, and what might, if it succeeded,
do honour to the stage by showing the valuable use
of it. And considering what numbers at that time
might come to it as prejudic'd spectators, it may
be allow'd that the undertaking was not less
hazardous than laudable."
And hazardous the project certainly seemed ; for,
while the uprising in the interests of the Pretender
had been ostensibly crushed, the spirit of " divine
right " was as strong as ever ; there were many
worthy gentlemen who drank secret bumpers to the
King "over the water" and the Hanoverian
throne had as yet a precarious lodgment on English
of two hundred guineas. That the good old prejudice against the
stage was still in full force, despite the march of liberal ideas,
is clearly shown in the author's address to the King: "Your
comedians, Sir, are an unhappy society, whom some severe heads
think wholly useless, and others, dangerous to the young and
innocent. This comedy is, therefore, an attempt to remove that
prejudice, and to show what honest and laudable uses may be made
of the theatre, when its performances keep close to the true
purposes of its institution." Gibber also referred to himself as " the
lowest of your subjects from the theatre," and thus mirrored the
servility of the golden Georgian era.
THE FADING OF A STAR 229
soil. It was expected, therefore, that these mal-
contents would have anything but an appetite for
the theatrical feast set before them in the shape of
the " Non-Juror," and would prove none the less
disgusted because the play happened to be an
adaptation of Moliere's "Tartuffe." As the latter
comedy depicts a self-indulgent, crawling hypocrite
of the worst type, and is an eloquent sermon against
sham, it may be imagined that the Jacobites were
not over enthusiastic when they learned that the
moral of " Tartuffe " was to be applied to them.*
" Upon the hypocrisy of the French character,"
explains Gibber (who probably looked upon France,
Papacy, and the Pretender as a threefold combina-
tion of sin), " I engrafted a stronger wickedness,
that of an English Popish priest lurking under the
doctrine of our own Church to raise his fortune
upon the ruin of a worthy gentleman, whom his
dissembled sanctity had seduc'd into the treasonable
cause of a Roman Catholick outlaw. How this
design, in the play, was executed, I refer to the
readers of it ; it cannot be mended by any critical
remarks I can make in its favour. Let it speak
for itself."
The "Non-juror" did speak for itself, too, and
that in decided terms, t The production entailed
* Tartuffe, according to French tradition, is a caricature of the
famous Pere la Chaise (Confessor to Louis Quatorze), who had a
weakness for the pleasures of the table, including truffles (tartuffes).
After Gibber's day, Moliere's play was again adapted into English,
under the title of " The Hypocrite."
f The success surpassed even expectation. It raised against
Cibber a phalanx of implacable foes foes who howled at everything
230 NANCE OLDFIELD
the scorn of the disaffected, and made for Gibber
some lasting enemies, but the friends of government
were strong, Gibber was lauded for his loyalty, and
the comedy achieved a triumph. The vivacity of
Oldfield's acting, as Maria, delighted all beholders,
and it was further agreed that the performance was
well given throughout. In the cast were Booth,
Mills, Wilks, Gibber, Mrs. Porter, Mrs. Oldfield, and
Walker. The Walker here mentioned was at that
time a very young man, not over seventeen or
eighteen years of age, and made his first hit in the
"Non-juror." When the " Beggars' Opera" was
subsequently brought out, the mighty Quin refused
to play the highwayman, Macheath, and Walker
willingly took the part and made therein the reputa-
tion of his life. But success turned his unsteady
head. "He follow'd Bacchus too ardently, insomuch
that his credit was often drown'd upon the stage, and,
by degrees, almost render' d him useless." Ungram-
matical, but to the point, Mr. Chetwood.
This Walker was a genius in a small fashion. He
possessed an expressive face and manly figure, with
a native buoyancy and humour which stood him in
good stead in the character of Macheath, while he
had the further gift of dominating a tragic scene
with an assumption of tyrannic fire which must have
been greatly admired by the theatre-goers of his
time. He could not sing, to be sure, when he
of which he was afterwards the author ; but it gained for him his
advancement to the poet-laureateship, and an estimation which
caused some people to place him, for usefulness to the cause of true
religion, on an equality with the author of "The Whole Duty of
Man." DR. DORAN.
THE FADING OF A STAR 231
graced the " Beggars' Opera," but the audiences
took the will for the deed, applauded his gaiety of
action, and quickly pardoned his lyric short-comings.
We are equally lenient nowadays to many a comic-
opera comedian, so called. Chetwood tells us that
Walker was the supposed author of two pieces,
" The Quakers' Opera, '' and a tragedy styled " The
Fate of Villainy." The latter, it appears, " he brought
to Ireland in the year 1744, and prevailed on the
proprietors (of the Dublin theatre) to act it, under
the title of * Love and Loyalty/ The second night
was given out for his benefit ; but not being able to
pay in half the charge of the common expences, the
doors were order'd to be kept shut."
"But, I remember," laconically adds Chetwood,
" few people came to ask the reason. However, I
fear this disappointment hasten'd his death ; for he
survived it but three days ; dying in the 44th year
of his age, a martyr to what often stole from him a
good understanding."
" He who delights in drinking out of season,
Takes wond'rous pains to drown his manly reason."
Poor Walker ! He is not the only actor who has
perished from a mixture of wine and injured vanity.
To return to the success of the " Non-juror,"
Gibber writes : " All the reason I had to think it no
bad performance was, that it was acted eighteen days
running, and that the party that were hurt by it (as
I have been told) have not been the smallest number
of my back friends ever since. But happy was it for
this play that the very subject was its protection ; a
232 NANCE OLDFIELD
few smiles of silent contempt were the utmost dis-
grace that on the first day of its appearance it was
thought safe to throw upon it ; as the satire was
chiefly employ 'd on the enemies of the Government,
they were not so hardy as to own themselves such
by any higher disapprobation or resentment."^
Yet Gibber's enemies never failed to make things
unpleasant for him if they could do so without
running too great a risk. There was Nathaniel
Mist, for instance, who published a Jacobite paper
called Mist's Weekly Journal. This vindictive gentle-
man, whose political heresies once brought him to
the pillory and a prison, began a systematic attack
upon the actor- manager, and kept up the warfare for
fifteen years. Once, when Colley was ill of a fever,
Mist made up his journalistic mind that his enemy
must have the good taste to depart the pleasures of
this life. So he inserted the following paragraph in
his paper :
" Yesterday died Mr. Colley Gibber, late Comedian
of the Theatre Royal, notorious for writing the
'Nonjuror.'"
The very day that this obituary appeared Gibber
crawled out of the house, sick-faced but convalescent,
and read the notice with keen interest. Whether he
was amused thereat, or dubbed the joke a poor one,
is a matter which he does not record, but he tells us
that he " saw no use in being thought to be thorougly
* The production of the " Non-juror" added Pope to the list of
Gibber's enemies, the great poet's father having been a Non-juror.
THE FADING OF A STAR 233
dead before his time," and " therefore had a mind to
see whether the town cared to have him alive again."
" So the play of the ' Orphan ' being to be acted
that day, I quietly stole myself into the part of the
Chaplain, which I had not been seen in for many
years before. The surprise of the audience at my
unexpected appearance on the very day I had been
dead in the news, and the paleness of my looks,
seem'd to make it a doubt whether I was not the
ghost of my real self departed. But when I spoke,
their wonder eas'd itself by an applause ; which con-
vinc'd me they were then satisfied that my friend
Mist had told a fib of me. Now, if simply to have
shown myself in broad life, and about my business,
after he had notoriously reported me dead, can be
called a reply, it was the only one which his paper
while alive ever drew from me."
The Jacobites could not interfere with the triumph
of the " Non-juror," but they were shrewd enough to
bide their time. That time came, as they thought,
in 1728, when there was unfolded at Drury Lane a
comedy which became famous under the title of
" The Provoked Husband." The rough draft of
the play was the work of Vanbrugh, now dead, but
the dialogue and situations had been elaborated by
Gibber. Here was a chance, therefore, to damn the
latter writer, and accordingly the malcontents re-
paired to the theatre, hissed the performance roundly,
and then went home with the comfortable reflection
that they had gotten their revenge. Their revenge,
however, was shortlived, for the general public liked
the comedy, and soon flocked to its rescue.
234 NANCE OLDFIELD
" On the first day of The Provok'd Husband,' "
says the Poet Laureate, " ten years after the * Non-
juror ' had appear'd, a powerful party, not having the
fear of publick offence or private injury before their
eyes, appear'd most impetuously concern'd for the
demolition of it ; in which they so far succeeded that
for some time I gave it up for lost ; and to follow
their blows, in the publick papers of the next day it
was attack'd and triumph'd over as a dead and
damn'd piece : a swinging criticism was made upon
it in general invective terms, for they disdain'd to
trouble the world with particulars ; their sentence, it
seems, was proof enough of its deserving the fate it
had met with. But this damn'd play was, notwith-
standing, acted twenty-eight nights together, and left
off at a receipt of upwards of a hundred and forty
pounds ; which happen'd to be more than in fifty
years before could be then said of any one play
whatsoever."
The play was saved, and no one contributed more
importantly to that result than did Mistress Old-
field. Her acting as the heroine, Lady Townley,
was pronounced superb, and though she had now
drifted into middle-age was she not over forty ?
Nance still seemed, on the stage at least, the incar-
nation of youth and grace. Is there not a certain
English actress, now living (one, by-the-way, who
plays Nance Oldfield and suggests her as well) who
defies the inroads of time with equal carelessness.*
* In the wearing of her person she (Oldfield) was particularly
fortunate ; her figure was always improving to her thirty-sixth year,
but her excellence in acting was never at a stand. And Lady
THE FADING OF A STAR 235
Lady Townley is nothing more or less than a
glorified, matured edition of Lady Betty Modish,
and, therefore, a very charming woman. Charming,
at least, on the boards of a theatre, if not upon the
floor of a real drawing-room. For she has a love of
pleasure which can hardly be called domestic, and
her unfortunate husband, who would see more of her,
is tempted to ask, in the very first scene of the play :
" Why did I marry ? " " While she admits no lover,"
Lord Townley soliloquises [for my lady is at least
virtuous] " she thinks it a greater merit still, in her
chastity, not to care for her husband ; and while she
herself is solacing in one continual round of cards
and good company, he, poor wretch, is left at large
to take care of his own contentment. 'Tis time,
indeed, some care were taken, and speedily there
shall be. Yet let me not be rash. Perhaps this dis-
appointment of my heart may make me too impatient ;
and some tempers, when reproach'd, grow more
untractable."
And when Lady Townley, all graces and ribbons
and laces, enters on the scene my lord meekly asks :
" Going out so soon after dinner, madam ? "
" LADY T. Lord, my Lord, what can I possibly do
at home ?
" LORD T. What does my sister, Lady Grace, do
at home ?
" LADY T. Why, that is to me amazing! Have
you ever any pleasure at home ?
Townley, one of her last new parts, was a proof that she was still
able to do more, if more could have been done for her. GENEST.
236 NANCE OLDFIELD
" LORD T. It might be in your power, madam, I
confess, to make it a little more comfortable to me.
" LADY T. Comfortable ! and so, my good lord,
you would really have a woman of my rank and
spirit, stay at home to comfort her husband ! Lord !
what notions of life some men have !
" LORD T. Don't you think, madam, some ladies'
notions are full as extravagant ? "
" LADY T. Yes, my lord, when tame doves live
cooped within the pen of your precepts, I do think
'em prodigious indeed !
" LORD T. And when they fly wild about this
town, madam, pray what must the world think of
'em then ?
" LADY T. Oh ! this world is not so ill bred as to
quarrel with any woman for liking it.
" LORD T. Nor am I, madam, a husband so well
bred as to bear my wife's being so fond of it ; in
short, the life you lead, madam
" LADY T. Is, to me, the pleasantest life in the
world.
" LORD T. I should not dispute your taste, madam,
if a woman had a right to please nobody but
herself.
" LADY T. Why, whom would you have her please ?
" LORD T. Sometimes her husband.
" LADY T. And don't you think a husband under
the same obligation ?
" LORD T. Certainly.
" LADY T. Why then we are agreed, my lord.
For if I never go abroad till I am weary of being at
home which you know is the case is it not equally
THE FADING OF A STAR 237
reasonable, not to come home till one's a weary
of being abroad ?
" LORD T. If this be your rule of life, madam,
'tis time to ask you one serious question.
" LADY T. Don't let it be long acoming then,
for I am in haste.
" LORD T. Madam, when I am serious, I expect a
serious answer.
" LADY T. Before I know the question ? [Here
we can imagine Wilks, who played Lord Townley,
waxing exceeding wroth at my lady.]
" LORD T. Pshah have I power, madam, to make
you serious by intreaty ?
" LADY T. You have.
" LORD T. And you promise to answer me
sincerely.
" LADY T. Sincerely.
" LORD T. Now then recollect your thoughts, and
tell me seriously why you married me ?
" LADY T. You insist upon truth, you say ?
" LORD T. I think I have a right to it
" LADY T. Why then, my lord, to give you at
once a proof of my obedience and sincerity I think
I married to take off that restraint that lay upon
my pleasures, while I was a single woman.
" LORD T. How, madam, is any woman under
less restraint after marriage than before it ?
" LADY T. O my lord! my lord! they are quite
different creatures ! Wives have infinite liberties in
life that would be terrible in an unmarried woman
to take.
" LORD T. Name one.
238 NANCE OLDFIELD
" LADY T. Fifty, if you please. To begin then,
in the morning a married women may have men at
her toilet, invite them to dinner, appoint them a
party in a stage box at the play ; engross the con-
versation there, call 'em, by their Christian names ;
talk louder than the players ; from thence jaunt
into the city take a frolicksome supper at an India
house perhaps, in her gaiett de cosur, toast a pretty
fellow then clatter again to this end of the town,
break with the morning into an assembly, crowd to
the hazard table, throw a familiar levant upon some
sharp lurching man of quality, and if he demands
his money, turn it off with a loud laugh, and cry
you'll owe it to him, to vex him ! ha ! ha !
" LORD T. [Aside] Prodigious ! "
It is related that so magnificently did Oldfield
describe the pleasures of a woman of fashion that
the audience echoed, with a different meaning, Lord
Townley's comment, and showered her with plaudits.
" Prodigious," indeed, must have been her acting.
Nance was even more captivating, as the comedy
progressed, and nowhere did she shine more bril-
liantly, it may be supposed, than in the following
scene :
" LADY TOWN LEY. Well ! look you, my lord ; I
can bear it no longer! Nothing still but about
my faults, my faults ! An agreeable subject truly !
" LORD T. Why, madam, if you won't hear of
them, how can I ever hope to see you mend them ?
" LADY T. Why, I don't intend to mend them
I can't mend them you know I have try'd to do it
THE FADING OF A STAR 239
an hundred times, and it hurts me so I can't
bear it !
" LORD T. And I, madam, can't bear this daily
licentious abuse of your time and character.
"LADvT. Abuse! astonishing! when the universe
knows, I am never better company than when I am
doing what I have a mind to ! But to see this
world ! that men can never get over that silly spirit
of contradiction why, but last Thursday, now
there you wisely amended one of my faults, as you
call them you insisted upon my not going to the
masquerade and pray, what was the consequence ?
Was not I as cross as the Devil, all the night after ?
Was not I forc'd to get company at home ? And
was it not almost three o'clock in the morning before
I was able to come to myself again ? And then the
fault is not mended neither for next time I shall
only have twice the inclination to go : so that all
this mending and mending, you see, is but darning
an old ruffle, to make it worse than it was before.
" LORD T. Well, the manner of women's living,
of late, is insupportable, and one way or other
" LADY T. It's to be mended, I suppose ! Why,
so it may, but then, my dear lord, you must give one
time and when things are at worst, you know, they
may mend themselves ! Ha ! ha !
" LORD T. Madam, I am not in a humour, now, to
trifle.
" LADY T. Why, then, my lord, one word of fair
argument to talk with you, your own way now
you complain of my late hours, and I of your early
ones so far we are even, you'll allow but pray
240 NANCE OLDFIELD
which gives us the best figure, in the eye of the polite
world, my active, spirited three in the morning, or
your dull, drowsy, eleven at night ? Now, I think,
one has the air of a woman of quality, and t'other of
a plodding mechanic, that goes to bed betimes, that
he may rise early, to open his shop faugh !
" LORD T. Fy, fy, madam ! is this your way of
reasoning ? 'Tis time to wake you then. 'Tis not
your ill hours alone that disturb me, but as often the
ill company that occasion those ill hours.
" LADY T. Sure I don't understand you now, my
lord ; what ill company do I keep ?
" LORD T. Why, at best, women that lose their
money, and men that win it ! or, perhaps, men that
are voluntary bubbles at one game, in hopes a lady
will give them fair play at another.^ Then that un-
avoidable mixture with known rakes, conceal'd
thieves, and sharpers in embroidery or what, to
* Women gambled as passionately as did the men in the early
part of the eighteenth century. Ashton quotes the following from
the "Gaming Lady": "She's a profuse lady, tho' of a miserly
temper, whose covetous disposition is the very cause of her extra-
vagancy ; for the desire of success wheedles her ladyship to play,
and the incident charges and disappointments that attend it make
her as expensive to her husband as his coach and six horses.
When an unfortunate night has happen'd to empty her cabinet, she
has many shifts to replenish her pockets. Her jewels are carry'd
privately into Lombard street, and fortune is to be tempted the next
night with another sum, borrowed of my lady's goldsmith at the
extortion of a pawnbroker ; and if that fails, then she sells off her
wardrobe, to the great grief of her maids; stretches her credit
amongst those she deals with, or makes her waiting woman dive
into the bottom of her trunk, and lug out her green net purse full of
old Jacobuses, in hopes to recover her losses by a turn of fortune,
that she may conceal her bad luck from the knowledge of her
husband."
THE FADING OF A STAR 241
me, is still more shocking, that herd of familiar
chattering, crop-ear'd coxcombs, who are so often
like monkeys, there would be no knowing them
asunder, but that their tails hang from their head,
and the monkey's grows where it should do.
"LADY T. And a husband must give eminent
proof of his sense that thinks their powder puffs
dangerous !
" LORD T. Their being fools, madam, is not
always the husband's security ; or, if it were, fortune
sometimes gives them advantages might make a
thinking woman tremble.
" LADY T. What do you mean ?
" LORD T. That women sometimes lose more than
they are able to pay ; and, if a creditor be a little
pressing, the lady may be reduced to try if, instead
of gold, the gentleman will accept of a trinket.
" LADY T. My lord, you grow scurrilous ; you'll
make me hate you. I'll have you to know I keep
company with the politest people in town, and the
assemblies I frequent are full of such.
" LORD T. So are the churches now and then.
" LADY T. My friends frequent them, too, as well
as the assemblies.
" LORD T. Yes; and would do it oftener if a
groom of the chambers there were allowed to furnish
cards to the company.
" LADY T. I see what you drive at all this while.
You would lay an imputation on my fame to cover
your own avarice ! I might take any pleasures, I
find, that were not expensive.
" LORD T. Have a care, madam ; don't let me
Q
242 NANCE OLDFIELD
think you only value your chastity to make me re-
proachable for not indulging you in everything else
that's vicious. I, madam, have a reputation, too, to
guard that's dear to me as yours. The follies of
an ungoverned wife may make the wisest man
uneasy ; but 'tis his own fault if ever they make
him contemptible.
" LADY T. My lord, you make a woman mad !
fi LORD T. You'd make a man a fool.
" LADY T. If heaven has made you otherwise,
that won't be in my power.
" LORD T. Whatever may be in your inclination,
madam, I'll prevent you making me a beggar, at
least.
" LADY T. A beggar ! Croesus, I'm out of
patience. I won't come home till four to-morrow
morning.
' LORD T. That may be, madam ; but I'll order
the doors to be locked at twelve.
" LADY T. Then I won't come home till to-morrow
night.
" LORD T. Then, madam, you shall never come
home again." \Exit LORD TOWNLEY.
In the end, of course, Lady Townley is converted
to the pleasures of domesticity, and ends the comedy
by saying :
" So visible the bliss, so plain the way,
How was it possible my sense could stray ?
But now, a convert to this truth I come,
That married happiness is never found from home."
Perhaps when Oldfield delivered these virtuous
THE FADING OF A STAR 243
lines, she thought to herself that happiness, even of
the unmarried kind, was never very far away from
home. But she forgot sentiment when she came
back to give the breezy epilogue :
" Methinks I hear some powder'd critics say
Damn it, this wife reform 'd has spoil'd the play 1
The coxcombs should have drawn her more in fashion,
Have gratify'd her softer inclination,
Have tipt her a gallant, and clinch'd the provocation.
But there our bard stops short : for 'twere uncivil
T'have made a modern belle all o'er a devil !
He hop'd in honor of the sex, the age
Would bear one mended woman on the stage."
Continuing, after diverse moral reflections, Nance
made this appeal to her hearers :
" You, you then, ladies, whose unquestion'd lives
Give you the foremost fame of happy wives,
Protect, for its attempt, this helpless play ;
Nor leave it to the vulgar taste a prey ;
Appear the frequent champion of its cause,
Direct the crowd, and give yourselves applause."
"Zounds, madam," cries a beau who is ogling a
woman of quality in a stage box, " they say Anne
Oldfield will never see forty-two again, but I'll
warrant you, madam, she looks not a day older than
yourself." And the woman of quality, who is over
forty, bows at the compliment, as well she may.
Bellchambers records that Lady Townley was
universally regarded as Oldfield's ne plus ultra in '
acting. " She slided so gracefully into the foibles,
and displayed so humorously the excesses, of a fine
woman too sensible of her charms, too confident in
her strength, and led away by her pleasures, that
no succeeding Lady Townley arrived at her many
244 NANCE OLDFIELD
distinguished excellencies in the character."^ And
the writer goes on to say that " by being a welcome
and constant visitor to families of distinction, Mrs.
Oldfield acquired a graceful carriage in representing
women of high rank, and expressed their sentiments
in a manner so easy, natural, and flowing, that they
appeared to be of her own genuine utterance." Pray,
sir, what is there so remarkable about that ? Had
not Anne as gentle blood as that which coursed
through the veins of many a lady of rank ?
But the triumphs of the first Lady Townley were
fast drawing to a close ; the curtain would soon be
rung down for ever upon that radiant face, with its
angelic smile and dancing eyes, and the stage, whether
, Drury Lane or mother earth would see her no more.
Ill health began to follow in her once careless path,
and there were times when the duties of acting seemed
almost unbearable. Yet she was a brave woman,
and kept a merry front to the audience, although she
was obliged, on occasions, to turn away from the
house, that it might not see the tears of pain flowing
down her cheek. Here was a combination of comedy
and tragedy, with a vengeance !
Still Nance went on, delighting the town as of
yore, and putting into her last original role, that of
Sophonisba, a fire which breathed not of sickness nor
failing powers. At last there came a day when she
played her final part, and left Drury Lane only to be
driven tenderly home to her death-bed. Think of the
pathos of this last performance, this giving up of all
* The Lady Townleys of later years included Mrs. Spranger Barry
and the imposing Mistress Yates.
THE FADING OF A STAR 245
that was most alluring in life, and let none of us poor
moderns presume to analyse the heart-broken
woman's feelings as she said good-bye to the dear
old theatre. Anne worshipped art, and the public, )
in turn, worshipped her ; she had acted her many/
parts, laughed, cried, sinned, and waxed exceeding
happy and now she was to be cast out into the dark-
ness. Must she not have shivered when she entered '
her house in Lower Grosvenor Street for the last
time ? Poor lovable creature ! There could be for
her now neither lights, nor laughter, nor applause ;
all would be gloom and weariness to the end.
During the weeks which followed, the invalid
received the untiring attentions of Mistress Saunders, ?
who once upon a time played bouncing chambermaids,
but who had, for ten years past, acted as a feminine
valet de chambre and general factotum for Mrs. Old-
field. And if ever she played well, 'twas in thus
ministering to the dying wants of one who in health
had been ever helpful and generous. Pope, who
hated the great comedienne in his petty, spiteful way,
has immortalised the intimacy of mistress and hand-
maiden in these lines :
" * Odious ! in woolen ? 'twould a saint provoke ' '
Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke.
' No, let a charming Chintz and Brussels lace
Wrap my cold limbs and shade my lifeless face ;
One would not sure be frightful when one's dead,
And, Betty, give this cheek a little red.' "*
These ante-mortem directions had no further
reality than the imagination of the poet ; but it is easy
* Pope's Moral Essays.
246 NANCE OLDFIELD
to believe that the woman who had set the fashions
for the town these many years would have enough of
the feminine instinct left, though Death waited with-
out, to plan a becoming funeral garb. Woollen, for-
sooth ! It was a beastly law which required that all
the dead should be buried in that material, and
Nance shuddered when she thought of it.*
Soon there were no more thoughts of dress, no more
plaintive shudders at the iniquity of the woollen act.
The eyes whose kindly light had illumined the dull
soul of many a playgoer, closed for ever on the
23rd of October, 1730, and the incomparable
Oldfield was no more. Surely old Sol did not shine
on London that day ; surely he must have mourned
behind the leaden English sky for one of his fairest
daughters, that child of sunshine who brightened the
world by her presence, and made her exit, as she did
her entrance, with a smile.
After the breath had left Anne's still lovely body,
Mistress Saunders dressed her in a " Brussels lace
* The dead were then buried in woolen, which was rendered com-
pulsory by the Acts 30 Car. II. c. 3 and 36 ejusdem c. i. The first
act was entitled " an Act for the lessening the importation of linnen
from beyond the seas, and the encouragement of the woolen and
paper manufactures of the kingdome." It prescribed that the
curate of every parish shall keep a register to be provided at the
charge of the parish, wherein to enter all burials and affidavits of
persons being buried in woolen; the affidavit to be taken by any
justice of the peace, mayor, or such like chief officer in the parish
where the body was interred. ... It imposed a fine of five pounds
for every infringement, one half to go to the informer, and the other
half to the poor of the parish. This Act was only repealed by
54 Geo. III. c. 108, or in the year 1815. The material used was
flannel, and such interments are frequently mentioned in the litera-
ture of the time. ASHTON.
THE FADING OF A STAR 247
head-dress, a Holland shift, with tucker and double
ruffles of the same lace, and a pair of new kid gloves."
It was, no doubt, the costume which the actress had
commanded, and handsome she must have looked,
as many an admirer took one last glimpse of the
remains prior to the interment in Westminster Abbey.
All that was mortal of Oldfield lay in state in the
Jerusalem Chamber,* and then there followed an
elaborate funeral, at which were present a host of
great men, and the two sons of the deceased, Mr.
Maynwaring and young Churchill. Were these sons
less grieved when they found that their mother had
left them the major part of her fortune ?
Later on Savage was inspired to write that famous
poem of his, unsigned though it appeared, on the
virtues of the departed :
* The solemn lying in state of an English actress in the Jerusalem
Chamber, the sorrow of the public over their lost favourite, and the
regret of friends in noble, or humble, but virtuous homes, where
Mrs. Oldfield had been ever welcome, contrast strongly with the
French sentiment towards French players, It has been already
said, that as long as Clairon exercised the power, when she advanced
to the footlights, to make the (then standing) pit recoil several feet,
by the mere magic of her eyes, the pit, who enjoyed the terror as a
luxury, flung crowns to her, and wept at the thought of losing her ;
but Clairon infirm was Clairon forgotten, and to a decaying actor or
actress a French audience is the most merciless in the world. The
brightest and best of them, as with us, died in the service of the
public. Monfleury, Mondory, and Bricourt died of apoplexy, brought
on by excess of zeal. Moliere, who fell in harness, was buried with
less ceremony than some favourite dog. The charming Lecouvreur,
that Oldfield of the French stage, whose beauty and intellect were
the double charm which rendered theatrical France ecstatic, was
hurriedly interred within a saw-pit. Bishops might be exceedingly
interested in, and unepiscopally generous to living actresses of wit
and beauty, but the prelates smote them with a " Maranatha ! " and
an " Avaunt ye ! " when dead. DR. DORAN.
248 NANCE OLDFIELD
" Oldfield's no more ! and can the Muse forbear
O'er Oldfield's grave to shed a grateful tear ?
Shall she, the Glory of the British Stage,
Pride of her sex, and wonder of the age ;
Shall she, who, living, charm'd th' admiring throng,
Die undistinguish'd, and not claim a song ?
No ; feeble as it is, I'll boldly raise
My willing voice, to celebrate her praise,
And with her name immortalise my lays.
Had but my Muse her art to touch the soul,
Charm ev'ry sense, and ev'ry pow'r control,
I'd paint her as she was the form divine,
Where ev'ry lovely grace united shine ;
A mein majestic, as the wife of Jove;
An air as winning as the Queen of Love :
In ev'ry feature rival charms should rise,
And Cupid hold his empire in her eyes.
A soul, with ev'ry elegance refin'd,
By nature, and the converse of mankind :
Wit, which could strike assuming folly dead ;
And sense, which temper'd ev'ry thing she said ;
Judgment, which ev'ry little fault could spy;
But candour, which would pass a thousand by :
Such finish'd breeding, so polite a taste,
Her fancy always for the fashion pass'd ;
Whilst every social virtue fir'd her breast
To help the needy, succour the distrest ;
A friend to all in misery she stood,
And her chief pride was plac'd in doing good.
But now, my Muse, the arduous task engage,
And shew the charming figure on the stage ;
Describe her look, her action, voice and mein,
The gay coquette, soft maid, or haughty Queen.
So bright she shone, in ev'ry different part,
She gain'd despotic empire o'er the heart ;
Knew how each various motion to control,
Sooth ev'ry passion, and subdue the soul :
As she, o'er gay, or sorrowful appears,
She claims our mirth, or triumphs in our tears.
When Cleopatra's form she chose to wear
We saw the monarch's mein, the beauty's air ;
Charmed with the sight, her cause we all approve,
And, like her lover, give up all for love :
THE FADING OF A STAR 249
Anthony's fate, instead of Caesar's choose,
And wish for her we had a world to lose.
But now the gay delightful scene is o'er,
And that sweet form must glad our world no more ;
Relentless death has stop'd the tuneful tongue,
And clos'd those eyes, for all, but death, too strong,
Blasted that face where ev'ry beauty bloom'd,
And to Eternal Rest the graceful Mover doom'd."
In writing which Savage almost justified his
existence.
APPENDIX
THEATRICAL CLAPTRAP
(What Addison has to say about it in the " Spectator")
No. 44. FRIDAY, APRIL 20, 1711.
" Tu quid ego, et populus mecum desideret, audi."
HOR. ARS POET. ver. 153.
" Now hear what ev'ry auditor expects."
ROSCOMMON.
AMONG the several artifices which are put in practice by the
poets to fill the minds of an audience with terror, the first
place is due to thunder and lightning, which are often made
use of at the descending of a god, or the rising of a ghost, at
the vanishing of a devil, or at the death of a tyrant. I have
known a bell introduced into several tragedies with good
effect ; and have seen the whole assembly in a very great
alarm all the while it has been ringing. But there is nothing
which delights and terrifies our English theatre so much as
a ghost, especially when he appears in a bloody shirt. A
spectre has very often saved a play, though he has done
nothing but stalked across the stage, or rose through a cleft
of it, and sunk again without speaking one word. There
may be a proper season for these several terrors ; and when
they only come in as aids and assistances to the poet, they
are not only to be excused, but to be applauded. Thus the
252 APPENDIX
sounding of the clock in " Venice Preserved " makes the
hearts of the whole audience quake, and conveys a stronger
terror to the mind than it is possible for words to do. The
appearance of the ghost in " Hamlet " is a masterpiece in its
kind, and wrought up with all the circumstances that can
create either attention or horror. The mind of the reader is
wonderfully prepared for his reception by the discourses that
precede it. His dumb behaviour at his first entrance strikes
the imagination very strongly ; but every time he enters he
is still more terrifying. Who can read the speech with which
young Hamlet accosts him without trembling?
" Hor. Look, my Lord, it comes 1
Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us !
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd ;
Bring with thee airs from heav'n, or blasts from hell ;
Be thy events wicked or charitable ;
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,
King, Father, Royal Dane. Oh ! answer me.
Let me not burst in ignorance ; but tell
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst their cerements ? Why the sepulchre,
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws
To cast thee up again ? What may this mean ?
That thou dead corse again in complete steel
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making night hideous ? "
I do not therefore find fault with the artifices above men-
tioned, when they are introduced with skill and accompanied
by proportionable sentiments and expressions in the writings.
For the moving of pity our principal machine is the hand-
kerchief; and indeed in our common tragedies we should
not know very often that the persons are in distress by any-
thing they say, if they did not from time to time apply their
handkerchiefs to their eyes. Far be it from me to think of
banishing this instrument of sorrow from the stage ; I know
a tragedy could not subsist without it : all that I would
APPENDIX 253
contend for is to keep it from being misapplied. In a word,
I would have the actor's tongue sympathise with his eyes.
A disconsolate mother, with a child in her hand, has fre-
quently drawn compassion from the audience, and has there-
fore gained a place in several tragedies. A modern writer,
that observed how this had took in other plays, being
resolved to double the distress, and melt his audience twice
as much as those before him had done, brought a princess
upon the stage with a little boy in one hand and a girl in the
other. This too had a very good effect. A third poet being
resolved to outwrite all his predecessors, a few years ago
introduced three children with great success : and, as I am
informed, a young gentleman, who is fully determined to
break the most obdurate hearts, has a tragedy by him where
the first person that appears upon the stage is an afflicted
widow in her mourning weeds, with half a dozen fatherless
children attending her, like those that usually hang about
the figure of Charity. Thus several incidents that are
beautiful in a good writer become ridiculous by falling into
the hands of a bad one.
But among all our methods of moving pity or terror, there
is none so absurd and barbarous, and which more exposes
us to the contempt and ridicule of our neighbours, than that
dreadful butchering of one another, which is very frequent
upon the English stage. To delight in seeing men stabbed,
poisoned, racked, or impaled is certainly the sign of a cruel
temper ; and as this is often practised before the British
audience, several French critics, who think these are grateful
spectacles to us, take occasion from them to represent us as
a people who delight in blood. It is indeed very odd to see
our stage strewed with carcasses in the last scenes of a
tragedy; and to observe in the wardrobe of the playhouse
several daggers, poniards, wheels, bowls for poison, and
many other instruments of death. Murders and executions
are always transacted behind the scenes in the French
theatre, which in general is very agreeable to the manners
254 APPENDIX
of a polite and civilised people ; but as there are no excep-
tions to this rule on the French stage, it leads them into
absurdities almost as ridiculous as that which falls under our
present censure. I remember in the famous play of Cor-
neille, written upon the subject of the Horatii and Curiatii,
the fierce young hero, who had overcome the Curiatii one
after another (instead of being congratulated by his sister
for his victory, being upbraided by her for having slain her
lover), in the height of his passion and resentment kills her.
If anything could extenuate so brutal an action, it would be
the doing of it on a sudden, before the sentiments of nature,
reason, or manhood could take place in him. However, to
avoid public bloodshed, as soon as his passion is wrought to
its height, he follows his sister the whole length of the stage,
and forbears killing her till they are both withdrawn behind
the scenes. I must confess, had he murdered her before
the audience, the indecency might have been greater ; but as
it is, it appears very unnatural, and looks like killing in cold
blood. To give my opinion upon this case, the fact ought
not to have been represented, but to have been told if there
was any occasion for it.
It may not be unacceptable to the reader to see how
Sophocles has conducted a tragedy under the like delicate
circumstance. Orestes was in the same condition with
Hamlet in Shakespeare, his mother having murdered his
father and taken possession of his kingdom in conspiracy
with her adulterer. That young prince, therefore, being
determined to revenge his father's death upon those who
filled his throne, conveys himself by a beautiful stratagem
into his mother's apartment, with a resolution to kill her.
But because such a spectacle would have been too shocking
to the audience, this dreadful resolution is executed behind
the scenes. The mother is heard calling to her son for
mercy, and the son answering her that she showed no mercy
to his father; after which she shrieks out that she is
wounded, and by what follows we find that she is slain. I
APPENDIX 255
do not remember that in any of our plays there are speeches
made behind the scenes, though there are other instances of
this nature to be met with in those of the ancients : and I
believe my reader will agree with me that there is something
infinitely more affecting in this dreadful dialogue between the
mother and her son behind the scenes than could have been
in anything transacted before the audience. Orestes imme-
diately after meets the usurper at the entrance of his palace ;
and by a very happy thought of the poet avoids killing him
before the audience, by telling him that he should live some
time in his present bitterness of soul before he would
despatch him, and by ordering him to retire into that part
of the palace where he had slain his father, whose murder
he would revenge in the very same place where it was com-
mitted. By this means the poet observes that decency,
which Horace afterwards established as a rule, of forbear-
ing to commit parricides or unnatural murders before the
audience.
" Nee pueros coram populo Medea trucidet,"
ARS POET. ver. 185.
" Let not Medea draw her murd'ring knife,
And spill her children's blood upon the stage."
ROSCOMMON,
The French have therefore refined too much upon Horace's
rule, who never designed to banish all kinds of death from
the stage ; but only such as had too much horror in them,
and which would have a better effect upon the audience
when transacted behind the scenes. I would therefore
recommend to my countrymen the practice of the ancient
poets, who were very sparing of their public executions, and
rather chose to perform them behind the scenes, if it could
be done with as great an effect upon the audience. At the
same time, I must observe, that though the devoted persons
of the tragedy were seldom slain before the audience, which
has generally something ridiculous in it, their bodies were
often produced after their death, which has always in it
256 APPENDIX
something melancholy or terrifying ; so that the killing on
the stage does not seem to have been avoided only as an
indecency, but also as an improbability.
" Nee pueros coram populo Medea trucidet :
Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus ;
Aut in avem Progne vertatur, Cadmus in anguem.
Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi."
HOR. ARS. POET. ver. 185.
" Medea must not draw her murd'ring knife,
Nor Atreus there his horrid feast prepare ;
Cadmus and Progne's metamorphoses
(She to a swallow turn'd, he to a snake) ;
And whatsoever contradicts my sense,
I hate to see, and never can believe."
ROSCOMMON.
I have now gone through the several dramatic inventions
which are made use of by the ignorant poets to supply the
place of tragedy, and by the skilful to improve it ; some of
which I could wish entirely rejected, and the rest to be used
with caution. It would be an endless task to consider
comedy in the same light, and to mention the innumerable
shifts that small wits put in practice to raise a laugh.
Bullock in a short coat, and Norris in a long one, seldom
failed of this effect.* In ordinary comedies a broad and a
narrow brimmed hat are different characters. Sometimes
the wit of a scene lies in a shoulder-belt, and sometimes
in a pair of whiskers. A lover running about the stage,
with his head peeping out of a barrel, was thought a very
good jest in King Charles the Second's time, and invented
by one of the first wits of the age.f But because ridicule is
not so delicate as compassion, and because the objects that
make us laugh are infinitely more numerous than those that
* Addison's comment about these two favourite comedians shows
that then, as now, eccentricity in dress formed a popular species of
stage humour.
.t Sir George Etherege, in his comedy of " The Comical Revenge,,
or Love in a Tub."
APPENDIX 257
make us weep, there is a much greater latitude for comic
than tragic artifices, and by consequence a much greater
indulgence to be allowed them.
COMIC EPILOGUES
(From the " Spectator")
No. 338. FRIDAY, MARCH 28, 1712.
" Nil fuit unquam
Sic dispar sibi."
HOR. SAT. III. 1-1-18.
" Made up of nought but inconsistencies."
I FIND the tragedy of the " Distressed Mother " is published
to-day. The author of the prologue,* I suppose pleads an
old excuse I have read somewhere, of " being dull with
design ; " and the gentleman who writ the epilogue t has, to
my knowledge, so much of greater moment to value himself
upon, that he will easily forgive me for publishing the ex-
ceptions made against gaiety at the end of serious entertain-
ments in the following letter : I should be more unwilling to
pardon him, than anybody, a practice which cannot have any
ill consequence, but from the abilities of the person who is
guilty of it.
" MR. SPECTATOR, I had the happiness the other night
of sitting very near you, and your worthy friend Sir Roger,
at the acting of the new tragedy, which you have in a late
paper or two so justly recommended. I was highly pleased
with the advantageous situation fortune had given me in
placing me so near two gentlemen, from one of which I was
sure to hear such reflections on the several incidents of the
* Steele.
t Addison credited Budgell with the epilogue.
R
258 APPENDIX
play as pure nature suggested ; and from the other, such as
flowed from the exactest art and judgment ; though I must
confess that my curiosity led me so much to observe the
knight's reflections that I was not so well at leisure to im-
prove myself by yours. Nature, I found, played her part in
the knight pretty well, till at the last concluding lines she
entirely forsook him. You must know, Sir, that it is always
my custom, when I have been well entertained at a new
tragedy, to make my retreat before the facetious epilogue
enters ; not but that those pieces are often very well writ,
but having paid down my half-crown, and made a fair purchase
of as much of the pleasing melancholy as the poet's art can
afford me, or my own nature admit of, I am willing to carry
some of it home with me ; and cannot endure to be at once
tricked out of all, though by the wittiest dexterity in the
world. However, I kept my seat the other night, in hopes
of finding my own sentiments of this matter favoured by
your friend's ; when, to my great surprise, I found the
knight, entering with equal pleasure into both parts, and as
much satisfied with Mrs. Oldfield's gaiety, as he had been
before with Andromache's greatness. Whether this were no
more than an effect of the knight's peculiar humanity, pleased
to find at last, that, after all the tragical doings, everything
was safe and well, I do not know. But for my own part, I
must confess I was so dissatisfied, that I was sorry the poet
had saved Andromache, and could heartily have wished that
he had left her stone-dead upon the stage. For you cannot
imagine, Mr. Spectator, the mischief she was reserved to do
me. I found my soul, during the action, gradually worked
up to the highest pitch ; and felt the exalted passion which
all generous minds conceive at the sight of virtue in distress.
The impression, believe me, Sir, was so strong upon me,
that I am persuaded, if I had been let alone in it, I could at
an extremity have ventured to defend yourself and Sir Roger
against half a score of the fiercest Mohocks ; but the ludicrous
epilogue in the close extinguished all my ardour, and made
APPENDIX 259
me look upon all such noble achievements as downright silly
and romantic. What the rest of the audience felt, I cannot
so well tell. For myself I must declare, that at the end of
the play I found my soul uniform, and all of a piece ; but at
the end of the epilogue, it was so jumbled together and
divided between jest and earnest, that, if you will forgive me
an extravagant fancy, I will here set it down. I could not
but fancy, if my soul had at that moment quitted my body,
and descended to the poetical shades in the posture it was
then in, what a strange figure it would have made among
them. They would not have known what to have made of
my motley spectre, half comic and half tragic, all over re-
sembling a ridiculous face, that, at the same time, laughs on
one side, and cries on the other. The only defence, I think,
I have ever heard made for this, as it seems to me the most
unnatural tack of the comic tail to the tragic head, is this,
that the minds of the audience must be refreshed, and gentle-
men and ladies not sent away to their own homes with too
dismal and melancholy thoughts about them : for who knows
the consequence of this ? We are much obliged indeed to
poets for the great tenderness they express for the safety of
our persons, and heartily thank them for it. But if that be
all, pray, good Sir, assure them, that we are none of us like
to come to any great harm ; and that, let them do their best,
we shall, in all probability, live out the length of our days,
and frequent the theatres more than ever. What makes me
more desirous to have some reformation of this matter is,
because of an ill consequence or two attending it : for a great
many of our church musicians being related to the theatre,
they have, in imitation of these epilogues, introduced in their
farewell voluntaries, a sort of music quite foreign to the
design of church-services, to the great prejudice of well-
disposed people. Those fingering gentlemen should be
informed, that they ought to suit their airs to the place and
business ; and that the musician is obliged to keep to the
text as much as the preacher. For want of this, I have
260 APPENDIX
found by experience a great deal of mischief. For when the
preacher has often, with great piety, and art enough, handled
his subject, and the judicious clerk has with the utmost dili-
gence called out two staves proper to the discourse, and I
have found in myself, and in the rest of the pew, good
thoughts and dispositions, they have been all in a moment
dissipated by a merry jig from the organ loft. One knows
not what further ill effects the epilogues I have been speaking
of may in time produce : but this I am credibly informed of,
that Paul Lorrain * has resolved upon a very sudden reforma-
tion in his tragical dramas ; and that, at the next monthly
performance, he designs, instead of a penitential psalm, to
dismiss his audience with an excellent new ballad of his own
composing. Pray, Sir, do what you can to put a stop to
these growing evils, and you will very much oblige your
humble servant, " PHYSIBULUS."
No. 341. TUESDAY, APRIL i, 1712.
" Revocate animos, maestumque timorem
Mittite "
VlRG. ^N. I. 2O6.
" Resume your courage, and dismiss your care."
DRYDEN.
Having, to oblige my correspondent Physibulus, printed
his letter last Friday, in relation to the new epilogue, he
cannot take it amiss, if I now publish another, which I have
just received from a gentleman who does not agree with him
in his sentiments upon that matter.
" SIR, I am amazed to find an epilogue attacked in your
last Friday's paper, which has been so generally applauded
by the town, and received such honours as were never before
given to any in an English theatre.
* At that time ordinary of Newgate; and who, in his accounts of
the convicts executed at Tyburn, generally represented them as true
penitents, and dying very well.
APPENDIX 261
11 The audience would not permit Mrs. Oldfield to go off the
stage the first night till she had repeated it twice ; the second
night the noise of ancora was as loud as before, and she was
again obliged to speak it twice ; the third night it was called
for a second time ; and, in short, contrary to all other epi-
logues, which are dropped after the third representation of
the play, this has already been repeated nine times.
" I must own I am the more surprised to find this censure,
in opposition to the whole town, in a paper which has hitherto
been famous for the candour of its criticisms.
" I can by no means allow your melancholy correspondent,
that the new epilogue is unnatural, because it is gay. If I
had a mind to be learned, I could tell him that the prologue
and epilogue were real parts of the ancient tragedy ; but
every one knows, that on the British stage, they are distinct
performances by themselves, pieces entirely detached from
the play, and no way essential to it.
" The moment the play ends, Mrs. Oldfield is no more
Andromache, but Mrs. Oldfield; and though the poet had
left Andromache stone-dead upon the stage, as your in-
genious correspondent phrases it, Mrs. Oldfield might still
have spoke a merry epilogue. We have an instance of this
in a tragedy where there is not only a death, but a martyr-
dom.* St. Catherine was there personated by Nell Gwyn ;
she lies stone-dead upon the stage, but, upon those gentle-
men's offering to remove her body, whose business it is to
carry off the slain in our English tragedies, she breaks out
into that abrupt beginning of what was a very ludicrous,
but at the same time thought a very good epilogue :
" * Hold 1 are you mad ? you damn'd confounded dog 1
I am to rise and speak the epilogue.'
" This diverting manner was always practised by Mr.
Dryden, who, if he was not the best writer of tragedies in his
time, was allowed by every one to have the happiest turn
* " Tyrannic Love ; or, the Royal Martyr." By Dryden.
262 APPENDIX
for a prologue or an epilogue. The epilogues to ' Cleomenes/
1 Don Sebastian/ the l Duke of Guise,' * Aurengezebe/ and
1 Love Triumphant/ are all precedents of this nature.
" I might further justify this practice by that excellent
epilogue which was spoken, a few years since, after the
tragedy of ' Phaedra and Hippolitus ; ' * with a great many
others, in which the authors have endeavoured to make the
audience merry. If they have not all succeeded so well as
the writer of this, they have however shown that it was not
for want of good will.
" I must further observe, that the gaiety of it may be still
the more proper, as it is at the end of a French play ; since
every one knows that nation, who are generally esteemed to
have as polite a taste as any in Europe, always close their
tragic entertainments with what they call & petite piece, which
is purposely designed to raise mirth, and send away the
audience well pleased. The same person who has supported
the chief character in the tragedy, very often plays the prin-
cipal part in the petite piece ; so that I have myself seen, at
Paris, Orestes and Lubin acted the same night by the same
man.
" Tragi-comedy, indeed, you have yourself, in a former
speculation, found fault with very justly, because it breaks
the tide of the passions, while they are yet flowing ; but this
is nothing at all to the present case, where they have already
had their full course.
" As the new epilogue is written conformably to the practice
of our best poets, so it is not such an one, which, as the
Duke of Buckingham says in his * Rehearsal/ might serve for
any other play ; but wholly rises out of the occurrences of
the piece it was composed for.
"The only reason your mournful correspondent gives
against this facetious epilogue, as he calls it, is, that he has
a mind to go home melancholy. I wish the gentleman may
not be more grave than wise. For my own part, I must
* By Edmund Neal.
APPENDIX 263
confess, I think it very sufficient to have the anguish of a
fictitious piece remain upon me while it is representing ; but
I love to be sent home to bed in a good humour. If Physi-
bulus is however resolved to be inconsolable, and not to have
his tears dried up, he need only continue his old custom, and
when he has had his half-crown's worth of sorrow, slink out
before the epilogue begins.
" It is pleasant enough to hear this tragical genius com-
plaining of the great mischief Andromache had done him.
What was that ? Why, she made him laugh. The poor
gentleman's sufferings put me in mind of Harlequin's case,
who was tickled to death. He tells us soon after, through a
small mistake of sorrow for rage, that during the whole
action he was so very sorry, that he thinks he could have
attacked half a score of the fiercest Mohawks in the excess
of his grief. I cannot but look upon it as a happy accident,
that a man who is so bloody-minded in his affliction, was
diverted from this fit of outrageous melancholy. The valour
of this gentleman in his distress brings to one's memory the
Knight of the Sorrowful Countenance, who lays about him at
such an unmerciful rate in an old romance. I shall readily
grant him that his soul, as he himself says, would have made
a very ridiculous figure, had it quitted the body and descended
to the poetical shades in such an encounter.
"As to his conceit of tacking a tragic head with a comic
tail, in order to refresh the audience, it is such a piece of
jargon, that I don't know what to make of it.
" The elegant writer makes a very sudden transition from
the playhouse to the church, and from thence to the gallows.
" As for what relates to the church, he is of opinion that
these epilogues have given occasion to those merry jigs from
the organ-loft, which have dissipated those good thoughts
and dispositions he has found in himself, and the rest of the
pew, upon the singing of two staves culled out by the judicious
and diligent clerk.
" He fetches his next thought from Tyburn ; and seems
264 APPENDIX
very apprehensive lest there should happen any innovations
in the tragedies of his friend Paul Lorrain.
"In the mean time, Sir, this gloomy writer, who is so
mightily scandalised at a gay epilogue after a serious play,
speaking of the fate of those unhappy wretches who are con-
demned to suffer an ignominious death by the justice of our
laws, endeavours to make the reader merry on so improper
an occasion by those poor burlesque expressions of tragical
dramas and monthly performances. I am, Sir, with great
respect, your most obedient, most humble servant,
" PHILOMEDES."
ON DRAMATIC CRITICS
(Addison in the "Spectator")
No. 592. FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1714.
" Studium sine divite vena."
HOR. ARS POET. 409.
" Art without a vein."
ROSCOMMON.
I LOOK upon the playhouse as a world within itself. They
have lately furnished the middle region of it with a new set
of meteors, in order to give the sublime to many modern
tragedies. I was there last winter at the first rehearsal of
the new thunder,* which is much more deep and sonorous
* Mr. Dennis's new and approved method of making thunder.
Dennis had contrived this thunder for the advantage of his tragedy
of " Appius and Virginia " ; the players highly approved of it, and
it is the same that is used at the present day. Nothwithstanding
the effect of this thunder, however, the play was coldy received, and
laid aside. Some nights after, Dennis being in the pit at the repre-
sentation of " Macbeth," and hearing the thunder made use of, arose
from his seat in a violent passion, exclaiming with an oath, that that
was his thunder. " See (said he) how these rascals use me : they
will not let my play run, and yet they steal my thunder." " Notes
on the Spectator."
APPENDIX 265
than any hitherto made use of. They have a Salmoneus
behind the scenes who plays it off with great success. Their
lightnings are made to flash more briskly than heretofore ;
their clouds are also better furbelowed, and more volu-
minous ; not to mention a violent storm locked up in a great
chest, that is designed for the " Tempest." They are also
provided with above a dozen showers of snow, which, as I
am informed, are the plays of many unsuccessful poets arti-
ficially cut and shredded for that use. Mr. Rymer's " Edgar "
is to fall in snow, at the next acting of" King Lear," in order
to heighten, or rather to alleviate, the distress of that unfor-
tunate prince ; and to serve by way of decoration to a piece
which that great critic has written against.
I do not indeed wonder that the actors should be such
professed enemies to those among our nation who are com-
monly known by the name of critics, since it is a rule among
these gentlemen to fall upon a play, not because it is ill
written, but because it takes. Several of them lay it down
as a maxim, that whatever dramatic performance has a long
run, must of necessity be good for nothing ; as though the first
precept in poetry were " not to please." Whether this rule
holds good or not, I shall leave to the determination of those
who are better judges than myself; if it does, I am sure it
tends very much to the honour of those gentlemen who have
established it ; few of their pieces having been disgraced by
a run of three days, and most of them being so exquisitely
written, that the town would never give them more than one
night's hearing.
I have great esteem for a true critic, such as Aristotle and
Longinus among the Greeks ; Horace and Quintilian among
the Romans ; Boileau and Dacier among the French. But
it is our misfortune, that some, who set up for professed
critics among us, are so stupid, that they do not know how
to put ten words together with elegance or common pro-
priety ; and withal so illiterate, that they have no taste of
the learned languages, and therefore criticise upon old authors
266 APPENDIX
only at second hand. They judge of them by what others
have written, and not by any notions they have of the authors
themselves. The words unity, action, sentiment and diction,
pronounced with an air of authority, give them a figure
among unlearned readers, who are apt to believe they are
very deep because they are unintelligible. The ancient
critics are full of the praises of their contemporaries ; they
discover beauties which escaped the observation of the
vulgar, and very often find out reasons for palliating and
excusing such little slips and oversights as were committed
in the writings of eminent authors. On the contrary, most
of the smatterers in criticism, who appear among us, make it
their business to vilify and depreciate every new production
that gains applause, to descry imaginary blemishes, and to
prove, by farfetched arguments, that what pass for beauties
in any celebrated piece are faults and errors. In short, the
writings of these critics, compared with those of the ancients,
are like the works of the sophists compared with those of the
old philosophers.
Envy and cavil are the natural fruits of laziness and
ignorance ; which was probably the reason that in the
heathen mythology Momus is said to be the son of Nox and
Somnus, of darkness and sleep. Idle men, who have not
been at the pains to accomplish or distinguish themselves,
are very apt to detract from others ; as ignorant men are
very subject to decry those beauties in a celebrated work
which they have not eyes to discover. Many of our sons of
Momus, who dignify themselves by the name of critics, are
the genuine descendants of these two illustrious ancestors.
They are often led into these numerous absurdities in which
they daily instruct the people, by not considering that, first,
there is sometimes a greater judgment shown in deviating
from the rules of art than in adhering to them ; and, secondly,
that there is more beauty in the works of a great genius,
who is ignorant of all the rules of art, than in the works of
a little genius, who not only knows but scrupulously observes
them.
APPENDIX 267
First, we may often take notice of men who are per-
fectly acquainted with all the rules of good writing, and
notwithstanding choose to depart from them on extraordinary
occasions. I could give instances out of all the tragic writers
of antiquity who have shown their judgment in this par-
ticular ; and purposely receded from an established rule of
the drama, when it has made way for a much higher beauty
than the observation of such a rule would have been. Those
who have surveyed the noblest pieces of architecture and
statuary, both ancient and modern, know very well that there
are frequent deviations from art in the works of the greatest
masters, which have produced a much nobler effect than a
more accurate and exact way of proceeding could have done.
This often arises from what the Italians call the gusto grande
in these arts, which is what we call the sublime in writing.
In the next place, our critics do not seem sensible that there
is more beauty in the works of a great genius, who is ignorant
of the rules of art, than in those of a little genius who knows
and observes them. It is of those men of genius that
Terrence speaks in opposition to the little artificial cavillers
of his time :
" Quorum semulari expotat negligentiam
Potius quam istorum obscuram diligentiam."
AND. PROL. 20.
"Whose negligence he would rather imitate, than these men's
obscure diligence."
A critic may have the same consolation in the ill success of
his play as Dr. South tells us a physician has at the death of
a patient, that he was killed secundum artem. Our inimitable
Shakespeare is a stumbling-block to the whole tribe of these
rigid critics. Who would not rather read one of his plays,
where there is not a single rule of the stage observed, than
any production of a modern critic where there is not one of
them violated 1 * Shakespeare was indeed born with all the
* With all his fondness for classic models, Addison breaks away
from conventionality of form in this essay, and pays his tribute to
the genius of Shakespeare. But critical Joe could never forget the
bard's so-called " faults " of construction.
268 APPENDIX
seeds of poetry, and may be compared to the stone in
Pyrrhus's ring, which, as Pliny tells us, had the figure of
Apollo and the nine Muses in the veins of it, produced by the
spontaneous hand of Nature without any help from art.
THEATRICAL PROPERTY
(Steele in " The Tatler," No. 42)
IT is now twelve of the clock at noon, and no mail come in ;
therefore I arn not without hopes that the town will allow me
the liberty which my brother news-writers take in giving them
what may be for information in another kind, and indulge me
in doing an act of friendship, by publishing the following
account of goods and moveables.
This is to give notice, that a magnificent palace, with great
variety of gardens, statues, and water works, may be bought
cheap in Drury-lane ; where there are likewise several
castles, to be disposed of, very delightfully situated ; as also
groves, woods, forests, fountains, and country-seats, with
very pleasant prospects on all sides of them ; being the
moveables of Christopher Rich, Esquire,* who is breaking up
house-keeping, and has many curious pieces of furniture to
dispose of, which may be seen between the hours of six and
ten in the evening.
THE INVENTORY.
Spirits of right Nantz brandy, for lambent flames and
apparitions.
Three bottles and a half of lightning.
One shower of snow in the whitest French paper.
Two showers of a browner sort.
A sea, consisting of a dozen large waves ; the tenth bigger
than ordinary, and a little damaged.
* This essay was written (July, 1709) at the time that Drury Lane
was closed, by order of the Lord Chamberlain.
APPENDIX 269
A dozen and a half of clouds, trimmed with black, and
well conditioned.
A rainbow, a little faded.
A set of clouds after the French mode, streaked with
lightning and furbelowed.
A new moon, something decayed.
A pint of the finest Spanish wash, being all that is left of
two hogsheads sent over last winter.
A coach very finely gilt, and little used, with a pair of
dragons, to be sold cheap.
A setting-sun, a pennyworth.
An imperial mantle, made for Cyrus the Great, and worn by
Julius Caesar, Bajazet, King Harry the Eighth, and Signor
Valentini.
A basket-hilted sword, very convenient to carry milk
in.
Roxana's night-gown.
Othello's handkerchief.
The imperial robes of Xerxes, never worn but once.
A wild boar killed by Mrs. Tofts * and Dioclesian.
A serpent to sting Cleopatra.
A mustard-bowl to make thunder with.
Another of a bigger sort, by Mr. D 's f directions, little
used.
Six elbow-chairs, very expert in country dances, with six
flower-pots for their partners.
The whiskers of a Turkish Pasha.
The complexion of a murderer in a band-box ; consisting
of a large piece of burnt cork, and a coal-black peruke.
A suit of clothes for a ghost, viz., a bloody shirt, a doublet
curiously pinked, and a coat with three great eyelet-holes
upon the breast.
A bale of red Spanish wool.
Modern plots, commonly known by the name of trap-
* A favourite singer of the day.
t John Dennis, the critic.
270 APPENDIX
doors, ladders of ropes, vizard-masques, and tables with
broad carpets over them.
Three oak-cudgels, with one of crab-tree ; all bought for
the use of Mr. Pinkethman.*
Materials for dancing ; as masques, castanets, and a ladder
of ten rounds.
Aurengezebe's scymitar, made by Will Brown in Picca-
dilly.
A plume of feathers, never used but by Oedipus and the
Earl of Essex.
There are also swords, halbards, sheep-hooks, cardinals'
hats, turbans, drums, gallipots, a gibbet, a cradle, a rack, a
cart-wheel, an altar, an helmet, a back-piece, a breast-plate,
a bell, a tub, and a jointed baby.
ACTORS AND AUDIENCE.
(From Gibbers "Apology.")
AMONG our many necessary reformations, what not a little
preserved to us the regard of our auditors was the decency of
our clear stage, from whence we had now for many years
shut out those idle gentlemen who seemed more delighted to
be pretty objects themselves than capable of any pleasure
from the play ; who took their daily stands where they might
best elbow the actor, and come in for their share of the
auditor's attention. In many a laboured scene of the warmest
humour and of the most affecting passion I have seen the
best actors disconcerted, while these buzzing muscatos have
been fluttering round their eyes and ears. How was it
possible an actor, so embarrassed, should keep his impatience
from entering into that different temper which his personated
character might require him to be master of?
Future actors may perhaps wish I would set this grievance
* The comedian.
APPENDIX 271
in a stronger light ; and, to say the truth, where auditors are
ill-bred, it cannot well be expected that actors should be
polite. Let me therefore show how far an artist in any
science is apt to be hurt by any sort of inattention to his
performance.
While the famous Corelli,* at Rome, was playing some
musical composition of his own to a select company in the
private apartment of his patron-Cardinal, he observed, in the
heighth of his harmony, his Eminence was engaging in a
detached conversation, upon which he suddenly stopt short
and gently laid down his instrument. The Cardinal, sur-
prised at the unexpected cessation, asked him if a string was
broke ? To which Corelli, in an honest conscience of what
was due to his musick, reply'd, " No, Sir, I was only afraid
I enterrupted business." His Eminence, who knew that a
genius could never shew itself to advantage where it had
not its regards, took this reproof in good part, and broke
off his conversation to hear the whole concerto played over
again.
Another story will let us see what effect a mistaken
offence of this kind had upon the French theatre, which was
told me by a gentleman of the long robe, then at Paris, and
who was himself the innocent author of it. At the tragedy
of "Zaire," while the celebrated Mademoiselle Gossinf was
delivering a soliloquy, this gentleman was seized with a
sudden fit of coughing, which gave the actress some surprise
and interruption ; and his fit increasing, she was forced to
stand silent so long that it drew the eyes of the uneasy
audience upon him, when a French gentleman, leaning
forward to him, asked him, If this actress had given him any
particular offence, that he took so publick an occasion to
resent it ? The English gentleman, in the utmost surprise,
assured him, So far from it, that he was a particular admirer
of her performance ; that his malady was his real misfortune,
* Arcangelo Corelli, the "father of modern instrumental music."
t Jeanne, Catherine Gossin, of the Com6die Frangaise.
S
272 APPENDIX
and if he apprehended any return of it, he would rather quit
his seat than disoblige either the actress or the audience.
This publick decency in their theatre I have myself seen
carried so far that a gentleman in their second Loge, or
middle-gallery, being observed to sit forward himself while a
lady sate behind him, a loud number of voices called out to
him from the pit, "Place a la Dame! Place a la Dame!"
When the person so offending, either not apprehending the
meaning of the clamour, or possibly being some John Trott
who feared no man alive, the noise was continued for several
minutes ; nor were the actors, though ready on the stage,
suffered to begin the play till this unbred person was laughed
out of his seat, and had placed the lady before him.
Whether this politeness observed at plays may be owing
to their clime, their complexion, or their government, is of no
great consequence ; but if it is to be acquired, methinks it is
a pity our accomplished countrymen, who every year import
so much of this nation's gawdy garniture, should not, in this
long course of our commerce with them, have brought over a
little of their theatrical good-breeding too.
INDEX
ABINGTON, Mrs., 57
Actors and audience, Colley Gibber
on, 270-2
Addison, Joseph, 12, 96, 98, 101,
102, 103, 115, 142, 251
his " Cato," 94-117
Anne, Queen, 18, 19, 22, 114, 120
Anne's reign, Life in Queen, n
Ashbury, Joseph, 212
Ashton's " Reign of Queen Anne,"
35, 186, 240
Aston, Tony, 85
Attorneys of Queen Anne's day, 184
BAGGS, Zachary, 93
Baker of Dublin, 169
Barry, Spi anger, 31
Mrs. Spranger, 244
Barry, Mrs. Elizabeth, 43, 44, 61, 161
Bartholomew Fair, 34-5
Bath life, n, 12, 13, 60
" Beaux' Stratagem," Farquhar's,
86
Bellchambers, Edmund, 2, 66, 104,
105, 163, 243
Bertie, Miss Dye, 149
Betterton, Thomas, 3, 33, 34, 42,44,
45 79> IO 5> 136. 160, 164, 168, 175,
176, 214
Blackmore, Dr. (Sir Richard), 148
Boileau, 143
Bolingbroke, Lord, 109, in, 215
Booth, Barton, 31, 86, 95, 105, 109,
no, 114, 130, 134, 170, 180,
204, 211-17, 219-24
Mrs. Barton, 219, 222, see also
Santlow
Boswell, James, 150
Bowman, an actor, 106
Bracegirdle, Anne, 43, 44, 51, 84,
85, 148
Bradshaw, Mrs., 207
Brett, Colonel, 87, 89-91, 92, 151
Miss Anne, 87
Broschi, Carlo (Farinelli), 209
Budgell, Eustace, 96, 257
Bullock, an actor, 256
Burney, Dr., 210
" Busiris," Young's, 131, 137
CADOGAN, Charles Sloane, ist Earl,
149
Campbell, Thomas, 161
" Careless Husband," Gibber's, 48-
54. 58-71
Cat, Christopher, 142
Cat-calls, 133
" Cato," Addison's, 94, 101, 103-117,
215
Centlivre, Mrs., 226, 227
her " Perplexed Lovers,"
225
Mr., 226
Charles II., King, 18, 25-6
Cherier, Mons., 28
Chetwood, W. R., 5, 7, 133, 140,
157, 162, 166, 170, 174, 177, 212,
214, 230, 231
"Christian Hero, The," Steele's,
188
Church and stage, 28
Church music and the theatre, 259
Churchill, General (Marlborough's
nephew), 148, 149
Colonel (Oldfield's son),
149, 247
274
INDEX
Churchill, Sarah, Duchess of Marl-
borough, 19, 114
Mary, Countess of Cado-
gan, 149
Gibber, Cams Gabriel, 20
Gibber, Colley, 9, 10, 16, 18, 20, 24, 43,
46, 48, 50, 51, 56, 61, 73, 74,
79, 81, 82, 84, 90, 92, 94, 104,
in, 113, 122, 130, 133, 152,
153, 166, 180, 206, 227, 233
" Gibber, Apology for the Life of,"
14
Gibber, Theophilus, 153, 154
Clive, Mrs., 164
Coffee-houses of Addison's day, 97-
101
Collier, William, 207
Colman's " Random Records," 75
Congreve, 29, 79, 81, 126, 147
Corelli, Arcangelo, 271
Costumes, Stage, 31
Courthorpe's " Addison," 102
Covent Garden Theatre, 75
Craggs, Mr. Secretary, 130, 205,
218, 219
Crawley, the showman, 34
Critics, Addison on dramatic, 264-8
Crown, John, 18
Cuzzoni, Francesca, 210
DAVENANT, Alexander, 43
Davies, T., 15, 132, 168, 222
Defoe, Daniel, 28
Delany, Mrs., 149
Dennis, John, 264
" Essay on the Operas," 79
Diction of the eighteenth century,
135
" Distressed Mother, The," Philips',
119, 122, 124-6, 257
Dod, Benjamin, 186
Dogget, Thomas, 92, 94, in, 113
Doran, Dr., 3, 31, 43, 131, 148, 189,
205, 216, 230, 247
Dorset, Earl of, 45
Dorset, Garden Theatre, 76
Downes, the prompter, 165, 175
Drama and the Restoration, 25-7
Dramatic critics (Addison), 264-8
Dramatic writings, old and new,
49. 54
Drury Lane Theatre, 36-8, 40, 42,
50, 75. 83, 93. 94- 95. 106, 130,
153, 208, 215, 225, 268
Drury Lane, revolt of Betterton,
42-5
another exodus, 79
riot, 122
Company, 77,86, 115,
207
Dryden, 30, 43, 101, 143, 261
" Duke of York's Company," 36
D'Urfey's " Western Lass," 15
" ECHOES of the Playhouse," 14, 79
Elrington, Thomas, 170-2
Epilogues, Comic (The Spectator],
257-64
Estcourt, Dick, 77
Eugene, Prince, 225, 226
Evans, John, 28, 172-4
11 FAIR Quaker of Deal," Shadwell's,
206, 207
Farinelli, 208, 209
Farquhar, Capt. George, 3-6, 8, 24,
85, 86, 148
Faustina, Bordoni Hasse, 210
Fielding, Henry, 137
Fitzgerald, Percy, 164
Fontaine, Monsieur de la, 143
Foote, Samuel, 164
11 Funeral, or Grief a la Mode, The,"
Steele's, 184, 188, 189-203
Funeral customs, old time, 185, 186
GAMBLING women, 240
Garrick, David, 31, 57, 164, 168, 216
Garth, Dr., 109, 148
Genest, P., 84, 235
George I., King, 130, 227
Gildon, Charles, n, 45, 73
Gossin, Jeane Catherine, 271
Gregory, Mr., 155, 156
Griffith, Thomas, 174-6
Gwyne, Nell, 166 4t--^
INDEX
275
HABITS of society, 39, 41
Halifax, Lord, 127
Haymarket Theatre, 79, 80, 82, 86,
207
restricted to operas, 91, 208,
211
"Hearts, The King of," Mayn-
waring's, 142
Hendon, Heywoodhill, 162
Henley, Mr., 133
Hertford, Countess of, 156
Hill, Aaron, 223
Horton, Mrs., 131
Howard, Bronson, 50, 138
Hoyt, Mr , 50, 185
Hughes, Mr , 28
Hulet, Charles, 176-7
IBSEN, 49
" Inconstant, The,' 1 Farquhar's, 4
Ingolsby, General, 177
Italian opera, 79, 87, 208
" JANE Shore," Rowe's, 126-7
Jerusalem Chamber, Westminster,
247
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 150, 151, 153,
156, 157. 163
Johnstone, Drury Lane machinist,
75
Jones, Henry Arthur, 50
Jonson, Benjamin, 168
KEEN, Theophilus, 106, 207
Killigrew, Charles, 43
" King's Company, The," 36
Kit-Cat Club, 141-2, 144
Knight, Mrs., 207
Knipp, Mrs., 165
LAMBKO,-Miss, 28
Lecouvreur, French actress, 247
Leigh, Francis, 207
Lincoln's Inn Field Theatre of 1695,
42-6, 79
re-opened, 130, 214
" Lives of the Poets," Gibber's, 152
Lorrain, Rev. Paul, 260, 264
Lowe, R. W., 210
MACCLESFIELD, Anne, ist Countess
of, 89, 151
Macklin, 56
" Make-up," Art of, 165, 166
Marlborough, see Churchill
Master of the Revels, office of, 33
Maynwaring, Arthur, 140, 141, 142-
43, 144. 148
Mr. (Oldfield's son),
247
" Milk White Flag, A," Mr. Hoyt's,
184
Mills, John, 104, 105, 121, 221, 230
Misson's, Henre," Memoirs, "38, 185
Mist, Nathaniel, 232
Mist's Weekly Journal, 232
Mitford, M. R., 56
Mitre Tavern, 3, 7, 8
Moliere, 248
Montagu, Captain, 217-9
Morley's " Notes on The Spectator.'
J 45
Mountford, Will, 14, 91
Mrs. , see Verbruggen
Susan, 216
NEAL, Edmund, " Phaedra and
Hippolitus," 262
" Non -Juror, The," Gibber's, 227,
229-30, 232-33
Norris, an actor, 256
OLDFIELD, Captain, i, 2
- Mrs., 8
Oldfield, Anne (Nance), 10,11, 25, 27,
38, 47.65,71,73,76,205,
225-6, 227, 230
birth, i
meets Farquhar, 6-7
introduced to Vanbrugh, 8
joins the stage, 9
Bath debut, 13
first stage triumph, 17, 22-4
Gibber's "Careless Hus-
band " her success, 50-4
deportment, 56-7
276
INDEX
Oldfield, Anne, as Sylvia in Far-
quhar's " Recruiting Officer,"
76
leaves Drury Lane for the Hay-
market, 79
supplants Mrs. Bracegirdle, 84
salary at the Hay market, 92
and at Drury Lane, 93
as Andromache in "Distressed
Mother," 121, 258, 261
plays Marcia in " Cato," 104,
no
meets Alexander Pope, 107
tragic parts, 118-19
rivals produce a riot, her tri-
umph, 120-3
as Jane Shore, 126
adheres to Drury Lane, 131
takes Sophonisba, praised by
Thomson, 133
meridian lustre, 134
mistress of A. Maynwaring,
140-6
personal attractions, 146
accepts protection of Marl-
borough's nephew, 148-9
received at Court, 149
her natural children, 149
ancestress of Earls of Cadogan,
149
sympathy for Richard Savage,
152
intercedes for his life, 156
mourned by Savage, 157
contemporaries, 160-78
her equipage, 179
sweetness and common sense,
180-2
retains her bloom, 234
captivating as Lady Townley,
234, 238, 243
moved in polite circles, 244
ill-health, dies in Lower Gros-
venor Street, 245
laid in State in the Jerusalem
Chamber, 247
interred in Westminster Abbey,
163, 247
Oldfield, Anne, elegy by Richard
Savage, 248-9, 157
Opera, Italian, 79, 87, 208
Operatic singers, 74
Oxford and the drama, 114, 115
actors contribute to St. Mary's
restoration fund, 116
PAGE, Francis, 155
Pepy's Diary, 165
" Perplexed Lovers, The," Cent-
livre's, 225
Philips, Ambrose, 119
Players in Queen Anne's time, 30
Pope, Alexander, 56, 102, 103, 107,
108, 119, 155, 227, 232, 245
Porter, Mistress, 106, 118, 121,
160-3, 230
Powell, George, 14, 42, 44, 60, 65,
66, 105, 106, 120, 207, 217
Prince George of Denmark, 19-20,
22
Pritchard, Sir William, 186
"Provoked Husband, The," Van-
brugh and Gibber's, 233, 234-43
RADCLIFFE, Dr., 148
" Recruiting Officer, The," Farqu-
har's, 76-7
Rich, Christopher, 8, 16, 20, 42, 43,
72-4. 75. 76, 77. 80, 81, 84,
87. 92. 93. 130
John, 73
Rivers, Lord, 151, 153
Rogers, Mrs., 66, 79, 121, 131
Rowe, Nicholas, 41, 126, 127
Russell Court Chapel, 28
Ryan, Lacy, 106, 164-5, 166-8
SANDRIDGE, Dean, 114
Santlow, Hester, 205, 206, 207,
211, 216-9, 245; see also Booth,
Mrs.
Saunders, Mistress, 245
Savage, Richard, 150, 151-9, 248
Schlegel, Augustus Wm., 26
" Scornful Lady, The," 6, 7
Shadwell, Thomas, 41, 206, 207
INDEX
277
Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 140
Side-shows, 33-4
" Sir Courtly Nice," Crown's, 18,
21
" Sir Thomas Overbury," Savage's,
153
Skipworth, Sir Thomas, 87, 89, 91
Smith, an actor, 212
Spectator, The, 96-7
Stage armies, 129, 130
Stanyan, T., 214
Steele, Sir Richard, 13, 31, 107, 108,
130, 142, 146, 157, 159, 1.87, 189,
196, 257
Strolling players, 30-33
Swift, Dean, 107
Swiney, Owen, 79, 80-1, 82, 84, 87,
9L 92
"TAMERLANE," N. Rowe's, 135-6
" Tartuffe," Moliere's, 229
Theatre and church, 28
and playgoers, 41-2
Theatrical dress, 31, 127-8
claptrap, Addison on, 251-7
property, Sir R. Steele on, 208-
270
Theatricals began, Hour, 23, 39
Thomas, Augustus, 138
Thomson's "Sophonisba," 132
Thurmond, John, 177
Toasts, 60
Toasting glasses, 145
Tofts, Mrs., 269
Tonson, Jacob, 144, 145
Trumbull, Sir William, 108
VANBRUGH, Sir John, 8, 14, 66, 79,
80, 180, 233
Verbruggen, Mrs., 9, 14-16, 45, 51,
216
Voltaire, n5
Voss, Mrs., 3, 8
WALKER, an actor, 230, 231
Walpole, Horace, 141
Sir Robert, 149, 156
Ward, Ned, 35, 39, 100, 195
Wig, cost of a full-bottomed, 88
Wilks, Robert, 50, 77, 79, 86, 88,
92, 94, 105, in, 112, 121, 130,
131, 175, ISO, 220-1, .222, 230, 237
William III., King, 45, 46, 137
Williams, Joseph, 45, 132
Woffington, Peg, 15, 80
"Wonder, The," Mrs. Centlivre's,
227
Woollen shrouds, 246
YATES, Mistress, 244
Young's, Dr., " Busiris," 131, 137
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON
London & Edinburgh
Co.
2i BEDFORD STREET, W.O.
Uelegrapbfc
Sunlocks, London
A List of
Mr. William Heinemann's
Publications and
Announcements
The Books mentioned in this List can
be obtained to order by any Book
seller if not in stock, or will be sent
* v the p *Mi*her on receipt of tic
published Price and postage.
of Butbor0.
PAGE
About . . 26
Alexander . . 27
PAGE
Dowson . .27
Dubois . .11
PAGE
Keeling . . 27
Kennedy . . 28
PACK
Rees ... 26
Rembrandt . 5
Allen . . .11
Dudeney . . 30
Kimball . .21
Renan . 7, 15
Allen . . .3
Du Toit . . ii
Kipling . . 26
Ricci ... 4
Anstey . . 15
Eeden . . 31
Knight . .16
Richter . .15
Arbuthnot . . 20
Ellwaneer . . 16
Kraszewski . 29
Riddell . . 28
Aston . .19
Ely . . . 14
Kroeker . .18
Rives . . 28
Atherton . .28
Evans . 5, 21
Landor . .12
Roberts (A. von) 29
Baddeley . 9, 18
Balestier 23, 26, 28
Farrar . . 15
Ferruggia . . 29
Lawson . . 5
Le Caron . 7
Roberts (C. G. D.) 12
Robins . . 7
Barnett . . 22
Fitch . . .20
Lee (Vernon) . 26
Robinson . . 23
Barrett . . 28
Fitzmaurice-Kelly 19
Leland . . 7
Saintsbury . . 13
Battershall . . 25
Behrs. . . 8
Fitz Patrick . 26
Fleming . . 26
Le Querdec . 9
Leroy-Bealieu . 9
Salaman (J. S.) . 21
Salaman (M. C.) 16
Bellamy . . 22
Flammarion . 21
Lie . .29
Sarcey . . 7
Bendall . .18
Forbes . . 16
Linton . . 23
Schulz . .11
Benedetti . .10
Fothergill . . 28
Locke . 25, 30
Scidmore . .12
Benham . . 22
Franzos . . 29
Lowe . . 7, 16
Scudamore . 16
Benson . .13
Frederic 9, 23, 27
Lowry . . 28
Sedgwick . . 22
Beothy . .19
Furtwangler . 5
Lutzow (Count) 19
Serao . . . 29
Beringer . . 30
Garmo . . 20
Lynch . -27
Sergeant . 24, 27
Bj6rnson . 29, 31
Garner . . 21
Maartens . . 28
Somerset . .11
Blunt ... 18
Garnett . . 19
Macdonell . 19
Southey . . 6
Bowen . . 20
Gaulot . . 8
McFall . .11
Steel . . .25
Boyesen . -13
Golm . . .29
Mackenzie . . 10
Stephen . .21
Brailsford . . 22
Gontcharoff . 29
Macnab . . 25
Steuart . . 22
Brandes . . 13, 19
Gore . . 21
Maeterlinck . 17
Stevenson 17, 24, 25
Briscoe . . 28
Gounod . . 7
Mailing . . 22
Sutcliffe . . 22
Brooke . . 24
Gosse . 8, 13, 17
Malot. . . 27
Tadema . . 30
Brown . . 10
18, 19, 26
Marey . .21
Tallentyre . . 16
Brown & Griffiths 21
Grand . 25
Marsh . . 30
Tasma . . 27
Buchanan . 14, 17,
Granville . . 26
Masson . . 8
Thompson . .12
28, 32
Gray (Maxwell) . 25
Maude . . 16
Thomson . .11
Burgess . . 9
Byron . . 3
Gras . . 26
Greard . . 4
Maupassant . 29
Maurice . . 16
Thomson (Basil) 26
Thurston . .21
Cahan . . 30
Griffiths . .21
Merriman . .16
Tire buck . -23
Caine (Hall) 10, 24, 27
Guerber . . 20
Michel . . 5
Tolstoy 15, 17, 29
Caine (R.) . .18
Guyau . .15
Mitford . . 28
Tree . . . 18
Calvert . .11
Hafiz. . . 18
Monk . . 30
Turgenev . . 31
Cambridge. . 27
Capes . .22
Hall ... 20
Hamilton . 23, 30
Moore . . 27
MQller . . 10
Tyler. . . 19
Underbill . . 16
Carr . . 24
Hammar . . 5
Murray (D.C.). 16
Upward . . 30
Chester . . 16
Hanus . . 20
Murray (G.) . 19
Vf y
alera . . 29
Chevrillon . .11
Clarke . . 32
Harland . . 28
Harris . . 24
Napoleon . . 6
Nicholson . . 4
Vandam . . 9
Vazoff . . 29
Coleridge . 6, 13
Hauptmann . 17
Nordau . 15, 23
Verrall . . 19
Colmore . 28, 30
Heaton . . 5
Norris . . 25
Vincent . .12
Colomb . . 16
Compayre' . . 20
Compton . -3
Conrad . . 22
Heine . 8, 14
Henderson . . 32
Henley . .17
Herford . . 19
Nugent . . 6
Ogilvie . -17
Oliphant . .16
Osbourne . . 25
Voynich . . 22
Vuillier . . 4
Wagner . .16
Waliszewski 6, 8
Cooper . . 26
Hertwig . 21
Ouida. . . 27
Walker . .9
Coppe'e . . 28
Couperus . . 29
Heussey . . 7
Hichens 22, 30
Paget. . . 6
Palacio-Valde*s . 29
Ward. . . 28
Warden . . 32
Crackanthorpe 24, 28
Hinsdale . . 20
Pasolini . . 7
Waugh . . 8
Crackanthorpe
(Mrs.). . 30
Hirsch . .15
Holdsworth 23, 30
Patmore . . 18
Pearce . 22, 26
Weitemeyer . 10
Wells . . 23. 32
Crane 18, 22, 30, 32
Howard . . 26
Pendered . -23
West . . .20
D'Annunzio . 22
Hughes . . 20
Pennell . . 9
Whibley . 7 8 18
Davidson . . 20
Hungerford . 27
Perry. . . 9
Whistler . . 14
Davis . . n, 22
Hyne. . . 25
Phelps . . 28
White . . 23
Dawson (C. A.) 18
Dawson, (A. J.) . 22
De Broghe . 10
De Goncourt . 7
De Joinville . 8
Ibsen . 17, 18
Ingersoll . .12
Irving (H. B.) . 6
Irving f Sir H.) . 18
Jacobsen . . 29
Philips . . 32
Pinero . 15, 17
Praed . . 22
Pressense* . . 6
Pritchard . . 24
Whitman . .10
Wilken . . 9
Williams (G.) . 10
Williams (E. E.) 14
Williams .
De Leval . . 21
De Quincey 6, 13
Dibbs . . 26
Dixon . . 25
Jaeger . . 7
James (Henry) . 24
James f Lionel) . 11
keary(E. M.) . 5
Pugh . . 26, 30
Quine . . 22
Raimond . 26, 30
Rawnsley . . 12
Wocd . 27
Wyckoff . . 12
Zangwill 16, 25, 26
Zola . . 26,27,
Dowden . . 19
Keary(C.F.) . 23
Raynor . . 15
Z.Z. . . .23
MR. HEINEMANN'S ANNOUNCEMENTS. 3
THE WORKS OF LORD BYRON.
EDITED BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY.
TO BE COMPLETED IN TWELVE VOLUMES.
The Letters, Diaries, Controversies, Speeches, &c., in Four,
and the Verse in Eight.
Small Crown 8vo, price 55. net each.
VOLUME I. IS NOW READY.
Vol. 1. LETTERS,i8o4-i8i3. With a Portrait after PHILLIPS.
To be followed by
Vol. V.-VERSE VOLUME I. Containing "Hours of Idleness,"
" English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," and " Childe Harold."
With a Portrait by HOLMES. [/ April.
" Mr. W. E. Henley is not only steeped to the lips in Byronic poetry, but he
has also a very familiar acquaintance with the remarkable characters who formed
' the Byronic set,' and he knows the manners and customs of the Regency epoch
lo an extent that gives him full mastery of his subject. There is originality in
the very form of this edition.
"He manages to give in a few vigorous sentences vivid sketches of the wide
circle of Byron's friends and enemies." Pall Mall Gazette.
"The first volume is delightfully handy and the type excellent."
ANDREW LANG.
" These Byron Letters (Vol. I.) Mr. Henley has annotated as never surely
Avere letters annotated before. His notes provide simply a complete series of
little biographies miniature biographies with such vital selection, such concise
completion without dry-as-dustness such interest as no other writer but Mr.
Henley could compass. It may fairly be said that he has discovered a new art,
the art of biographic cameos. . . . It is safe to say that henceforth the typical
edition of Byron can never be separated from these notes. In conclusion, if
1 yron has waited long for a heaven-sent editor, he has him at last."
Academy.
"Mr. Henley, so far as elucidation and illustration are concerned, is fully
equipped." A thenaum.
There will also be an Edition, limited to 150 sets for salt
in Great Britain, printed on Van Gelder's hand-made
paper, price Six Guineas net, subscriptions
for which are now being received.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
Htt ant) Decoration.
AN ALMANAC OF TWELVE SPORTS FOR 1898.
By WILLIAM NICHOLSON. Twelve Coloured Plates, each illustrating a
sport for the month. With accompanying Rhymes by RUDYARD KIPLING.
4to. In Three Editions. The Library Edition all sold.
The Popular Edition. Lithographed in Colours on stout Cartridge Paper.
Price 2S. 6d.
The Edition de Luxe (Limited). Printed from the Original Woodblocks.
Hand-coloured, and signed by the Artist. In Vellum Portfolio. Price
12 I2J. net.
AN ALPHABET. By WILLIAM NICHOLSON. 4to. In Three
Editions. The Popular Edition all sold.
The Library Edition (Limited). Lithographed in Colours on Dutch Hand-
made Paper, mounted on brown paper and bound in cloth, Gilt Edges.
Price i2S. 6d. net.
The Edition de Luxe (Limited). Printed from the Original Woodblocks.
Hand-coloured, and signed by the Artist. In Vellum Portfolio. Price
21 net,
PORTRAITS BY MR. NICHOLSON of HER MAJESTY
THE QUEEN, MADAME SARAH BERNHARDT, LORD ROBERTS, MR.
WHISTLER, MR. RUDYARD KIPLING, MR. CECIL RHODES, and PRINCE
BISMARCK, are now supplied separately, mounted on card for framing,
price 2s. (>d. net each.
** A feiu copies of each Portrait printed front the Original Woodblocks,.
Hand-coloured, and signed by the Artist, are still obtainable. Price 2 zs.
each net.
A HISTORY OF DANCING: From the Earliest Ages to
Our Own Times. From the French of GASTON VUILLIER. With 24.
Plates in Photogravure and 409 Illustrations in the Text. In One-
Volume, 410. Price 36^. net.
*+* Also 35 copies printed on Japanese vellum (containing 3 additional
Plates], with a duplicate set of the Plates on India paper for framing. Each'
copy numbered and signed, price 12 i2s. net.
MEISSONIER. His Life, and His Art. By VALLERY C. O.
GREARD, de 1' Academic Frangaise. Translated from the French by
LADY MARY LOYD and FLORENCE SIMMONDS. With 38 full-page plates,
20 in Photogravure and 18 in Colour, and 200 Text Illustrations. Imperial
8vo, i i6s. net.
ANTONIO ALLEGRI DA CORREGGIO: His Life, his
Friends, and his Time. By CORRADO RICCI, Director of the Royal
Gallery, Parma. Translated by FLORENCE SIMMONDS. With 16 Photo-
gravure Plates, 21 full-page Plates in Tint, and 190 Illustrations in the-
Text. Imperial 8vo, 2 2s. net. Also in 14 parts, price 25. td. each net.
** Also a special edition printed on Japanese vellum, limited to 100 copies,,
with duplicate plates on India paper. Price 12 125. net.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
REMBRANDT : His Life, his Work, and his Time. By EMILE
MICHEL, Member of the Institute of France. Translated by FLORENCE
SIMMONDS. Edited and Prefaced by FREDERICK WEDMORE. Second
Edition, Enlarged, with 76 full-page Plates, and 250 Illustrations in the
Text. In One Volume, Gilt top, or in Two Volumes, imperial 8vo
2 25. net.
*** A few copies of the EDITION DE LUXE of the First Edition, printed on
Japanese vellum -with India proof duplicates of the photogravures, are still on
sale, price 12 iw. net.
REMBRANDT. Seventeen of his Masterpieces from the collec-
tion of his Pictures in the Cassel Gallery. Reproduced in Photogravure
by the Berlin Photographic Company. With an Essay by FREDERICK
WEDMORE. In large portfolio 27^ inches x 20 inches.
The first twenty-five impressions of each plate are numbered and signed,
and of these only fourteen are for sale in England at the net price oj Twenty
Guineas the set. The Price of the impressions after the first twenty-five is
Twelve Guineas net, per set.
MASTERPIECES OF GREEK SCULPTURE. A Series
of Essays on the History of Art. By ADOLF FURTWANGLER. Authorised
Translation. Edited by EUGENIE SELLERS. With 19 full- page and 200
text Illustrations. Imperial 8vo, .3 3.?. net.
** A Iso an EDITION DE LUXE on Japanese vellum, limited to 50 numbered
copies in Two Volumes, price 10 los. net.
THE HOURS OF RAPHAEL, IN OUTLINE. Together
with the Ceiling of the Hall where they were originally painted. By
MARY E. WILLIAMS. Folio, cloth. 2 25. net.
BEAUTY AND ART. By ALDAM HEATON. Crown 8vo,
cloth, 6s.
A CATALOGUE OF THE ACCADEMIA DELLE
BELLE ARTI AT VENICE. With Biographical Notices of the
Painters and Reproductions of some of their Works. Edited by E. M.
KEARY. Crown 8vo, cloth, zs. 6d. net ; paper, zs. net.
A CATALOGUE OF THE MUSEO DEL PRADO AT
MADRID. Compiled by E. LAWSON. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3*. net ; paper,
2S. (d. net.
ANIMAL SYMBOLISM IN ECCLESIASTICAL
ARCHITECTURE. By E. P. EVANS. With a Bibliography and
Seventy-eight Illustrations, crown 8vo, gs.
MK. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
:JBfo0rapb t Correspondence, anfc
NEW LETTERS OF NAPOLEON I. Omitted from the
Edition published under the auspices of Napoleon III. Translated
from the French by LADY MARY LOYD. In One Volume, demy 8vo, with
Frontispiece, price 15.1. net.
THE PAGET PAPERS. Diplomatic and other Corres-
pondence of THE RIGHT HON. SIR ARTHUR PAGET, G.C.B., 1794-
1807. With two Appendices, 1808 and 1828-1829. Arranged and Edited
by his son, The Right Hon. SIR AUGUSTUS B. PAGET, G.C.B., late Her
Majesty's Ambassador in Vienna. With Notes by Mrs. J. R. GREEN.
New Edition with Index. In Two Volumes, demy 8vo, with Portraits,
32*. net.
DE QUINCEY MEMORIALS. Being Letters and other
Records here first Published, with Communications from COLERIDGE, the
WORDSWORTHS, HANNAH MORE, PROFESSOR WILSON, and others. Edited
with Introduction, Notes, and Narrative, by ALEXANDER H. JAPP, LL.D.,
F.R.S.E. In Two Volumes, demy 8vo, cloth, with Portraits, 30^. net.
LETTERS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
Edited by ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE. With 16 Portraits and Illus-
trations. In Two Volumes, demy 8vo, i izs.
THE LIFE OF NELSON. By ROBERT SOUTHEY. A
New Edition. Edited by DAVID HANNAY. Crown 8vo, gilt, with
Portraits of Lord Nelson after HOPPNER and Lady Hamilton after
ROMNEY, price 6s.
ROBERT, EARL NUGENT. A Memoir. By CLAUD
NUGENT. Demy 8vo, with a number of Portraits and other Illustra-
tions. \_Inpreparation,
THE LIFE OF JUDGE JEFFREYS. By H. B. IRVING,
M.A. Oxon. Demy 8vo, with Three Portraits and a Facsimile, 12*. 6W.net.
PETER THE GREAT. By K. WALISZEWSKI, Author of
" The Romance of an Empress," " The Story of a Throne." Translated
from the French by Lady MARY LOYD. With a Portrait. 8vo, cloth, 6s. ;
or Library Edition, in Two Volumes, 8vo, 28$.
CARDINAL MANNING. From the French of FRANCIS DR
PRESSENS& by E. INGALL. Crown 8vo, 5$.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
THE PALMY DAYS OF NANCE OLDFIELD. By
EDWARD ROBINS. With Twelve Illustrations, 8vo.
AS OTHERS SAW HIM. A Retrospect, A.D. 54. Crown
8vo, gilt top 6s.
BROTHER AND SISTER. A Memoir and the Letters of
ERNEST and HENRIETTE RENAN. Translated by Lady MARY
LOYD. Demy 8vo, with Two Portraits in Photogravure, and Four
Illustrations, 145.
CHARLES GOUNOD. Autobiographical Reminiscences with
Family Letters and Notes on Music. Translated by the Hon. W. HELY
HUTCHINSON. Demy Svo, with Portrait, IOT. 6d.
MEMOIRS. By CHARLES GODFREY LELAND (HANS BREIT-
MANN). Second Edition. Svo, with Portrait, price 7$. 6d.
EDMOND AND JULES DE GONCOURT. Letters and
Leaves from their Journals. Selected. In Two Volumes, 8vo, with
Eight Portraits, 32$.
ALEXANDER III. OF RUSSIA. By CHARLES LOWE,
M. A., Author of "Prince Bismarck: an Historical Biography." Crown
Svo, with Portrait in Photogravure, 6s.
PRINCE BISMARCK. An Historical Biography. By
CHARLES LOWE, M.A. With Portraits. Crown Svo, 6*.
CATHERINE SFORZA. A Study. By COUNT PASOLINI.
Adapted from the Italian by PAUL SYLVESTER. Demy Svo, with many
Illustrations. [In preparation.
VILLIERS DE L'ISLE ADAM: His Life and Works.
From the French of VICOMTE ROBERT DU PONTAVICE DE HEUSSEY.
By Lady MARY LOYD. With Portrait and Facsimile. Crown Svo, cloth,
10*. 6d.
THE LIFE OF HENRIK IBSEN. By HENRIK J^GER.
Translated by CLARA BELL. With the Verse done into English from the
Norwegian Original by EDMUND GOSSE. Crown Svo, cloth, 6s.
RECOLLECTIONS OF MIDDLE LIFE. By FRANCISQUE
SARCEY. Translated by E. L. CAREY. Svo, with Portrait, iof. 6d.
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN THE SECRET SERVICE.
The Recollections of a Spy. By Major HENRI LE CARON. With New
Preface. Svo, boards, price 2s. bd., or cloth, 3$. 6d.
** The Library Edition, with Portraits and Facsimiles, Svo, 14*., it stilt-
on sale.
STUDIES IN FRANKNESS. By CHARLES WHIBLEY.
Crown Svo, with Frontispiece, price js. 6d.
.-8 MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST,
.A BOOK OF SCOUNDRELS. By CHARLES WHIBLEY.
Crown 8vo, with Frontispiece, price 7$. 6d.
GREAT LIVES AND EVENTS.
Uniformly bound in cloth, 6s. each volume.
SIXTY YEARS OF EMPIRE : 1837-1897. A Review of
the Period. With over 70 Portraits and Diagrams.
RECOLLECTIONS OF COUNT LEO TOLSTOY.
Together with a Letter to the Women of France on the " Kreutzer
Sonata." By C. A. BEHRS. Translated from the Russian by C. E.
TURNER, English Lecturer in the University of St. Petersburg. With
Portrait.
THE FAMILY LIFE OF HEINRICH HEINE. Illus-
trated by one hundred and twenty-two hitherto unpublished letters ad-
dressed by him to different members of his family. Edited by his nephew,
Baron LUDWIG VON EMBDEN, and translated by CHARLES GODFREY
LELAND. With 4 Portraits.
THE NATURALIST OF THE SEA-SHORE. The Life
of Philip Henry Gosse. By his son, EDMUND GOSSE, Hon. M.A.,
Trinity College, Cambridge. With a Portrait.
MEMOIRS OF THE PRINCE DE JOINVILLE.
Translated from the French by Lady MARY LOYD. With 78 Illustrations
from drawings by the Author.
-ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. A Study of His Life and
Work. By ARTHUR WAUGH, B.A. Oxon. With Twenty Illustrations
from Photographs specially taken for this Work. Five Portraits, and
Facsimile of Tennyson's MS.
NAPOLEON AND THE FAIR SEX. From the French
of FREDERIC MASSON. With a Portrait.
PETER THE GREAT. By K. WALISZEWSKI. Translated
from the French by Lady MARY LOYD. With a Portrait.
THE STORY OF A THRONE. Catherine II. of Russia.
From the French of K. WALISZEWSKI. With a Portrait.
THE ROMANCE OF AN EMPRESS. Catherine II. of
Russia. From the French of K. WALISZEWSKI. With a Portrait.
A FRIEND OF THE QUEEN. Marie Antoinette and
Count Fersen. From the French of PAUL GAULOT. Two Portraits.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
THE WOMEN OF HOMER. By WALTER COPLAND
PERRY. With numerous Illustrations, large crown 8vo, 6s.
THE LOVE LETTERS OF MR. H. AND MISS R.
1775-1779. Edited by GILBERT BURGESS. Square crown 8vo, 5*.
LETTERS OF A BARITONE. By FRANCIS WALKER.
Square crown 8vo, 55.
LETTERS OF A COUNTRY VICAR. Translated from
the French of YVES LE QOERDEC. By M. GORDON HOLMES. Crown
8vo, 55.
ISRAEL AMONG THE NATIONS. Translated from the
French of ANATOLE LEROV-BEAULIEU, Member of the Institute of France.
Crown 8vo, 7$. 6d.
THE JEW AT HOME. Impressions of a Summer and
Autumn Spent with Him in Austria and Russia. By JOSEPH PENNELL.
With Illustrations by the Author. 410, cloth, 51
THE NEW EXODUS. A Study of Israel in Russia. By
HAROLD FREDERIC. Demy 8vo, Illustrated, ifo.
SPANISH PROTESTANTS IN THE SIXTEENTH
CENTURY, Compiled from Dr. Wilken's German Work. By RACHEL
CHALLICE. With an Introduction by the Most Rev. LORD PLUNKET,
late Archbishop of Dublin, and a Preface by the Rev. Canon FLEMING.
Crown 8vo, 4*. 6d. net.
QUEEN JOANNA I. OF NAPLES, SICILY, AND
JERUSALEM ; Countess of Provence, Forcalquier, and Piedmont. An
Essay on her Times. By ST. CLAIR BADDELEY. Imperial 8vo, with
numerous Illustrations, i6s.
CHARLES III. OF NAPLES AND URBAN VI.; also
CECCO D'ASCOLI, Poet, Astrologer, Physican. Two Historical Essay?.
By ST. CLAIR BADDELEY. With Illustrations, 8vo, cloth, los. 6d.
ROBERT THE WISE AND HIS HEIRS, 1278-1352.
By ST. CLAIR BADDELEY. 8vo, sis.
MY PARIS NOTE-BOOK. By ALBERT D. VANDAM, Author
of " An Englishman in Paris." Demy 8vo, price 6s.
UNDERCURRENTS OF THE SECOND EMPIRE.
By ALBERT D. VANDAM. Demy 8vo, cloth, 7*. 6d. net.
A 2
io MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
STUDIES IN DIPLOMACY. By Count BENEDETTI, French
Ambassador at the Court of Berlin. Demy 8vo, with a Portrait, IQS. 6d.
AN AMBASSADOR OF THE VANQUISHED.
Viscount Elie De Gontaut-Biron's Mission to Berlin, 1871-1877. From
his Diaries and Memoranda. By the DUKE DE BROGLIE. Translated
with Notes by ALBERT D. VANDAM. In One Volume, 8vo, los. 6d.
A HISTORY OF THE LIVERPOOL PRIVATEERS,
and Letters of Marque ; with an account of the Liverpool Slave Trade.
By GOMER WILLIAMS. In One Volume, demy 8vo, price izs. net.
THE CASTLES OF ENGLAND: their Story and Structure,,
By Sir JAMES D. MACKENZIE, Bart. Dedicated by gracious permission
to H.M. the Queen. In Two Volumes, Imperial 8vo, with 40 full-page
Plates, and over 150 Illustrations in the Text and many Plans. Price
3 3*. net.
KRUPP'S STEEL WORKS. By Professor F. C. G. MULLER.
With 88 Illustrations. Authorised Translation. 410, price 25$. net.
THE LITTLE MANX NATION. (Lectures delivered at
the Royal Institution, 1891.) By HALL CAINE, Author of "The Bond-
man," " The Scapegoat," &c. Crown 8vo, cloth, 35. 6d.; paper, 25. 6d.
DENMARK: its History, Topography, Language, Literature.
Fine Arts, Social Life, and Finance. Edited by H. WEITEMEYER. Demy
8vo, cloth, with Map, IM. 6d.
*** Dedicated, by permission, to H.R.H. the Princess of Wales.
THE REALM OF THE HABSBURGS. By SIDNEY
WHITMAN, Author of " Imperial Germany." Crown 8vo, 7$. 6d.
IMPERIAL GERMANY. A Critical Study of Fact and
Character. By SIDNEY WHITMAN. New Edition, Revised and Enlarged.
Crown 8vo, cloth, zs. 6d.\ paper, zs.
THE GENESIS OF THE UNITED STATES. A.
Narrative of the Movement in England, 1605-1616, which resulted in the
Plantation of North America by Englishmen, disclosing the Contest
between England and Spain for the Possession of the Soil now occupied
by the United States of America ; set forth through a series of Historical
Manuscripts now first printed, together with a Re-issue of Rare Contem-
poraneous Tracts, accompanied by Bibliographical Memoranda, Notes,
and Brief Biographies. Collected, Arranged, and Edited by ALEXANDER
BROWN, F .R.H.S. With 100 Portraits, Maps, and Plans. In Two Volumes,,
royal 8vo, buckram, ^3 13*. 6d. net
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST. ir
Uravel anfc Htwenture.
THE INDIAN FRONTIER WAR. Being an Account of
the Mohmund and Tirah Expeditions, 1897. By LIONEL JAMES, Special
Correspondent for Reuter's Agency and Artist for the Graphic. With 32
full-page Illustrations from Drawings by the Author, and Photographs,
and 10 Plans and Maps. 8vo, price 7*. 6d.
CUBA IN WARTIME. By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS, Author
of "Soldiers of Fortune." With numerous Illustrations by FREDERIC
REMINGTON. Crown 8vo, price 3$. 6d.
UNDER THE DRAGON FLAG. My Experiences in
the Chino- Japanese War. By JAMES ALLAN. Crown 8vo, 2J.
MY FOURTH TOUR IN WESTERN AUSTRALIA.
By ALBERT F. CALVERT, F.R.G.S. 4to, with many Illustrations and
Photographs, price zis. net.
ROMANTIC INDIA. By ANDRE CHEVRILLON. Translated
from the French by WILLIAM MARCHANT. 8vo, 7$. 6d. net.
THE OUTGOING TURK. Impressions of a Journey through
the Western Balkans. By H. C. THOMSON, Author of "The Chitral
Campaign." Demy 8vo, with Illustrations from Original Photographs^
Price 145. net.
THE CHITRAL CAMPAIGN. A Narrative of Events in
Chitral, Swat, and Bajour. By H. C. THOMSON. With over 50 Illustra-
tions reproduced from Photographs, and important Diagrams and Map.
Second Edition, demy 8vo, 14$. tut.
WITH THE ZHOB FIELD FORCE, 1890. By Captain
CRAWFORD McFALL, K.O. Y.L.I. Demy 8vo, with Illustrations, i8.y.
THE LAND OF THE MUSKEG. By H. SOMERS SOMERSET.
Second Edition. Demy 8vo, with Maps and over 100 Illustrations, 280 pp.,.
14^. net.
TIMBUCTOO THE MYSTERIOUS. By FELIX DUBOIS.
Translated from the French by DIANA WHITE. With 153 Illustrations
from Photographs and Drawings made on the spot, and Eleven Maps and
Plans. Demy 8vo, 12*. 6*/.
RHODESIA PAST AND PRESENT. By S. J. Du ToiT.
In One Volume, 8vo, with Sixteen full-page Illustrations, 7$. 6d.
THE NEW AFRICA. A Journey up the Chob<$ and down the
Okovanga Rivers. By AUREL SCHULZ, M.D., and AUGUST HAMMAR,
C.E. In One Volume, Demy 8vo, with Illustrations, a&r.
12 MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST,
ACTUAL AFRICA ; or, The Coming Continent. A Tour of
Exploration. By FRANK VINCENT, Author of " The Land of the White
Elephant." With Map and over 100 Illustrations, demy 8vo, cloth, price
24^.
COREA, OR CHO-SEN, THE LAND OF THE MORN-
ING CALM. By A. HENRY SAVAGE-LANDOR. With 38 Illustrations
from Drawings by the Author, and a Portrait, demy 8vo, iBs.
JNOTES FOR THE NILE. Together with a Metrical
Rendering of the Hymns of Ancient Egypt and of the Precepts of Ptah-
hotep (the oldest book in the world). By HARDWICKE D. RAWNSLEY, M. A.
Imperial i6mo, cloth, 5$.
IN THE TRACK OF THE SUN. Readings from the Diary
of a Globe-Trotter. By FREDERICK DIODATI THOMPSON. With many
Illustrations by Mr. HARRY FENN and from Photographs. 4to, 25^.
THE WORKERS. An Experiment in Reality. The East.
By WALTER A. WYCKOFF. Crown 8vo, price $s. 64.
THE CANADIAN GUIDE-BOOK. Parti. The Tourist's
and Sportsman's Guide to Eastern Canada and Newfoundland, including full
descriptions of Routes, Cities, Points of Interest, Summer Resorts, Fishing
Places, &c., in Eastern Ontario, The Muskoka District, The St. Lawrence
Region, The Lake St. John Country, The Maritime Provinces, Prince
Edward Island, and Newfoundland. With an Appendix giving Fish and
Game Laws, and Official Lists of Trout and Salmon Rivers and their
Lessees. By CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS, Professor of English Literature in
King's College, Windsor, N.S. With Maps and many Illustrations.
Crown 8vo, limp cloth, 6s.
THE CANADIAN GUIDE-BOOK. Part II. WESTERN
CANADA. Including the Peninsula and Northern Regions of Ontario,
the Canadian Snores of the Great Lakes, the Lake of the Woods Region,
Manitoba and "The Great North- West," The Canadian Rocky Mountains
and National Park, British Columbia, and Vancouver Island. By ERNEST
INGERSOLL. With Maps and many Illustrations. Crown 8vo, limp cloth, 6s.
THE GUIDE-BOOK TO ALASKA AND THE NORTH-
WEST COAST, including the Shores of Washington, British Columbia,
South-Eastern Alaska, the Aleutian and the Sea Islands, the Behring
and the Arctic Coasts. By E. R. SCIDMORE. With Maps and many
Illustrations. Crown 8\o, limp cloth, 6s.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST. 13.
anfc Belles SLettres,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. A Critical Study. By
GEORGE BRANDES, Ph.D. Translated from the Danish by WILLIAM
ARCHER, DIANA WHITE, and MARY MORISON. In Two Volumes, rox
burgh, gilt top, or buckram uncut, demy 8vo, 24$.
SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY STUDIES. A Contribu-
tion to the History of English Poetry. By EDMUND GOSSE, Clark
Lecturer on English Literature at the University of Cambridge ; Hon.
M.A. of Trinity College, Cambridge. A New Edition. Crown 8vo,
buckram, gilt top, -js. 6d.
CRITICAL KIT-KATS. By EDMUND GOSSE. Crown 8vo,
buckram, gilt top, 7$. 6d.
QUESTIONS AT ISSUE. Essays. By EDMUND GOSSE.
Crown 8vo, buckram, gilt top, 7^. 6d.
*+* A Limited Edition on Large Paper, 25*. net.
GOSSIP IN A LIBRARY. By EDMUND GOSSE. Third
Edition. Crown 8vo, buckram, gilt top, 7$. 6d.
%* A Limited Edition on Large Paper, 25$. net.
CORRECTED IMPRESSIONS. Essays on Victorian Writers.
By GEORGE SAINTSBURY. Crown 8vo, gilt top, js. 6ct.
ANIMA POET^B. From the unpublished note-books of SAMUEL
TAYLOR COLERIDGE. Edited by ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE. Crown
8vo, js. 6d.
ESSAYS. By ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON, of Eton College.
Crown 8vo, buckram, 7*. 6d.
A COMMENTARY ON THE WORKS OF HENRIK
IBSEN. By HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN. Crown 8vo, cloth, 7*. 6d. net.
THE POSTHUMOUS WORKS OF THOMAS DE
QUINCEY. Edited, with Introduction and Notes from the Author's
Original MSS., by ALEXANDER H. JAPP, LL.D., F.R.S.E., &c. Crown
8vo, cloth, 6s. each.
I. SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS. With other Essays.
II. CONVERSATION AND COLERIDGE. With other
Essays.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
THE PROSE WORKS OF HEINRICH HEINE.
Translated by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, M.A., F.R.L.S. (HANS
BREITMANN). In Eight Volumes.
The Library Edition, in crown 8vo, cloth, at 55. per Volume. Each Volume of
this edition is sold separately. The Cabinet Edition, in special binding,
boxed, price 2 IOT. the set. The Large Paper Edition, limited to 50
Numbered Copies, price 15$. per Volume net, will only be supplied to
subscribers for the Complete Work.
I. FLORENTINE NIGHTS, SCHNABELEWOPSKI,
THE RABBI OF BACHARACH, and SHAKE-
SPEARE'S MAIDENS AND WOMEN.
II., III. PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 1823-1828.
IV. THE SALON. Letters on Art, Music, Popular Life,
and Politics.
V., VI. GERMANY.
VII., VIII. FRENCH AFFAIRS. Letters from Paris
1832, and Lutetia.
THE COMING TERROR. And other Essays and Letters.
By ROBERT BUCHANAN. Second Edition. Demy 8vo, cloth, 125. 6d.
THE GENTLE ART OF MAKING ENEMIES. As
pleasingly exemplified in many instances, wherein the serious ones of
this earth, carefully exasperated, have been prettily spurred on to
indiscretions and unseemliness, while overcome by an undue sense
of right By J, M'NEILL WHISTLER. A New Edition.
[In preparation.
%* A few copies of the large paper issue of the first edition remain, price
,;i its. 6d. net.
AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. From a French
Point of View. In one volume. Crown 8vo, 3$. 6d.
" MADE IN GERMANY." Reprinted with Additions from
The New Review. By ERNEST E. WILLIAMS. Crown 8vo, cloth, zs. 6d.
Also Popular Edition, paper covers, is.
THE FOREIGNER IN THE FARMYARD. By ERNEST
E. WILLIAMS, Author of " Made in Germany." Crown 8vo, zs. 6d.
THE LABOUR MOVEMENT IN AMERICA. By
RICHARD T. ELY, Ph.D., Associate in Political Economy, Johns Hopkins
University. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5$.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST. 15
PARADOXES. By MAX NORDAU, Author of " Degeneration,"
"Conventional Lies of our Civilisation," &c. Translated by J. R.
MclLRAiTH. With an Introduction by the Author written for this
Edition. Demy 8vo, 17*. net.
CONVENTIONAL LIES OF OUR CIVILIZATION.
By MAX NORDAU, author of " Degeneration." Second English Edition.
Demy 8vo, 17*. net.
DEGENERATION. By MAX NORDAU. Ninth English
Edition. Demy 8vo, ijs. net.
GENIUS AND DEGENERATION : A Psychological Study.
By Dr. WILLIAM HIRSCH. Translated from the Second German Edition,
Demy 8vo, 17$. net.
THE NON-RELIGION OF THE FUTURE. From the
French of MARIE JEAN GUYAU. In One Volume, demy 8vo, 17.*. net.
STUDIES OF RELIGIOUS HISTORY. By ERNEST
RENAN, late of the French Academy. 8vo, 7$. 6d.
THE PASSION PLAY AT OBERAMMERGAU, 1890.
By F. W. FARRAR, D.D., F.R.S., Dean of Canterbury, &c. &c. 410,
cloth, zs. 6d.
THE WORD OF THE LORD UPON THE WATERS.
Sermons read by His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Germany, while
at Sea on his Voyages to the Land of the Midnight Sun. Composed by
Dr. RICHTER, Army Chaplain, and Translated from the German by JOHN
R. MclLRAiTH. 410, cloth, as. 6d.
THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS WITHIN YOU.
Christianity not as a Mystic Religion but as a New Theory of Life. By
Count LEO TOLSTOY. Translated from the Russian by CONSTANCB
GARNETT. Popular Edition cloth, 2*. 6d.
THE SPINSTER'S SCRIP. As Compiled by CECIL
RAYNOR. Narrow crown 8vo, limp cloth, 25. 6d.
THE PINERO BIRTHDAY BOOK. Selected and arranged
by MYRA HAMILTON. With a Portrait. i6mo, cloth, as. 6d.
THE POCKET IBSEN. A Collection of some of the Master's
best known Dramas, condensed, revised, and slightly rearranged for the
benefit of the Earnest Student By F. ANSTEY, Author of "Vice Versa,"
"Voces Populi," &c. With Illustrations reproduced, by permission,
from Punch, and a new Frontispiece by BERNARD PARTRIDGE. New
Edition. i6mo, cloth, 3$. 6d. ; or paper, zs. 6d.
1 6 MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
FROM WISDOM COURT. By HENRY SETON MERRIMAN
and STEPHEN GRAHAM TALLENTYRE. With 30 Illustrations by
E. COURBOIN. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3$. 6d. ; or picture boards, 25.
THE OLD MAIDS' CLUB. By I. ZANGWILL, Author of
" Children of the Ghetto," &c. Illustrated by F. H. TOWNSEND. Crown
8vo, cloth, 3$. 6d. ; or picture boards, zs.
WOMAN THROUGH A MAN'S EYEGLASS. By
MALCOLM C. SALAMAN. With Illustrations by DUDLEY HARDY. Crowa
8vo, cloth, 3$. 6d. ; or picture boards, zs.
STORIES OF GOLF. Collected by WILLIAM KNIGHT and
T. T. OLIPH ANT. With Rhymes on Golf by various hands ; also Shake-
speare on Golf, &c. Enlarged Edition. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, zs. 6d.
THE ROSE : A Treatise on the Cultivation, History, Family
Characteristics, &c., of the various Groups of Roses. With Accurate
Description of the Varieties now Generally Grown. By H. B. ELL-
w ANGER. With an Introduction by GEORGE H. ELLW ANGER. i2mo,
cloth, 5s.
THE GARDEN'S STORY; or, Pleasures and Trials of an
Amateur Gardener. By G. H. ELLWANGER. With an Introduction by the
Rev. C. WOLLEY DOD. 12010, cloth, with Illustrations, 55.
GIRLS AND WOMEN. By E. CHESTER. Pot 8vo, cloth,
2S. 6d., or gilt extra, 3^. 6d.
DRIVING FOR PLEASURE; or, The Harness Stable and
its Appointments. By FRANCIS T. UNDERBILL. Illustrated with One
Hundred and Twenty-four full-page Plates. Imperial 8vo, buckram
sides, leather back, pi ice 28^. net.
CONTENTS. What Constitutes Good Form in Equipage General Appoint-
ments Coaching Four-in-hand Tandem Horses Coachmen Harness and
Harnessing Driving Liveries, Horse Clothing, etc. The Stable Suggestions
to the Inexperienced Bits and Bitting The Use of Bearing Reins Carriages.
MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND OBSERVANCES: Their
Origin and Signification. By LEOPOLD WAGNER. Crown 8vo, 6s.
THE GREAT WAR OF 189-. A Forecast. By Rear-
Admiral COLOMB, Col. MAURICE, R.A., Captain MAUDE, ARCHIBALD
FORBES, CHARLES LOWE, D. CHRISTIE MURRAY, and F. SCUDAMORB.
Second Edition. In One Volume, large Svo, with numerous Illus
trations, 6s.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST. 17
Dramatic ^Literature*
THE PLAYS OF W. E. HENLEY AND R. L. STEVEN-
SON. Crown 8vo, cloth. An Edition of 250 copies only, IOT. &/. net,
or separately, i6mo, cloth, 25. 6d. each, or paper, is. 6d.
DEACON BRODIE. I ADMIRAL GUINEA.
BEAU AUSTIN. | MACAIRE.
THE PLAYS OF ARTHUR W. PINERO. Paper covers,
is. 6d. ; or cloth, zs. (>d. each.
THE TIMES.
THE PROFLIGATE.
THE CABINET MINISTER.
THE HOBBY HORSE.
LADY BOUNTIFUL.
THE MAGISTRATE.
DANDY DICK.
SWEET LAVENDER.
THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS.
THE WEAKER SEX.
THE AMAZONS.
THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBB-
SMITH.
THE BENEFIT OF THE
DOUBT.
THE SECOND
MRS. TANQUERAY.
%* This play can be had in Lib-
rary form, 4to, cloth. With a Portrait
of the Author.
The above 14 Volumes are now uniformly bound in Leather^ in case, price on
application. In preparation.
THE PRINCESS AND THE BUTTERFLY.
THE PLAYS OF HENRIK IBSEN. Small 410, cloth 5*.
each, or paper covers, is. 6d. each.
JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN. I *THE MASTER BUILDER.
LITTLE EYOLF. | *HEDDA GABLER.
* Also a Limited Large Paper Edition^ zis. net.
BRAND : A Dramatic Poem in Five Acts. By HENRIK IBSEN.
Translated in the original metres, wilh an Introduction and Notes, by
C. H. HERFORD. Small 410, cloth, 7$. 6d.
THE PLAYS OF GERHART HAUPTMANN.
HANNELE. Small 410, with Portrait, 5*.
In preparation.
LONELY LIVES. | THE WEAVERS.
THE PRINCESS MALEINE : A Drama in Five Acts
(Translated by GERARD HARRY), and THE INTRUDER : A Drama iti
One Act. By MAURICE MAETERLINCK. With an Introduction by HALL
CAINH, and a Portrait of the Author. Small 410, cloth, 5*.
THE FRUITS OF ENLIGHTENMENT: A Comedy in
Four Acts. By Count LYOK TOLSTOY. Translated from the Russian by
E. J. DILLON. With Introduction by A. W. PINERO. Small 410, with
Portrait, 55.
KING ERIK; A Tragedy. By EDMUND GOSSE. A Re-issue,
with a Critical Introduction by Mr. THEODORE WATTS. Fcap. 8vo,
boards, 55. net.
THE PIPER OF HAMELIN: A Fantastic Opera in Two
Acts. By ROBERT BUCHANAN. With Illustrations by HUGH THOMSON.
4to, cloth, zs. 6d. net.
HYPATIA. A Play in Four Acts. Founded on CHARLES
KINGSLEY'S Novel. By G. STUART OGILVIE. With Frontispiece by
J. D. BATTEN. Crown 8vo, cloth, printed in Red and Black, zs. 6d. net.
18 MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
THE DRAMA: ADDRESSES. By HENRY IRVING. With
Portrait by J. McN. WHISTLER. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo, 3*. 6d.
SOME INTERESTING FALLACIES OF THE
Modern Stage. An Address delivered to the Playgoers' Club at St.
James's Hall, on Sunday, 6th December, 1891. By HERBERT BEERBOHM
TREE. Crown 8vo, sewed, 6d. net.
poetry
.'POEMS FROM THE DIVAN OF HAFIZ. Translated
from the Persian by GERTRUDE LOWTHIAN BELL. Small crown 8vo
price 6s.
A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS OF WILFRID
SCAWEN BLUNT. With an Introduction by W. E. HENLEV. Crown
8vo, price 6s.
ON VIOL AND FLUTE. By EDMUND GOSSE. Tcap. 8vo,
with Frontispiece and Tailpiece, price y. 6d. net.
FIRDAUSI IN EXILE, and other Poems. By EDMUND
GOSSE. Fcap. 8vo, with Frontispiece, price 3$. 6d. net.
;IN RUSSET AND SILVER. POEMS. By EDMUND
GOSSE. Author of " Gossip in a Library," etc. Fcap 8vo, price 3$. 6d.
net.
THE POETRY OF PATHOS AND DELIGHT. From
the Works of COVENTRY PATMORE. Passages selected by ALICE MEY-
NELL. With a Photogravure Portrait from an Oil Painting by JOHN
SARGENT, A.R.A. Fcap. 8vo, 55.
.A CENTURY OF GERMAN LYRICS. Translated from
the German by KATE FREILIGRATH KROEKER. Fcap. 8vo, rough
edges, 33. 6d.
LOVE SONGS OF ENGLISH POETS, 1500-1800.
With Notes by RALPH H. CAINE. Fcap. 8vo, rough edges, 35. 6d.
*** Large Paper Edition, limited to 100 Copies^ los. 6d. net.
.IN CAP AND GOWN. Three Centuries of Cambridge Wit.
Edited by CHARLES WHIBLEY. Third Edition, with a New Introduction,
and a Frontispiece, crown 8vo, 3$. 6d. net.
IVY AND PASSION FLOWER: Poems. By GERARD
BENDALL, Author of " Estelle," &c. &c. 121110, cloth, 3$. 6d,
VERSES. By GERTRUDE HALL. I2mo, cloth, $s. 6d.
IDYLLS OF WOMANHOOD. By C. AMY DAWSON.
Fcap. 8vo, gilt top, 55.
TENNYSON'S GRAVE. By ST. CLAIR BADDELEY. 8vo
paper, is.
THE BLACK RIDERS. And Other Lines. By STEPHEN
CRANE, Author of "The Red Badge of Courage." i6mo, leather, gilt
top, 3^. net.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST. 19
Education an& Science;
LITERATURES OF THE WORLD.
A SERIES OF SHORT HISTORIES.
EDITED BY EDMUND GOSSE.
Each Volume Large Crown 8vo, Cloth 6s.
A HISTORY OF ANCIENT GREEK LITERATURE.
By GILBERT MURRAY, M.A., Professor of Greek in the University
of Glasgow.
A HISTORY OF FRENCH LITERATURE. By EDWARD
DOWDEN, D.C.L., LL.D., Professor of Oratory and English
Literature in the University of Dublin.
A HISTORY OF MODERN ENGLISH LITERATURE.
By the EDITOR, Hon. M. A. of Trinity College, Cambridge.
A HISTORY OF ITALIAN LITERATURE. By RICHARD
GARNETT, C.B., LL.D., Keeper of Printed Books in the British
Museum.
The following are already arranged for :
A HISTORY OF SPANISH LITERATURE. By J. FITZ-
MAURICE-KELLY, Corresponding Member of the Spanish Academy.
A HISTORY OF JAPANESE LITERATURE. By
WILLIAM GEORGE ASTON, C.M.G., M.A., late Acting Secretary
at the British Legation at Tokio.
A HISTORY OF MODERN SCANDINAVIAN LITER-
ATURE. By GEORGE BRANDES, of Copenhagen.
A HISTORY OF SANSKRIT LITERATURE. By
A. A. MACDONELL, M.A., Deputy Boden Professor of Sanskrit
at the University of Oxford.
A HISTORY OF HUNGARIAN LITERATURE. By
Dr. ZOLTAN BEOTHY, Professor of Hungarian Literature at the
University of Budapest, and Secretary of the Kisfaludy Society.
A HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. By Pro-
fessor MOSES COIT TYLER.
A HISTORY OF GERMAN LITERATURE. By Dr.
C H. HERFORD, Professor of English Literature in the University
of Wales.
A HISTORY OF LATIN LITERATURE. By Dr. A. W.
VERRALL, Fellow and Senior Tutor of Trinity College,
Cambridge.
A HISTORY OF BOHEMIAN LITERATURE. By
FRANCIS COUNT LUTZOW.
Volumes dealing with RUSSIAN, ARABIC, DUTCH, MODERN GREEK,
and other Literatures will follow in due course.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
TOe Great JEtwcators,
A Series of Volumes by Eminent Writers, presenting in their
entirety "A Biographical History of Education?
Each, subject will form a cpmplete volume, crown 8vo, 5*.
Now ready.
ARISTOTLE, and the Ancient Educational Ideals. By
THOMAS DAVIDSON, M.A., LL.D.
The Times. "A very readable sketch of a very interesting subject."
LOYOLA, and the Educational System of the Jesuits, By
Rev. THOMAS HUGHES, S.J.
ALCUIN, and the Rise of the Christian Schools. By
Professor ANDREW F. WEST, Ph.D.
FROEBEL, and Education by Self- Activity. By H. COURT-
HOPE BOWEN, M.A.
ABELARD, and the Origin and Early History of Uni-
versities. By JULES GABRIEL COMPAYRB, Professor in the Faculty of
Toulouse.
HERBART AND THE HERBARTIANS. By Prof. DE
GARMO.
THOMAS AND MATTHEW ARNOLD, and their In-
fluence on English Education. By Sir JOSHUA FITCH, M.A., LL.D.,
formerly Her Majesty's Inspector of Training Colleges.
HORACE MANN, and the Common School Revival in
the United States. By B. A. HINSDALE, Ph.D., LL.D.
In preparation.
ROUSSEAU ; and, Education according to Nature. By
PAUL H. HANUS.
PESTALOZZI; or, the Frieni and Student of Children.
THE STORY OF THE GREEKS. By H. A. GUERBER.
Crown 8vo, with Illustrations. 33. 6d.
THE STORY OF THE ROMANS. By H. A. GUERBER.
Crown 8vo.
ARABIC AUTHORS: A Manual of Arabian History and
Literature. By F. F. ARBUTHNOT, M.R.A.S., Author of " Early Ideas,"
"Persian Portraits," &c. 8vo, cloth, jy.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST. 21
EVOLUTIONAL ETHICS AND ANIMAL PSYCH-
ology. By E. P. EVANS. Crown 8vo, gs.
MOVEMENT. Translated from the French of E. MAREY.
By ERIC PRITCHARD, M.A., M.B., Oxon. In One Volume, crown 8vo,
with 170 Illustrations, ^s. 6d.
LUMEN. By CAMILLE FLAMMARION. Authorised Translation
from the French by A. A. M. and R. M. With portions of the last
chapter written specially for this edition. Crown 8vo, 3^. 6d.
THE SPEECH OF MONKEYS. By Professor R. L.
GARNER. Crown 8vo, 7*. 6d
HEINEMANN'S SCIENTIFIC HANDBOOKS.
THE BIOLOGICAL PROBLEM OF TO-DAY: Pre-
formation or Epigenesis? Authorised Translation from the German of
Prof. Dr. OSCAR HERTWIG, of the University of Berlin. By P. CHALMERS
MITCHELL, M.A., Oxon. With a Preface by the Translator. Crown 8vo.
35. 6d.
MANUAL OF BACTERIOLOGY. By A. B. GRIFFITHS,
Ph.D., F.R.S. (Edin.), F.C.S. Crown 8yo, cloth, Illustrated. 7 s. 6d.
Pharmaceutical Journai. "The subject is treated more thoroughly and
-completely than in any similar work published in this country."
MANUAL OF ASSAYING GOLD, SILVER, COPPER,
and Lead Ores. By WALTER LEE BROWN, B.Sc. Revised, Corrected,
and considerably Enlarged, with a chapter on the Assaying of Fuel, &c.
By A. B. GRIFFITHS, Ph.D., F.R.S. (Edin.), F.C.S. Crown 8vo, cloth.
Illustrated, 7*. 6d.
GEODESY. By J. HOWARD GORE. Crown 8vo, cloth, Illus-
trated, fyS.
THE PHYSICAL PROPERTIES OF GASES. By
ARTHUR L. KIMBALL, of the Johns Hopkins University. Crown 8vo,
cloth, Illustrated, 5*.
HEAT AS A FORM OF ENERGY. By Professor R. H.
THURSTON, of Cornell University. Crown 8vo, cloth, Illustrated, 5.1.
A SHORT TREATISE OF BELGIAN LAW AND
Legal Procedure. From a Practical Standpoint, for the Guidance of
British Traders, Patentees, and Bankers, and British Residents in Belgium.
By GASTON DE LEVAL. Fcap. 8vo, paper, is. 6d.
PRISONERS ON OATH, PRESENT AND FUTURE.
By Sir HERBERT STEPHEN, Bart. 8vo, boards, is. net.
THE ARBITRATpR'S MANUAL. Under the London
Chamber of Arbitration. Being a Practical Treatise on the Power and
Duties of an Arbitrator, with the Rules and Procedure of the Court of
Arbitration, and the Forms. By JOSEPH SEYMOUR SALAMAN, Author of
" Trade Marks," &c. Fcap. 8vo, 3*. 6d.
22 MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
ffiction popular 60, IRovels.
THE SCOURGE-STICK. By Mrs. CAMPBELL PRAED.
THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH. By GABRIELE D'ANNUN-
ZIO.
THE DULL MISS ARCHINARD. By ANNE D. SEDGWICK,
THE BROOM OF THE WAR-GOD. By H. N. BRAILS-
FORD.
GOD'S FOUNDLING. By A. J. DAWSON.
THE NIGGER OF THE "NARCISSUS." By JOSEPH
CONRAD.
EQUALITY. By EDWARD BELLAMY, Author of "Looking;
Backward."
SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE. By RICHARD HARDING-
DAVIS.
THE THIRD VIOLET. By STEPHEN CRANE.
THE OPEN BOAT. By STEPHEN CRANE.
A ROMANCE OF THE FIRST CONSUL. By MATILDA,
MALLING.
THE MINISTER OF STATE. By J. A. STEUART.
THE LAKE OF WINE. By BERNARD CAPES.
EZEKIEL'S SIN. By J. H. PEARCE.
A CHAMPION IN THE SEVENTIES. By Edith A.-
BARNETT.
THE FOURTH NAPOLEON. By CHARLES BENHAM.
THE GADFLY. By E. L. VOYNICH.
THE CAPTAIN OF THE PARISH. By JOHN QUINE.
THE LONDONERS: An Absurdity. By ROBERT HICHENS.
FLAMES. By ROBERT HICHENS.
THE FOLLY OF EUSTACE. By ROBERT HICHENS.
AN IMAGINATIVE MAN. By ROBERT HICHENS.
THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT. By HALLIWELL
SUTCLIFFE.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST. 23;
ffictfon. popular 60. IRovels.
GLORIA MUNDI. By HAROLD FREDERIC. [In preparation.
ILLUMINATION. By HAROLD FREDERIC.
HERBERT VANLENNERT. By C. F. KEARY.
ANDREA. By PERCY WHITE.
CORRUPTION. By PERCY WHITE.
MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. By PERCY WHITE. With Portrait.
THE FREEDOM OF HENRY MEREDYTH. By M.
HAMILTON.
McLEOD OF THE CAMERONS. By M. HAMILTON.
A SELF-DENYING ORDINANCE. By M. HAMILTON.
THE DRONES MUST DIE. By MAX NORDAU.
THE MALADY OF THE CENTURY. By MAX NORDAU.
A COMEDY OF SENTIMENT. By MAX NORDAU.
THE WAR OF THE WORLDS. By H. G. WELLS.
THE ISLAND OF DOCTOR MOREAU. By H.G. WELLS.
THE GODS ARRIVE. By ANNIE E. HOLDSWORTH.
THE YEARS THAT THE LOCUST HATH EATEN.
By ANNIE E. HOLDSWORTH.
IN HASTE AND AT LEISURE. By Mrs. LYNN LINTON,
Author of " Joshua Davidson," &c.
CLEO THE MAGNIFICENT. By Z. Z.
THE WORLD AND A MAN. By Z. Z.
A DRAMA IN DUTCH. By Z. Z.
BENEFITS FORGOT. By WOLCOTT BALESTIER.
A PASTORAL PLAYED OUT. By M. L. TENDERED.
CHIMERA. By F. MABEL ROBINSON.
MISS GRACE OF ALL SOULS'. ByW. EDWARDS TIRE-
BUCK.
24 MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
jfiction. popular 65* IRovels.
A SUPERFLUOUS WOMAN. By EMMA BROOKE.
TRANSITION. By the Author of " A Superfluous Woman."
LIFE THE ACCUSER. The Author of "A Superfluous
Woman."
COTTAGE FOLK. By Mrs. COMYNS CARR.
WITHOUT SIN. By MARTIN J. PRITCHARD.
WHAT MAISIE KNEW. By HENRY JAMES.
THE OTHER HOUSE. By HENRY JAMES.
THE SPOILS OF POYNTON. By HENRY JAMES.
EMBARRASSMENTS. By HENRY JAMES.
TERMINATIONS. By HENRY JAMES.
THE FAILURE OF SIBYL FLETCHER. By ADELINE
SERGEANT.
OUT OF DUE SEASON. By ADELINE SERGEANT.
LAST STUDIES. By HUBERT CRACKANTHORPE. With an
Introduction by Mr. HENRY JAMES, and a Portrait.
SENTIMENTAL STUDIES. By HUBERT CRACKANTHORPE.
SAINT IVES. By ROBERT Louis STEVENSON.
THE EBB-TIDE. By ROBERT Louis STEVENSON and LLOYD
OSBOURNE.
THE CHRISTIAN. By HALL CAINE.
THE MANXMAN. By HALL CAINE.
THE BONDMAN. A New Saga. By HALL CAINE.
THE SCAPEGOAT. By HALL CAINE.
ELDER CONKLIN; and other Stories. By FRANK
HARRIS.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST. 25
ffictton. popular 60. 1Ftov>el5,
THE HOUSE OF HIDDEN TREASURE. By MAX-
WELL GRAY.
THE LAST SENTENCE. By MAXWELL GRAY, Author
of " The Silence of Dean Maitland," &c.
THE BETH BOOK. By SARAH GRAND.
THE HEAVENLY TWINS. By SARAH GRAND.
I DEAL A. By SARAH GRAND.
OUR MANIFOLD NATURE. By SARAH GRAND. With
a Portrait of the Author.
THE STORY OF A MODERN WOMAN. By ELLA
HEPWORTH DIXON.
AT THE GATE OF SAMARIA. By W. J. LOCKE.
A DAUGHTER OF THIS WORLD. By F. BATTER-
SHALL.
ON THE FACE OF THE WATERS. By FLORA ANNIE
STEEL.
THE POTTER'S THUMB. By FLORA ANNIE STEEL.
FROM THE FIVE RIVERS. By FLORA ANNIE STEEL.
JN THE PERMANENT WAY. By FLORA ANNIE STEEL.
RELICS. Fragments of a Life. By FRANCES MACNAB.
THE MASTER. By I. ZANGWILL. With Portrait.
CHILDREN OF THE GHETTO. By I. ZANGWILL,
THE PREMIER AND THE PAINTER. A Fantastic
Romance. By I. ZANGWILL and Louis COWEN.
DREAMERS OF THE GHETTO. By I. ZANGWILL.
THE KING OF SCHNORRERS, GROTESQUES AND
FANTASIES. By I. ZANGWILL. With Ninety-eight Illustrations.
THE CELIBATES' CLUB. By I. ZANGWILL.
[/ preparation
THE RECIPE FOR DIAMONDS. By C. J. CUTCLIFFE
HYNE.
MARIETTA'S MARRIAGE. By W. E. NORRIS.
THE DANCER IN YELLOW. By W. E. NORRIS.
A VICTIM OF GOOD LUCK. By W. E. NORRIS.
THE COUNTESS RADNA. By W. E. NORRIS.
THE WIDOWER. By W. E. NORRIS. [In the Autumn.
26 MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
ffiction. popular 69. IFiovels.
THE N AULAHKA. A Tale of West and East. By RUDYARD
KIPLING and WOLCOTT BALESTIER.
A COURT INTRIGUE. By BASIL THOMSON.
KING CIRCUMSTANCE. By EDWIN PUGH.
THE MAN OF STRAW. By EDWIN PUGH.
TONY DRUM. By EDWIN PUGH.
CHUN-TI-KUNG. By CLAUDE REES.
BELOW THE SALT. By C. E. RAIMOND.
A BATTLE AND A BOY. By BLANCHE WILLIS HOWARD.
With Thirty-nine Illustrations by A. MAC-NIELL-BARBOUR.
popular 5s* IFlovels,
THE SECRET OF NARCISSE. By EDMUND GOSSE.
Crown 8vo, buckram, 5$.
VANITAS. By VERNON LEE, Author of " Hauntings," &c.
Crown 8vo, cloth, 5$.
THE ATTACK ON THE MILL. By EMILE ZOLA. With
Twenty-one Illustrations, and Five exquisitely printed Coloured Plates,
from Original Drawings by E. COURBOIN. In One Volume, 410, 55.
popular 3s. 6fc. IRovels.
THE KING OF THE MOUNTAINS. By EDMOND
ABOUT.
MRS. JOHN FOSTER. By CHARLES GRANVILLE.
IN SUMMER ISLES. By BURTON DIBBS.
MR. BLAKE OF NEWMARKET. By E. H. COOPER.
A PINCHBECK GODDESS. By Mrs. FLEMING (Alice M.
Kipling) .
THE OUTSPAN. Tales of South Africa. By J. PERCY
FlTZPATRICK.
THE REDS OF THE MIDI, an Episode of the French
Revolution. Translated from the Provengal of Felix Gras. By Mrs.
CATHERINE A. JANVIER.
ELI'S DAUGHTER. By J. H. PEARCE,
INCONSEQUENT LIVES. A Village Chronicle. By J. H.
PEARCE.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
fiction. popular 3s, 6fc. 1Flox>els,
HER OWN FOLK. (En Famille. ) By HECTOR MALOT,
Author of " No Relations." Translated by Lady MARY LOYD.
CAPT'N DAVY'S HONEYMOON, The Blind Mother,
and The Last Confession. By HALL CAINE.
A MARKED MAN: Some Episodes in his Life. By ADA
CAMBRIDGE.
THE THREE MISS KINGS. By ADA CAMBRIDGE.
A LITTLE MINX. By ADA CAMBRIDGE.
NOT ALL IN VAIN. By ADA CAMBRIDGE.
A KNIGHT OF THE WHITE FEATHER. By TASMA.
UNCLE PIPER OF PIPER'S HILL. By TASMA.
THE PENANCE OF PORTIA JAMES. By TASMA.
THE COPPERHEAD ; and other Stories of the North
during the American War. By HAROLD FREDERIC.
THE RETURN OF THE O'MAHONY. By HAROLD
FREDERIC. With Illustrations.
IN THE VALLEY. By HAROLD FREDERIC. With Illus-
trations.
THE SURRENDER OF MARGARET BELLARMINE.
By ADELINE SERGEANT.
THE STORY OF A PENITENT SOUL. Being the
Private Papers of Mr. Stephen Dart, late Minister at Lynnbridge, in the
County of Lincoln. By ADELINE SERGEANT.
THE O'CONNORS OF BALLINAHINCH. By Mrs.
HUNGERFORD.
NOR WIFE, NOR MAID. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD.
THE HOYDEN. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD.
MAMMON. A Novel. By Mrs. ALEXANDER.
DAUGHTERS OF MEN. By HANNAH LYNCH.
STORIES FOR NINON. By EMILE ZOLA. With a Portrait
by Will Rothenstein.
THE TOWER OF TADDEO. By OUIDA.
AVENGED ON SOCIETY. By H. F. WOOD.
APPASSIONATA : A Musician's Story. By ELSA D'ESTERRB
KEELING.
A COMEDY OF MASKS. By ERNEST DOWSON and
ARTHUR MOORE.
.28 MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
ffictton. popular 3s. 6fc* IRovels,
A ROMANCE OF THE CAPE FRONTIER. By BERTRAM
MlTFORD.
'TWEEN SNOW AND FIRE. A Tale of the Kafir War of
1877. By BERTRAM MITFORD.
ORIOLE'S DAUGHTER. By JESSIE FOTHERGILL.
THE MASTER OF THE MAGICIANS. By ELIZABETH
STUART PHELPS and HERBERT D. WARD.
DONALD MARCY. By ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS.
THE HEAD OF THE FIRM. By Mrs. RIDDELL.
A CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE. By G. COLMORE.
A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC. By G. COLMORE.
ACCORDING TO ST. JOHN. By AM^LIE RIVES.
KITTY'S FATHER. By FRANK BARRETT.
THE JUSTIFICATION OF ANDREW LEBRUN. By
F. BARRETT.
A QUESTION OF TASTE. By MAARTEN MAARTENS.
COME LIVE WITH ME AND BE MY LOVE. By
ROBERT BUCHANAN.
IN THE DWELLINGS OF SILENCE. A Romance
of Russia. By WALKER KENNEDY.
LOS CERRITOS. A Romance of the Modern Time. By
GERTRUDE FRANKLIN ATHERTON.
WRECKAGE, and other Stories. By HUBERT CRACKAN-
THORPE.
MADEMOISELLE MISS, and other Stories. By HENRY
HARLAND.
THE ATTACK ON THE MILL, and other Sketches
of War. By EMILE ZOLA. With an Essay on the short stories of M.
Zola by EDMUND GOSSE.
THE AVERAGE WOMAN. By WOLCOTT BALESTIER.
With an Introduction by HENRY JAMES.
BLESSED ARE THE POOR. By FRA^OIS COFFEE.
With an Introduction by T. P. O'CONNOR.
PERCHANCE TO DREAM, and other Stories. By MAR-
GARET S. BRISCOE.
WRECKERS AND METHODISTS. Cornish Stories. By
H. D. LOWRY
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
jf tction t>einemann's 5nternatfonal E/ibrarg.
New Review. " If you have any pernicious remnants of literary chauvinism
I hope it will not survive the series of foreign classics of which Mr. William
Heinemann, aided by Mr. Edmund Gosse, is publishing translations to the great
contentment of all lovers of literature."
Each Volume has an Introduction specially written by the Editor,
MR EDMUND GOSSE.
Cloth, 35. 6d. ; Paper Covers, as. 6d.
IN GOD'S WAY. From the Norwegian of BJORNSTJERNB
BjORNSON.
PIERRE AND JEAN. From the French of GUY DE MAU-
PASSANT.
THE CHIEF JUSTICE. From the German of KARL EMIL
FRANZOS, Author of " For the Right," &c.
WORK WHILE YE HAVE THE LIGHT. From the-
Russian of Count LEO TOLSTOY.
FANTASY. From the Italian of MATILDE SERAO.
FROTH. From the Spanish of Don ARMANDO PALACIO-
VALDKS.
FOOTSTEPS OF FATE. From the Dutch of Louis
COUPERUS.
PEPITA JIMENEZ. From the Spanish of JUAN VALERA.
THE COMMODORE'S DAUGHTERS. From the Nor-
wegian of JONAS LIE.
THE HERITAGE OF THE KURTS. From the Norwegian
Of BjORNSTJERNE BjORNSON.
LOU. From the German of BARON ALEXANDER VON ROBERTS.
DONA LUZ. From the Spanish of JUAN VALERA.
THE JEW. From the Polish of JOSEPH IGNATIUS KRASZEWSKI..
UNDER THE YOKE. From the Bulgarian of IVAN VAZOFF.
FAREWELL LOVE ! From the Italian of MATILDE SERAO.
THE GRANDEE. From the Spanish of Don ARMANDO-
PALACIO-VALDSS.
A COMMON STORY. From the Russian of IVAN GONT-
CHAROFF.
WOMAN'S FOLLY. From the Italian of GEMMA FERRUGGIA.
SIREN VOICES (NIELS LYHNE). From the Danish of
J. P. JACOBSEN.
NIOBE. From the Norwegian of JONAS LIE.
THE OLD ADAM AND THE NEW EVE. From the-
German of RUDOLF GOLM.
30 MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
ffictiotu Tlbe BMoneer Series*
Cloth, 35. net. ; Paper Covers, as. 6d. net.
The Athetueum. " If this series keeps up to the present high level of interest,
novel readers will have fresh cause for gratitude to Mr. Heinemann."
The Daily Telegraph. " Mr. Heinemann's genial nursery of up-to-date
romance."
The Observer. 11 The smart Pioneer Series."
The Manchester Courier. " The Pioneer Series promises to be asoriginal as
many other of Mr. Heinemann's ventures."
The Glasgow Herald. 11 This very clever series."
The Sheffield Telegraph. " The refreshingly original Pioneer Series."
Black and White." The brilliant Pioneer Series."
The Liverpool Mercury. " Each succeeding issue of the Pioneer Series has
.a character of its own and a special attractiveness."
JOANNA TRAILL, SPINSTER. By ANNIE E. HOLDS-
WORTH.
<JEORGE MANDEVILLE'S HUSBAND. By C. E.
RAIMOND.
THE WINGS OF ICARUS. By LAURENCE ALMA-TADEMA.
THE GREEN CARNATION. By ROBERT HICHENS.
AN ALTAR OF EARTH. By THYMOL MONK.
A STREET IN SUBURBIA. By E. W. PUGH.
THE NEW MOON. By C. E. RAIMOND.
MILLY'S STORY. By Mrs. MONTAGUE CRACKANTHORPE.
MRS. MUSGRAVE AND HER HUSBAND. By
RICHARD MARSH.
THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE. By STEPHEN CRANE.
THE DEMAGOGUE AND LADY PHAYRE. By
WILLIAM J. LOCKE.
HER OWN DEVICES. By C. G. COMPTON.
PAPIER MACHE. By CHARLES ALLEN.
THE NEW VIRTUE. By Mrs. OSCAR BERINGER.
ACROSS AN ULSTER BOG. By M. HAMILTON.
ONE OF GOD'S DILEMMAS. By ALLEN UPWARD.
THE LITTLE REGIMENT. By STEPHEN CRANE.
LOVE FOR A KEY. By G. COLMORE.
YEKL. A Tale of the New York Ghetto. By A. CAHAN.
A MAN WITH A MAID. By Mrs. HENRY DUDENEY
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST. 31
jfictfon. price 3s, net
LITTLE JOHANNES. By F. VAN EEDEN. Translated from
the Dutch by CLARA BELL. With an Introduction by ANDREW LANG-
i6mo, cloth, silver top, 3*. net.
THE NOVELS OF BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON.
Uniform Edition. Edited by EDMUND GOSSE. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 3*. net
each volume.
Vol. I. SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN.
With Introductory Essay by EDMUND GOSSE, and a Portrait of the Author.
Vol. II. ARNE.
Vol. III. A HAPPY BOY.
Vol. IV. THE FISHER LASS.
Vol. V. THE BRIDAL MARCH AND A DAY.
VI. MAGNHILD AND DUST.
Vol. VII. CAPTAIN MANSANA AND MOTHER'S HANDS.
Vol. VIII. ABSALOM'S HAIR, AND A PAINFUL MEMORY.
THE NOVELS OF IVAN TURGENEV. Uniform Edi-
tion. Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 3^. net
each volume.
Vol. I. RUDIN.
With a Portrait of the Author and an Introduction by STEPNIAK.
Vol. II. A HOUSE OF GENTLEFOLK.
Vol. III. ON THE EVE.
Vol. IV. FATHERS AND CHILDREN.
Vol. V. SMOKE.
Vol. VI., VII. VIRGIN SOIL. (Two Volumes.)
Vol. VIII., IX. A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES.
(Two Volumes).
X. DREAM TALES AND OTHER FANTASIES.
XI. THE TORRENTS OF SPRING.
MR. HEINEMANN'S LIST.
fiction popular 2s* 6fc. Hovels.
THE TIME MACHINE. By H. G. WELLS.
%* Also in paper, i*. 6d.
THE DOMINANT SEVENTH : A Musical Story. By
KATE ELIZABETH CLARKE.
price 2s.
MAGGIE. By STEPHEN CRANE.
popular Sbillina Boofts.
PRETTY MISS SMITH. By FLORENCE WARDEN, Author
of "The House on the Marsh," "A Witch of the Hills," &c.
THE MOMENT AFTER: A Tale of the Unseen. By
ROBERT BUCHANAN.
CLUES; or, Leaves from a Chief Constable's Note-Book.
By WILLIAM HENDERSON, Chief Constable of Edinburgh.
THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW.
Edited by DAVID A. MUNRO.
Published monthly. Price 25. 6d.
PAN.
A Quarterly Review of Art and Letters.
Ordinary Edition, 25 s. each Part net, or ^4 4?. per annum net.
Edition de Luxe (70 Copies) on Japanese paper, by Subscription
only, 8 8s. per annum net.
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 21 BEDFORD STREET, W.C.
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
BERKELEY
Return to desk from which borrowed.
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.
l2Nov - u
CT291955 .U
REC'D LD
,-2l 1961
"D UD
SEP 2 51978 .j>
Ctt, OCT 2 5 76
LD 21-100m-9,'48(B399sl6)476
832849
THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY