CHAPTER IX.

_A small Apology for writing on. The different State of the two Companies. _Wilks_ invited over from _Dublin_. _Estcourt_, from the same Stage, the Winter following. Mrs. _Oldfield_'s first Admission to the _Theatre-Royal_. Her Character. The great Theatre in the _Hay-Market_ built for _Betterton_'s Company. It Answers not their Expectation. Some Observations upon it. A Theatrical State Secret._

I now begin to doubt that the _Gayeté du Coeur_ in which I first undertook this Work may have drawn me into a more laborious Amusement than I shall know how to away with: For though I cannot say I have yet jaded my Vanity, it is not impossible but by this time the most candid of my Readers may want a little Breath; especially when they consider that all this Load I have heap'd upon their Patience contains but seven Years of the forty three I pass'd upon the Stage, the History of which Period I have enjoyn'd my self to transmit to the Judgment (or Oblivion) of Posterity.[326] However, even my Dulness will find somebody to do it right; if my Reader is an ill-natur'd one, he will be as much pleased to find me a Dunce in my old Age as possibly he may have been to prove me a brisk Blockhead in my Youth: But if he has no Gall to gratify, and would (for his simple Amusement) as well know how the Playhouses went on forty Years ago as how they do now, I will honestly tell him the rest of my Story as well as I can. Lest therefore the frequent Digressions that have broke in upon it may have entangled his Memory, I must beg leave just to throw together the Heads of what I have already given him, that he may again recover the Clue of my Discourse.

Let him then remember, from the Year 1660 to 1682,[327] the various Fortune of the (then) King's and Duke's two famous Companies; their being reduced to one united; the Distinct Characters I have given of thirteen Actors, which in the Year 1690 were the most famous then remaining of them; the Cause of their being again divided in 1695, and the Consequences of that Division 'till 1697; from whence I shall lead them to our Second Union in----Hold! let me see----ay, it was in that memorable Year when the two Kingdoms of _England_ and _Scotland_ were made one. And I remember a Particular that confirms me I am right in my Chronology; for the Play of _Hamlet_ being acted soon after, _Estcourt_, who then took upon him to say any thing, added a fourth Line to _Shakespear_'s Prologue to the Play, in that Play which originally consisted but of three, but _Estcourt_ made it run thus:

_For Us, and for our Tragedy, Here stooping to your Clemency,_ [This being a Year of Unity,] _We beg your Hearing patiently._[328]

This new Chronological Line coming unexpectedly upon the Audience, was received with Applause, tho' several grave Faces look'd a little out of Humour at it. However, by this Fact, it is plain our Theatrical Union happen'd in 1707.[329] But to speak of it in its Place I must go a little back again.

From 1697 to this Union both Companies went on without any memorable Change in their Affairs, unless it were that _Betterton_'s People (however good in their Kind) were most of them too far advanc'd in Years to mend; and tho' we in _Drury-Lane_ were too young to be excellent, we were not too old to be better. But what will not Satiety depreciate? For though I must own and avow that in our highest Prosperity I always thought we were greatly their Inferiors; yet, by our good Fortune of being seen in quite new Lights, which several new-written Plays had shewn us in, we now began to make a considerable Stand against them. One good new Play to a rising Company is of inconceivable Value. In _Oroonoko_[330] (and why may I not name another, tho' it be my own?) in _Love's last Shift_, and in the Sequel of it, the _Relapse_, several of our People shew'd themselves in a new Style of Acting, in which Nature had not as yet been seen. I cannot here forget a Misfortune that befel our Society about this time, by the loss of a young Actor, _Hildebrand Horden_,[331] who was kill'd at the Bar of the _Rose-Tavern_,[332] in a frivolous, rash, accidental Quarrel; for which a late Resident at _Venice_, Colonel _Burgess_, and several other Persons of Distinction, took their Tryals, and were acquitted. This young Man had almost every natural Gift that could promise an excellent Actor; he had besides a good deal of Table-wit and Humour, with a handsome Person, and was every Day rising into publick Favour. Before he was bury'd, it was observable that two or three Days together several of the Fair Sex, well dress'd, came in Masks (then frequently worn) and some in their own Coaches, to visit this Theatrical Heroe in his Shrowd. He was the elder Son of Dr. _Horden_, Minister of _Twickenham_, in _Middlesex_. But this Misfortune was soon repair'd by the Return of _Wilks_ from _Dublin_ (who upon this young Man's Death was sent for over) and liv'd long enough among us to enjoy that Approbation from which the other was so unhappily cut off. The Winter following,[333] _Estcourt_, the famous Mimick, of whom I have already spoken, had the same Invitation from _Ireland_, where he had commenc'd Actor: His first Part here, at the _Theatre-Royal_, was the _Spanish Friar_, in which, tho' he had remembred every Look and Motion of the late _Tony Leigh_ so far as to put the Spectator very much in mind of him, yet it was visible through the whole, notwithstanding his Exactness in the Out-lines, the true Spirit that was to fill up the Figure was not the same, but unskilfully dawb'd on, like a Child's Painting upon the Face of a _Metzotinto_: It was too plain to the judicious that the Conception was not his own, but imprinted in his Memory by another, of whom he only presented a dead Likeness.[334] But these were Defects not so obvious to common Spectators; no wonder, therefore, if by his being much sought after in private Companies, he met with a sort of Indulgence, not to say Partiality, for what he sometimes did upon the Stage.

In the Year 1699, Mrs. _Oldfield_ was first taken into the House, where she remain'd about a Twelvemonth almost a Mute[335] 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 Confidence 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 than her Person that appear'd necessary to the forming a good Actress; for she set out with so extraordinary a Diffidence, that it kept her too despondingly down to a formal, plain (not to say) flat manner of speaking. Nor could the silver Tone of her Voice 'till after some time incline my Ear to any Hope in her favour. But Publick Approbation is the warm Weather of a Theatrical Plant, 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.[336] Our Company that Summer acted at the _Bath_ during the Residence of Queen _Anne_ at that Place. At that time it happen'd that Mrs. _Verbruggen_, by reason of her last Sickness (of which she some few Months after dy'd) was left in _London_; and though most of her Parts 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. 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 rehearse 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[337] manner at my low Opinion of her. But when the Play came to be acted, she had a 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 Performance more valuable was, that I knew it all proceeded from her own Understanding, untaught and unassisted by any one more experienc'd Actor.[338] Perhaps it may not be unacceptable, if I enlarge a little more upon the Theatrical Character of so memorable an Actress.[339]

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 confirm'd me in a strong Belief that she could not fail in very little time of being what she was afterwards allow'd to be, the foremost Ornament of our Theatre. Upon this unexpected Sally, then, of the Power and Disposition of so unforeseen an Actress, it was that I again took up the two first Acts of the _Careless 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: Accordingly, the _Careless Husband_[340] took its Fate upon the Stage the Winter following, in 1704. 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 Excellence 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: Had her Birth plac'd her in a higher Rank of Life, 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 Attractions. I have often seen her in private Societies, where Women of the best Rank might have borrow'd some part of her Behaviour without the least Diminution of their Sense or Dignity. And this very Morning, where I am now writing at the _Bath_, _November_ 11, 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. After her Success in this Character of higher Life, all that Nature had given her of the Actress seem'd to have risen to its full Perfection: But the Variety of her Power could not be known 'till she was seen in variety of Characters; which, as fast as they fell to her, she equally excell'd in. Authors had much more from her Performance than they had reason to hope for from what they had written for her; and none had less than another, but as their Genius in the Parts they allotted her was more or less elevated.

In the Wearing of her Person she was particularly fortunate; her Figure was always improving to her Thirty-sixth Year; but her Excellence in acting was never at a stand: And the last new Character she shone in (_Lady Townly_) was a Proof that she was still able to do more, if more could have been done for _her_.[341] She had one Mark of good Sense, rarely known in any Actor of either Sex but herself. I have observ'd several, with promising Dispositions, very desirous of Instruction at their first setting out; but no sooner had they found their least Account in it, than they were as desirous of being left to their own Capacity, which they then thought would be disgrac'd by their seeming to want any farther Assistance. But this was not Mrs. _Oldfield_'s way of thinking; for, to the last Year of her Life, she never undertook any Part she lik'd without being importunately desirous of having all the Helps in it that another could possibly give her. By knowing so much herself, she found how much more there was of Nature yet needful to be known. Yet it was a hard matter to give her any Hint that she was not able to take or improve. With all this Merit she was tractable and less presuming in her Station than several that had not half her Pretensions to be troublesome: But she lost nothing by her easy Conduct; she had every thing she ask'd, which she took care should be always reasonable, because she hated as much to be _grudg'd_ as _deny'd_ a Civility. Upon her extraordinary Action in the _Provok'd Husband_,[342] the Menagers made her a Present of Fifty Guineas more than her Agreement, which never was more than a Verbal one; for they knew she was above deserting them to engage upon any other Stage, and she was conscious they would never think it their Interest to give her cause of Complaint. In the last two Months of her Illness, when she was no longer able to assist them, she declin'd receiving her Sallary, tho' by her Agreement she was entitled to it. Upon the whole she was, to the last Scene she acted, the Delight of her Spectators: Why then may we not close her Character with the same Indulgence with which _Horace_ speaks of a commendable Poem:

_Ubi plura nitent_--_non ego paucis Offendar maculis_----[343]

_Where in the whole such various Beauties shine, 'Twere idle upon Errors to refine._[344]

What more might be said of her as an Actress may be found in the Preface to the _Provok'd Husband_, to which I refer the Reader.[345]

With the Acquisition, then, of so advanc'd a Comedian as Mrs. _Oldfield_, and the Addition of one so much in Favour as _Wilks_, and by the visible Improvement of our other Actors, as _Penkethman_, _Johnson_, _Bullock_, and I think I may venture to name myself in the Number (but in what Rank I leave to the Judgment of those who have been my Spectators) the Reputation of our Company began to get ground; Mrs. _Oldfield_ and Mr. _Wilks_, by their frequently playing against one another in our best Comedies, very happily supported that Humour and Vivacity which is so peculiar to our _English_ Stage. The _French_, our only modern Competitors, seldom give us their Lovers in such various Lights: In their Comedies (however lively a People they are by nature) their Lovers are generally constant, simple Sighers, both of a Mind, and equally distress'd about the Difficulties of their coming together; which naturally makes their Conversation so serious that they are seldom good Company to their Auditors: And tho' I allow them many other Beauties of which we are too negligent, yet our Variety of Humour has Excellencies that all their valuable Observance of Rules have never yet attain'd to. By these Advantages, then, we began to have an equal Share of the politer sort of Spectators, who, for several Years, could not allow our Company to stand in any comparison with the other. But Theatrical Favour, like Publick Commerce, will sometimes deceive the best Judgments by an unaccountable change of its Channel; the best Commodities are not always known to meet with the best Markets. To this Decline of the Old Company many Accidents might contribute; as the too distant Situation of their Theatre, or their want of a better, for it was not then in the condition it now is, but small, and poorly fitted up within the Walls of a Tennis _Quaree_ Court, which is of the lesser sort.[346] _Booth_, who was then a young Actor among them, has often told me of the Difficulties _Betterton_ then labour'd under and complain'd of: How impracticable he found it to keep their Body to that common Order which was necessary for their Support;[347] of their relying too much upon their intrinsick Merit; and though but few of them were young even when they first became their own Masters, yet they were all now ten Years older, and consequently more liable to fall into an inactive Negligence, or were only separately diligent for themselves in the sole Regard of their Benefit-Plays; which several of their Principals knew, at worst, would raise them Contributions that would more than tolerably subsist them for the current Year. But as these were too precarious Expedients to be always depended upon, and brought in nothing to the general Support of the Numbers who were at Sallaries under them, they were reduc'd to have recourse to foreign Novelties; _L'Abbeè_, _Balon_, and Mademoiselle _Subligny_,[348] three of the then most famous Dancers of the _French_ Opera, were, at several times, brought over at extraordinary Rates, to revive that sickly Appetite which plain Sense and Nature had satiated.[349] But alas! there was no recovering to a sound Constitution by those mere costly Cordials; the Novelty of a Dance was but of a short Duration, and perhaps hurtful in its consequence; for it made a Play without a Dance less endur'd than it had been before, when such Dancing was not to be had. But perhaps their exhibiting these Novelties might be owing to the Success we had met with in our more barbarous introducing of _French_ Mimicks and Tumblers the Year before; of which Mr. _Rowe_ thus complains in his Prologue to one of his first Plays:

_Must_ Shakespear, Fletcher, _and laborious_ Ben, _Be left for_ Scaramouch _and_ Harlequin?[350]

While the Crowd, therefore, so fluctuated from one House to another as their Eyes were more or less regaled than their Ears, it could not be a Question much in Debate which had the better Actors; the Merit of either seem'd to be of little moment; and the Complaint in the foregoing Lines, tho' it might be just for a time, could not be a just one for ever, because the best Play that ever was writ may tire by being too often repeated, a Misfortune naturally attending the Obligation to play every Day; not that whenever such Satiety commences it will be any Proof of the Play's being a bad one, or of its being ill acted. In a word, Satiety is seldom enough consider'd by either Criticks, Spectators, or Actors, as the true, not to say just Cause of declining Audiences to the most rational Entertainments: And tho' I cannot say I ever saw a good new Play not attended with due Encouragement, yet to keep a Theatre daily open without sometimes giving the Publick a bad old one, is more than I doubt the Wit of human Writers or Excellence of Actors will ever be able to accomplish. And as both Authors and Comedians may have often succeeded where a sound Judgment would have condemn'd them, it might puzzle the nicest Critick living to prove in what sort of Excellence the true Value of either consisted: For if their Merit were to be measur'd by the full Houses they may have brought; if the Judgment of the Crowd were infallible; I am afraid we shall be reduc'd to allow that the _Beggars Opera_ was the best-written Play, and Sir _Harry Wildair_[351] (as _Wilks_ play'd it) was the best acted Part, that ever our _English_ Theatre had to boast of. That Critick, indeed, must be rigid to a Folly that would deny either of them their due Praise, when they severally drew such Numbers after them; all their Hearers could not be mistaken; and yet, if they were all in the right, what sort of Fame will remain to those celebrated Authors and Actors that had so long and deservedly been admired before these were in Being. The only Distinction I shall make between them is, That to write or act like the Authors or Actors of the latter end of the last Century, I am of Opinion will be found a far better Pretence to Success than to imitate these who have been so crowded to in the beginning of this. All I would infer from this Explanation is, that tho' we had then the better Audiences, and might have more of the young World on our Side, yet this was no sure Proof that the other Company were not, in the Truth of Action, greatly our Superiors. These elder Actors, then, besides the Disadvantages I have mention'd, having only the fewer true Judges to admire them, naturally wanted the Support of the Crowd whose Taste was to be pleased at a cheaper Rate and with coarser Fare. To recover them, therefore, to their due Estimation, a new Project was form'd of building them a stately Theatre in the _Hay-Market_,[352] by Sir _John Vanbrugh_, for which he raised a Subscription of thirty Persons of Quality, at one hundred Pounds each, in Consideration whereof every Subscriber, for his own Life, was to be admitted to whatever Entertainments should be publickly perform'd there, without farther Payment for his Entrance. Of this Theatre I saw the first Stone laid, on which was inscrib'd _The little Whig_, in Honour to a Lady of extraordinary Beauty, then the celebrated Toast and Pride of that Party.[353]

In the Year 1706,[354] when this House was finish'd, _Betterton_ and his Co-partners dissolved their own Agreement, and threw themselves under the Direction of Sir _John Vanbrugh_ and Mr. _Congreve_, imagining, perhaps, that the Conduct of two such eminent Authors might give a more prosperous Turn to their Condition; that the Plays it would now be their Interest to write for them would soon recover the Town to a true Taste, and be an Advantage that no other Company could hope for; that in the Interim, till such Plays could be written, the Grandeur of their House, as it was a new Spectacle, might allure the Crowd to support them: But if these were their Views, we shall see that their Dependence upon them was too sanguine. As to their Prospect of new Plays, I doubt it was not enough consider'd that good ones were Plants of a slow Growth; and tho' Sir _John Vanbrugh_ had a very quick Pen, yet Mr. _Congreve_ was too judicious a Writer to let any thing come hastily out of his Hands: As to their other Dependence, the House, they had not yet discover'd that almost every proper Quality and Convenience of a good Theatre had been sacrificed or neglected to shew the Spectator a vast triumphal Piece of Architecture! And that the best Play, for the Reasons I am going to offer, could not but be under great Disadvantages, and be less capable of delighting the Auditor here than it could have been in the plain Theatre they came from. For what could their vast Columns, their gilded Cornices, their immoderate high Roofs avail, when scarce one Word in ten could be distinctly heard in it? Nor had it then the Form it now stands in, which Necessity, two or three Years after, reduced it to: At the first opening it, the flat Ceiling that is now over the Orchestre was then a Semi-oval Arch that sprung fifteen Feet higher from above the Cornice: The Ceiling over the Pit, too, was still more raised, being one level Line from the highest back part of the upper Gallery to the Front of the Stage: The Front-boxes were a continued Semicircle to the bare Walls of the House on each Side: This extraordinary and superfluous Space occasion'd such an Undulation from the Voice of every Actor, that generally what they said sounded like the Gabbling of so many People in the lofty Isles in a Cathedral--The Tone of a Trumpet, or the Swell of an Eunuch's holding Note, 'tis true, might be sweeten'd by it, but the articulate Sounds of a speaking Voice were drown'd by the hollow Reverberations of one Word upon another. To this Inconvenience, why may we not add that of its Situation; for at that time it had not the Advantage of almost a large City, which has since been built in its Neighbourhood: Those costly Spaces of _Hanover_, _Grosvenor_, and _Cavendish_ Squares, with the many and great adjacent Streets about them, were then all but so many green Fields of Pasture, from whence they could draw little or no Sustenance, unless it were that of a Milk-Diet. The City, the Inns of Court, and the middle Part of the Town, which were the most constant Support of a Theatre, and chiefly to be relied on, were now too far out of the Reach of an easy Walk, and Coach-hire is often too hard a Tax upon the Pit and Gallery.[355] But from the vast Increase of the Buildings I have mention'd, the Situation of that Theatre has since that Time received considerable Advantages; a new World of People of Condition are nearer to it than formerly, and I am of Opinion that if the auditory Part were a little more reduced to the Model of that in _Drury-Lane_, an excellent Company of Actors would now find a better Account in it than in any other House in this populous City.[356] Let me not be mistaken, I say an excellent Company, and such as might be able to do Justice to the best of Plays, and throw out those latent Beauties in them which only excellent Actors can discover and give Life to. If such a Company were now there, they would meet with a quite different Set of Auditors than other Theatres have lately been used to: Polite Hearers would be content with polite Entertainments; and I remember the time when Plays, without the Aid of Farce or Pantomime, were as decently attended as Opera's or private Assemblies, where a noisy Sloven would have past his time as uneasily in a Front-box as in a Drawing-room; when a Hat upon a Man's Head there would have been look'd upon as a sure Mark of a Brute or a Booby: But of all this I have seen, too, the Reverse, where in the Presence of Ladies at a Play common Civility has been set at defiance, and the Privilege of being a rude Clown, even to a Nusance, has in a manner been demanded as one of the Rights of _English_ Liberty: Now, though I grant that Liberty is so precious a Jewel that we ought not to suffer the least Ray of its Lustre to be diminish'd, yet methinks the Liberty of seeing a Play in quiet has as laudable a Claim to Protection as the Privilege of not suffering you to do it has to Impunity. But since we are so happy as not to have a certain Power among us, which in another Country is call'd the _Police_, let us rather bear this Insult than buy its Remedy at too dear a Rate; and let it be the Punishment of such wrong-headed Savages, that they never will or can know the true Value of that Liberty which they so stupidly abuse: Such vulgar Minds possess their Liberty as profligate Husbands do fine Wives, only to disgrace them. In a Word, when Liberty boils over, such is the Scum of it. But to our new erected Theatre.

Not long before this Time the _Italian_ Opera began first to steal into _England_,[357] but in as rude a disguise and unlike it self as possible; in a lame, hobling Translation into our own Language, with false Quantities, or Metre out of Measure to its original Notes, sung by our own unskilful Voices, with Graces misapply'd to almost every Sentiment, and with Action lifeless and unmeaning through every Character: The first _Italian_ Performer that made any distinguish'd Figure in it was _Valentini_, a true sensible Singer at that time, but of a Throat too weak to sustain those melodious Warblings for which the fairer Sex have since idoliz'd his Successors. However, this Defect was so well supply'd by his Action, that his Hearers bore with the Absurdity of his singing his first Part of _Turnus_ in _Camilla_ all in _Italian_, while every other Character was sung and recited to him in _English_.[358] This I have mention'd to shew not only our Tramontane Taste, but that the crowded Audiences which follow'd it to _Drury-Lane_ might be another Occasion of their growing thinner in _Lincolns-Inn-Fields_.

To strike in, therefore, with this prevailing Novelty, Sir _John Vanbrugh_ and Mr. _Congreve_ open'd their new _Hay-Market Theatre_ with a translated Opera to _Italian_ Musick, called the _Triumph of Love_, but this not having in it the Charms of _Camilla_, either from the Inequality of the Musick or Voices, had but a cold Reception, being perform'd but three Days, and those not crowded. Immediately upon the Failure of this _Opera_, Sir _John Vanbrugh_ produced his Comedy call'd the _Confederacy_,[359] taken (but greatly improv'd) from the _Bourgeois à la mode_ of _Dancour_: Though the Fate of this Play was something better, yet I thought it was not equal to its Merit:[360] For it is written with an uncommon Vein of Wit and Humour; which confirms me in my former Observation, that the difficulty of hearing distinctly in that then wide Theatre was no small Impediment to the Applause that might have followed the same Actors in it upon every other Stage; and indeed every Play acted there before the House was alter'd seemed to suffer from the same Inconvenience: In a Word, the Prospect of Profits from this Theatre was so very barren, that Mr. _Congreve_ in a few Months gave up his Share and Interest in the Government of it wholly to Sir _John Vanbrugh_.[361] But Sir _John_, being sole Proprietor of the House, was at all Events oblig'd to do his utmost to support it. As he had a happier Talent of throwing the _English_ Spirit into his Translation of _French_ Plays than any former Author who had borrowed from them, he in the same Season gave the Publick three more of that kind, call'd the _Cuckold in Conceit_, from the _Cocu imaginaire_ of _Moliere_;[362] _Squire Trelooby_, from his _Monsieur de Pourceaugnac_, and the _Mistake_, from the _Dépit Amoureux_ of the same Author.[363] Yet all these, however well executed, came to the Ear in the same undistinguish'd Utterance by which almost all their Plays had equally suffered: For what few could plainly hear, it was not likely a great many could applaud.

It must farther be consider'd, too, that this Company were not now what they had been when they first revolted from the Patentees in _Drury-Lane_, and became their own Masters in _Lincolns-Inn-Fields_. Several of them, excellent in their different Talents, were now dead; as _Smith_, _Kynaston_, _Sandford_, and _Leigh_: Mrs. _Betterton_ and _Underhil_ being, at this time, also superannuated Pensioners whose Places were generally but ill supply'd: Nor could it be expected that _Betterton_ himself, at past seventy, could retain his former Force and Spirit; though he was yet far distant from any Competitor. Thus, then, were these Remains of the best Set of Actors that I believe were ever known at once in _England_, by Time, Death, and the Satiety of their Hearers, mould'ring to decay.

It was now the Town-talk that nothing but a Union of the two Companies could recover the Stage to its former Reputation,[364] which Opinion was certainly true: One would have thought, too, that the Patentee of _Drury-Lane_ could not have fail'd to close with it, he being then on the Prosperous Side of the Question, having no Relief to ask for himself, and little more to do in the matter than to consider what he might safely grant: But it seems this was not his way of counting; he had other Persons who had great Claims to Shares in the Profits of this Stage, which Profits, by a Union, he foresaw would be too visible to be doubted of, and might raise up a new Spirit in those Adventurers to revive their Suits at Law with him; for he had led them a Chace in Chancery several Years,[365] and when they had driven him into a Contempt of that Court, he conjur'd up a Spirit, in the Shape of Six and eight Pence a-day, that constantly struck the Tipstaff blind whenever he came near him: He knew the intrinsick Value of Delay, and was resolv'd to stick to it as the surest way to give the Plaintiffs enough on't. And by this Expedient our good Master had long walk'd about at his Leisure, cool and contented as a Fox when the Hounds were drawn off and gone home from him. But whether I am right or not in my Conjectures, certain it is that this close Master of _Drury-Lane_ had no Inclination to a Union, as will appear by the Sequel.[366]

Sir _John Vanbrugh_ knew, too, that to make a Union worth his while he must not seem too hasty for it; he therefore found himself under a Necessity, in the mean time, of letting his whole Theatrical Farm to some industrious Tenant that might put it into better Condition. This is that Crisis, as I observed in the Eighth Chapter, when the Royal Licence for acting Plays, _&c._ was judg'd of so little Value as not to have one Suitor for it. At this time, then, the Master of _Drury-Lane_ happen'd to have a sort of primier Agent in his Stage-Affairs, that seem'd in Appearance as much to govern the Master as the Master himself did to govern his Actors: But this Person was under no Stipulation or Sallary for the Service he render'd, but had gradually wrought himself into the Master's extraordinary Confidence and Trust, from an habitual Intimacy, a cheerful Humour, and an indefatigable Zeal for his Interest. If I should farther say, that this Person has been well known in almost every Metropolis in _Europe_; that few private Men have, with so little Reproach, run through more various Turns of Fortune; that, on the wrong side 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 undisguis'd 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_,[367] and that it was to him Sir _John Vanbrugh_, in this Exigence of his Theatrical Affairs, made an Offer of his Actors, under such Agreements of Sallary as might be made with them; and of his House, Cloaths, and Scenes, with the Queen's License to employ them, upon Payment of only the casual Rent of five Pounds upon every acting Day, and not to exceed 700_l._ in the Year. Of this Proposal Mr. _Swiney_ desir'd a Day or two to consider; for, however he might like it, he would not meddle in any sort without the Consent and Approbation of his Friend and Patron, the Master of _Drury Lane_. Having given the Reasons why this Patentee was averse to a Union, it may now seem less a Wonder why he immediately consented that _Swiney_ should take the _Hay-Market_ House, _&c._ and continue that Company to act against him; but the real Truth was, that he had a mind both Companies should be clandestinely under one and the same Interest, and yet in so loose a manner that he might declare his Verbal Agreement with _Swiney_ good, or null and void, as he might best find his Account in either. What flatter'd him that he had this wholesome Project, and _Swiney_ to execute it, both in his Power, was that at this time _Swiney_ happen'd to stand in his Books Debtor to Cash upwards of Two Hundred Pounds: But here, we shall find, he over-rated his Security. However, _Swiney_ as yet follow'd his Orders; he took the _Hay-Market_ Theatre, and had, farther, the private Consent of the Patentee to take such of his Actors from _Drury-Lane_ as either from Inclination or Discontent, might be willing to come over to him in the _Hay-Market_. The only one he made an Exception of, was myself: For tho' he chiefly depended upon his Singers and Dancers,[368] he said it would be necessary to keep some one tolerable Actor with him, that might enable him to set those Machines a going. Under this Limitation of not entertaining me, _Swiney_ seem'd to acquiesce 'till after he had open'd with the so recruited Company in the _Hay-Market_: the Actors that came to him from _Drury-Lane_ were _Wilks_, _Estcourt_,[369] _Mills_, _Keen_,[370] _Johnson_, _Bullock_, Mrs. _Oldfield_, Mrs. _Rogers_, and some few others of less note: But I must here let you know that this Project was form'd and put in Execution all in very few Days, in the Summer-Season, when no Theatre was open. To all which I was entirely a Stranger, being at this time at a Gentleman's House in _Gloucestershire_, scribbling, if I mistake not, the _Wife's Resentment_.[371]

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 consider'd, 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 Expence, so bad a Situation, and so inconvenient a Theatre. I was always of opinion, too, that in changing Sides, in most Conditions, there generally were discovered more unforeseen Inconveniencies than visible Advantages; and that at worst there would always some sort of Merit remain with Fidelity, tho' unsuccessful. Upon these Considerations I was only thankful for the Offers made me from the _Hay-Market_, without accepting them, and soon after came to Town towards the usual time of their beginning to act, to offer my Service to our old Master. But I found our Company so thinn'd that it was almost impracticable to bring any one tolerable Play upon the Stage.[372] When I ask'd him where were his Actors, and in what manner he intended to proceed? he reply'd, _Don't you trouble yourself, come along, and I'll shew you_. He then led me about all the By-places in the House, and shew'd me fifty little Back-doors, dark Closets, and narrow Passages; in Alterations and Contrivances 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 Improvements he had made in his invisible Architecture; all which, without thinking any one Part of it necessary, tho' I seem'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?_ But it seems I had taken a wrong time for this sort of Enquiry; his Head was full of Matters of more moment, and (as you find) I was to come another time for an Answer: A very hopeful Condition I found myself in, under the Conduct of so profound a Vertuoso and so considerate a Master! But to speak of him seriously, and to account for this Disregard to his Actors, his Notion was that Singing and Dancing, or any sort of Exotick Entertainments, would make an ordinary Company of Actors too hard for the best Set who had only plain Plays to subsist on. Now, though I am afraid too much might be said in favour of this Opinion, yet I thought he laid more Stress upon that sort of Merit than it would bear; as I therefore found myself of so little Value with him, I could not help setting a little more upon myself, and was resolv'd to come to a short Explanation with him. I told him I came to serve him 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. By this time the _Hay-Market_ Company had begun acting to Audiences something better than usual, and were all paid their full Sallaries, a Blessing they had not felt in some Years in either House before. Upon this Success _Swiney_ press'd the Patentee to execute the Articles they had as yet only verbally agreed on, which were in Substance, That _Swiney_ should take the _Hay-Market_ House in his own Name, and have what Actors he thought necessary from _Drury-Lane_, and after all Payments punctually made, the Profits should be equally divided between these two Undertakers. But soft and fair! Rashness was a Fault that had never yet been imputed to the Patentee; certain Payments were Methods he had not of a long, long time been us'd to; that Point still wanted time for Consideration. But _Swiney_ was as hasty as the other was slow, and was resolv'd to know what he had to trust to before they parted; and to keep him the closer to his Bargain, he stood upon his Right of having _Me_ added to that Company if I was willing to come into it. But this was a Point as absolutely refus'd on one side as insisted on on the other. In this Contest high Words were exchang'd on both sides, 'till, in the end, this their last private Meeting came to an open Rupture: But before it was publickly known, _Swiney_, by fairly letting me into the whole Transaction, took effectual means to secure me in his Interest. When the Mystery of the Patentee's Indifference to me was unfolded, and that his slighting me was owing to the Security he rely'd on of _Swiney_'s not daring to engage me, I could have no further Debate with my self which side of the Question I should adhere to. To conclude, I agreed, in two Words, to act with _Swiney_,[373] and from this time every Change that happen'd in the Theatrical Government was a nearer Step to that twenty Years of Prosperity which Actors, under the Menagement of Actors, not long afterwards enjoy'd. What was the immediate Consequence of this last Desertion from _Drury-Lane_ shall be the Subject of another Chapter.

INDEX.

Abbé, Monsieur L', a French dancer, i. xxvii., i. 316.

Acting, excellence of, about, 1631, i. xlviii.; Cibber's views on versatility in, i. 209.

Actors, their names not given in old plays, i. xxv.; join Charles I.'s army, i. xxix.; the prejudice against, i. 74-84; taken into society, i. 83; their delight in applause, i. 85; entitled Gentlemen of the Great Chamber, i. 88; must be born, not made, i. 89; their private characters influence audiences, i. 243-251; their arrangement with Swiney in 1706, ii. 9; refused Christian burial by the Romish Church, ii. 29; badly paid, ii. 64; dearth of young, ii. 221.

---- the old, played secretly during the Commonwealth, i. xxx.; arrested for playing, i. xxx.; bribed officers of guard to let them play, i. xxx.

Actress (Miss Santlow), insulted, i. 76.

Actresses, first English, i. 87, _note_ 1, i. 90, i. 119; who were Charles II.'s mistresses, i. 91; difficulty of getting good, ii. 222.

Addison, Joseph, i. 245, ii. 36, _note_ 1, ii. 151, ii. 163, _note_ 1,