A BOOK OF THE PLAY

_Studies and Illustrations of Histrionic Story, Life, and Character. _

BY

DUTTON COOK, AUTHOR OF

"ART IN ENGLAND, " "HOBSON'S CHOICE, " "PAUL FOSTER'S DAUGHTER, ""BANNS OF MARRIAGE" ETC. ETC. 

_THIRD AND REVISED EDITION. _

In One Volume

London:

SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, CROWN BUILDINGS, FLEET STREET. 

1881. 

CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. 

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. 

This book, as I explained in the preface to its first edition, published in 1876, is designed to serve and entertain those interestedin the transactions of the Theatre. I have not pretended to set forthanew a formal and complete History of the Stage; it has rather been myobject to traverse by-paths connected with the subject--to collect andrecord certain details and curiosities of histrionic life andcharacter, past and present, which have escaped or seemed unworthy thenotice of more ambitious and absolute chroniclers. At most I wouldhave these pages considered as but portions of the story of theBritish Theatre whispered from the side-wings. 

Necessarily, the work is derived from many sources, owes much toprevious labours, is the result of considerable searching here andthere, collation, and selection. I have endeavoured to makeacknowledgment, as opportunity occurred, of the authorities I standindebted to, for this fact or that story. I desire, however, to makeexpress mention of the frequent aid I have received from Mr. J. PayneCollier's admirable "History of English Dramatic Poetry" (1831), containing Annals of the Stage to the Restoration. Mr. Collier, havingenjoyed access to many public and private collections of the greatestvalue, has much enriched the store of information concerning ourDramatic Literature amassed by Malone, Stevens, Reed, and Chalmers. Referring to numberless published and unpublished papers, to sourcesboth familiar and rare, Mr. Collier has been enabled, moreover, toincrease in an important degree our knowledge of the ElizabethanTheatre, its manners and customs, ways and means. I feel that I oweto his archæological studies many apt quotations and illustrativepassages I could scarcely have supplied from my own unassistedresources. 

Some additions to the text I have deemed expedient. The fewerrors--they were very few and unimportant--discovered in the firstedition I have corrected in the present publication; certainredundancies I have suppressed; here and there I have ventured uponcondensation, and generally I have endeavoured to bring my statementsinto harmony with the condition of the stage at the present moment. Substantially, however, the "Book of the Play" remains what it was atthe date of its original issue, when it was received by the readingpublic with a kindness and cordiality I am not likely to forget. 

DUTTON COOK. 

69, GLOUCESTER CRESCENT, REGENT'S PARK, N. W. 

CONTENTS. 

 CHAPTER I. PLAYGOERS

 CHAPTER II. THE MASTER OF THE REVELS

 CHAPTER III. THE LICENSER OF PLAYHOUSES

 CHAPTER IV. THE EXAMINER OF PLAYS

 CHAPTER V. A BILL OF THE PLAY

 CHAPTER VI. STROLLING PLAYERS

 CHAPTER VII. "PAY HERE"

 CHAPTER VIII. IN THE PIT

 CHAPTER IX. THE FOOTMEN'S GALLERY

 CHAPTER X. FOOT-LIGHTS

 CHAPTER XI. "COME, THE RECORDERS!"

 CHAPTER XII. PROLOGUES

 CHAPTER XIII. THE ART OF "MAKING-UP"

 CHAPTER XIV. PAINT AND CANVAS

 CHAPTER XV. THE TIRING-ROOM

 CHAPTER XVI. "HER FIRST APPEARANCE"

 CHAPTER XVII. STAGE WHISPERS

 CHAPTER XVIII. STAGE GHOSTS

 CHAPTER XIX. THE BOOK OF THE PLAY

 CHAPTER XX. "HALF-PRICE AT NINE O'CLOCK"

 CHAPTER XXI. THE DRAMA UNDER DIFFICULTIES

 CHAPTER XXII. STAGE BANQUETS

 CHAPTER XXIII. STAGE WIGS

 CHAPTER XXIV. "ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS"

 CHAPTER XXV. STAGE STORMS

 CHAPTER XXVI. "DOUBLES"

 CHAPTER XXVII. BENEFITS

 CHAPTER XXVIII. THUNDERS OF APPLAUSE

 CHAPTER XXIX. REAL HORSES

 CHAPTER XXX. THE "SUPER"

 CHAPTER XXXI. "GAG"

 CHAPTER XXXII. BALLETS AND BALLET-DANCERS

 CHAPTER XXXIII. CORRECT COSTUMES

 CHAPTER XXXIV. HARLEQUIN AND CO. 

 CHAPTER XXXV. "GOOSE"

 CHAPTER XXXVI. EPILOGUES

A BOOK OF THE PLAY. 

 * * * * *

CHAPTER I. 

PLAYGOERS. 

The man who, having witnessed and enjoyed the earliest performance ofThespis and his company, followed the travelling theatre of thatprimeval actor and manager, and attended a second and a thirdhistrionic exhibition, has good claim to be accounted the firstplaygoer. For recurrence is involved in playgoing, until something ofa habit is constituted. And usually, we may note, the playgoer isyouthful. An old playgoer is almost a contradiction in terms. He ismerely a young playgoer who has grown old. He talks of the plays andplayers of his youth, but he does not, in truth, visit the theatremuch in his age; and invariably he condemns the present, and applaudsthe past. Things have much degenerated and decayed, he finds; himselfamong them, but of that fact he is not fully conscious. There are nosuch actors now as once there were, nor such actresses. The drama hasdeclined into a state almost past praying for. This is, of course, avery old story. "Palmy days" have always been yesterdays. Ourimaginary friend, mentioned above, who was present at the earliest ofstage exhibitions, probably deemed the second and third to be lessexcellent than the first; at any rate, he assuredly informed hisfriends and neighbours, who had been absent from that performance, that they had missed very much indeed, and had by no means seenThespis at his best. Even nowadays, middle-aged playgoers, old enoughto remember the late Mr. Macready, are trumped, as it were, by olderplaygoers, boastful of their memories of Kemble and the elder Kean. And these players, in their day and in their turn, underwentdisparagement at the hands of veterans who had seen Garrick. Pope, much as he admired Garrick, yet held fast to his old faith inBetterton. From a boy he had been acquainted with Betterton. Hemaintained Betterton to be the best actor he had ever seen. "But Iought to tell you, at the same time, " he candidly admitted, "that inBetterton's time the older sort of people talked of Hart's being hissuperior, just as we do of Betterton's being superior to those now. "So in the old-world tract, called "Historia Histrionica"--a dialogueupon the condition of the early stage, first published in1699--Trueman, the veteran Cavalier playgoer, in reply to Lovewit, whohad decided that the actors of his time were far inferior to Hart, Mohun, Burt, Lacy, Clun, and Shatterel, ventures to observe: "If myfancy and memory are not partial (for men of age are apt to beover-indulgent to the thoughts of their youthful days), I dare assureyou that the actors I have seen before the war--Lowin, Taylor, Pollard, and some others--were almost as far beyond Hart and hiscompany as those were beyond these now in being. " In truth, age bringswith it to the playhouse recollections, regrets, and palled appetite;middle life is too much prone to criticism, too little inclined toenthusiasm, for the securing of unmixed satisfaction; but youth isendowed with the faculty of admiring exceedingly, with hopefulness, and a keen sense of enjoyment, and, above all, with very completepower of self-deception. It is the youthful playgoers who are ever thebest friends of the players. 

As a rule, a boy will do anything, or almost anything, to go to atheatre. His delight in the drama is extreme--it possesses and absorbshim completely. Mr. Pepys has left on record Tom Killigrew's "way ofgetting to see plays when he was a boy. " "He would go to the 'RedBull' (at the upper end of St. John Street, Clerkenwell), and when theman cried to the boys--'Who will go and be a devil, and he shall seethe play for nothing?' then would he go in and be a devil upon thestage, and so get to see plays. " In one of his most delightful papers, Charles Lamb has described his first visit to a theatre. He "was notpast six years old, and the play was 'Artaxerxes!' I had dabbled alittle in the 'Universal History'--the ancient part of it--and herewas the Court of Persia. It was being admitted to a sight of the past. I took no proper interest in the action going on, for I understood notits import, but I heard the word Darius, and I was in the midst of'Daniel. ' All feeling was absorbed in vision. Gorgeous vests, gardens, palaces, princesses, passed before me. I knew not players. I was inPersepolis for the time, and the burning idol of their devotion almostconverted me into a worshipper. I was awe-struck, and believed thosesignifications to be something more than elemental fires. It was allenchantment and a dream. No such pleasure has since visited me but indreams. " Returning to the theatre after an interval of some years, hevainly looked for the same feelings to recur with the same occasion. He was disappointed. "At the first period I knew nothing, understoodnothing, discriminated nothing. I felt all, loved all, wonderedall--'was nourished I could not tell how. ' I had left the temple adevotee, and was returned a rationalist. The same things were therematerially; but the emblem, the reference was gone! The green curtainwas no longer a veil drawn between two worlds, the unfolding of whichwas to bring back past ages, to present a 'royal ghost'--but a certainquantity of green baize, which was to separate the audience for agiven time from certain of their fellow-men who were to come forwardand pretend those parts. The lights--the orchestra lights--came up aclumsy machinery. The first ring, and the second ring, was now but atrick of the prompter's bell--which had been, like the note of thecuckoo, a phantom of a voice; no hand seen or guessed at whichministered to its warning. The actors were men and women painted. Ithought the fault was in them; but it was in myself, and thealteration which those many centuries--of six short twelvemonths--hadwrought in me. " Presently, however, Lamb recovered tone, so to speak, as a playgoer. Comparison and retrospection soon yielded to thepresent attraction of the scene, and the theatre became to him, "upona new stock, the most delightful of recreations. "

Audiences have always been miscellaneous. Among them not only youthand age, but rich and poor, wise and ignorant, good and bad, virtuousand vicious, have alike found representation. The gallery and thegroundlings have been catered for not less than the spectators of theboxes and private rooms; yet, upon the whole, the stage, from itsearliest period, has always provided entertainment of a reputable andwholesome kind. Even in its least commendable condition--and this, sofar as England is concerned, we may judge to have been during thereign of King Charles II. --it yet possessed redeeming elements. It wasnever wholly bad, though it might now and then come very near toseeming so. And what it was, the audience had made it. It reflectedtheir sentiments and opinions; it accorded with their moods andhumours; it was their creature; its performers were their mostfaithful and zealous servants. 

Playgoers, it appears, were not wont to ride to the theatre in coachesuntil late in the reign of James I. Taylor, the water-poet, in hisinvective against coaches, 1623, dedicated to all grieved "with theworld running on wheels, " writes: "Within our memories our nobilityand gentry could ride well mounted, and sometimes walk on foot, gallantly attended with fourscore brave fellows in blue coats, whichwas a glory to our nation, far greater than forty of these leatherntumbrels! Then, the name of coach was heathen Greek. Who ever saw, butupon extraordinary occasions, Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Francis Drakeride in a coach? They made small use of coaches; there were but few inthose times; and they were deadly foes to sloth and effeminacy. It isin the memory of many when, in the whole kingdom, there was not one!It is a doubtful question whether the devil brought tobacco intoEngland in a coach, for both appeared at the same time. " According toStow, coaches were introduced here 1564, by Guilliam Boonen, whoafterwards became coachman to the queen. The first he ever made wasfor the Earl of Rutland; but the demand rapidly increased, until thereensued a great trade in coach-making, insomuch that a bill was broughtinto Parliament, in 1601, to restrain the excessive use of suchvehicles. Between the coachmen and the watermen there was no verycordial understanding, as the above quotation from Taylor sufficientlydemonstrates. In 1613 the Thames watermen petitioned the king, thatthe players should not be permitted to have a theatre in London, orMiddlesex, within four miles of the Thames, in order that theinhabitants might be induced, as formerly, to make use of boats intheir visits to the playhouses in Southwark. Not long afterwardssedans came into fashion, still further to the prejudice of thewatermen. In the Induction to Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's Revels, "performed in 1600, mention is made of "coaches, hobby-horses, andfoot-cloth nags, " as in ordinary use. In 1631 the churchwardens andconstables, on behalf of the inhabitants of Blackfriars, in a petitionto Laud, then Bishop of London, prayed for the removal of theplayhouse from their parish, on the score of the many inconveniencesthey endured as shopkeepers, "being hindered by the great recourse tothe playes, especially of coaches, from selling their commodities, andhaving their wares many times broken and beaten off their stalls. "Further, they alleged that, owing to the great "recourse of coaches, "and the narrowness of the streets, the inhabitants could not, in anafternoon, "take in any provision of beere, coales, wood, or hay;" thepassage through Ludgate was many times stopped up, people "in theirordinary going" much endangered, quarrels and bloodshed occasioned, and disorderly people, towards night, gathered together under pretenceof waiting for those at the plays. Christenings and burials were manytimes disturbed; persons of honour and quality dwelling in the parishwere restrained, by the number of coaches, from going out or cominghome in seasonable time, to "the prejudice of their occasions;" and itwas suggested that, "if there should happen any misfortune of fire, "it was not likely that any order could possibly be taken, since, owingto the number of the coaches, no speedy passage could be made forquenching the fire, to the endangering both of the parish and of thecity. It does not appear that any action on the part of Laud or thePrivy Council followed this curious petition. 

It seems clear that the Elizabethan audiences were rather an unrulycongregation. There was much cracking of nuts and consuming of pippinsin the old playhouses; ale and wine were on sale, and tobacco wasfreely smoked by the upper class of spectators, for it was hardly yetcommon to all conditions. Previous to the performance, and during itspauses, the visitors read pamphlets or copies of plays bought at theplayhouse-doors, and, as they drank and smoked, played at cards. Inhis "Gull's Horn Book, " 1609, Dekker tells his hero, "before the playbegins, fall to cards;" and, winning or losing, he is bidden to tearsome of the cards and to throw them about, just before the entrance ofthe prologue. The ladies were treated to apples, and sometimes appliedtheir lips to a tobacco-pipe. Prynne, in his "Histriomastix, " 1633, states that, even in his time, ladies were occasionally "offered thetobacco-pipe" at plays. Then, as now, new plays attracted largeraudiences than ordinary. Dekker observes, in his "News from Hell, "1606, "It was a comedy to see what a crowding, as if it had been at anew play, there was upon the Acherontic strand. " How the spectatorscomported themselves upon these occasions, Ben Jonson, "the Mirror ofManners, " as Mr. Collier well surnames him, has described in hiscomedy "The Case is Altered, " acted at Blackfriars about 1599. "Butthe sport is, at a new play, to observe the sway and variety ofopinion that passeth it. A man shall have such a confused mixture ofjudgment poured out in the throng there, as ridiculous as laughteritself. One says he likes not the writing; another likes not the plot;another not the playing; and sometimes a fellow that comes not therepast once in five years, at a Parliament time or so, will be asdeep-mired in censuring as the best, and swear, by God's foot, hewould never stir his foot to see a hundred such as that is!" Theconduct of the gallants, among whom were included those who deemedthemselves critics and wits, appears to have usually been of a veryunseemly and offensive kind. They sat upon the stage, paying sixpenceor a shilling for the hire of a stool, or reclined upon the rusheswith which the boards were strewn. Their pages were in attendance tofill their pipes; and they were noted for the capriciousness andseverity of their criticisms. "They had taken such a habit of dislikein all things, " says Valentine, in "The Case is Altered, " "that theywill approve nothing, be it ever so conceited or elaborate; but sitdispersed, making faces and spitting, wagging their upright ears, andcry: 'Filthy, filthy!'" Ben Jonson had suffered much from the censureof his audiences. In "The Devil is an Ass, " he describes the demeanourof a gallant occupying a seat upon the stage. Fitsdottrell says:

 To day I go to the Blackfriars playhouse, Sit in the view, salute all my acquaintance; Rise up between the acts, let fall my cloak; Publish a handsome man and a rich suit-- And that's a special end why we go thither. 

Of the cutpurses, rogues, and evil characters of both sexes whofrequented the old theatres, abundant mention is made by the poets andsatirists of the past. In this respect there can be no question thatthe censure which was so liberally awarded was also richly merited. Mr. Collier quotes from Edmund Gayton, an author who avowedly "wrotetrite things merely to get bread to sustain him and his wife, " and whopublished, in 1654, "Festivous Notes on the History of the renownedDon Quixote, " a curious account of the behaviour of our earlyaudiences at certain of the public theatres. "Men, " it is observed, "come not to study at a playhouse, but love such expressions andpassages which with ease insinuate themselves into theircapacities.... On holidays, when sailors, watermen, shoemakers, butchers, and apprentices are at leisure, then it is good policy toamaze those violent spirits with some tearing tragedy full of fightsand skirmishes ... The spectators frequently mounting the stage, andmaking a more bloody catastrophe among themselves than the playersdid. " Occasionally, it appears, the audience compelled the actors toperform, not the drama their programmes had announced, but some other, such as "the major part of the company had a mind to: sometimes'Tamerlane;' sometimes 'Jugurtha;' sometimes 'The Jew of Malta;' and, sometimes, parts of all these; and, at last, none of the three taking, they were forced to undress and put off their tragic habits, andconclude the day with 'The Merry Milkmaids. '" If it so chanced thatthe players were refractory, then "the benches, the tiles, the lathes, the stones, oranges, apples, nuts, flew about most liberally; and asthere were mechanics of all professions, everyone fell to his owntrade, and dissolved a house on the instant, and made a ruin of astately fabric. It was not then the most mimical nor fighting mancould pacify; prologues nor epilogues would prevail; the Devil and theFool [evidently two popular characters at this time] were quite out offavour; nothing but noise and tumult fills the house, " &c. &c. 

Concerning the dramatist of the time, upon the occasion of the firstperformance of his play, his anxiety, irascibility, and peculiaritiesgenerally, Ben Jonson provides sufficient information. "We are not soofficiously befriended by him, " says one of the characters in theInduction to "Cynthia's Revels, " "as to have his presence in thetiring-house, to prompt us aloud, stamp at the bookholder [orprompter], swear at our properties, curse the poor tireman, rail themusick out of tune, and sweat for every venial trespass we commit assome author would. " While, in the Induction to his "Staple of News, "Jonson has clearly portrayed himself. "Yonder he is, " says Mirth, inreply to some remark touching the poet of the performance, "within--Iwas in the tiring-house awhile, to see the actors dressed--rollinghimself up and down like a tun in the midst of them ... Never didvessel, or wort, or wine, work so ... A stewed poet!... He doth sitlike an unbraced drum, with one of his heads beaten out, " &c. Thedramatic poets, it may be noted, were admitted gratis to the theatres, and duly took their places among the spectators. Not a few of themwere also actors. Dekker, in his "Satiromastix, " accuses Jonson ofsitting in the gallery during the performance of his own plays, distorting his countenance at every line, "to make gentlemen have aneye on him, and to make players afraid" to act their parts. A furthercharge is thus worded: "Besides, you must forswear to venture on thestage, when your play is ended, and exchange courtesies andcompliments with the gallants in the lords' rooms (or boxes), to makeall the house rise up in arms, and cry: 'That's Horace! that's he!that's he! that's he that purges humours and diseases!'"

Jonson makes frequent complaint of the growing fastidiousness of hisaudience, and nearly fifty years later, the same charge against thepublic is repeated by Davenant, in the Prologue to his "UnfortunateLovers. " He tells the spectators that they expect to have in two hoursten times more wit than was allowed their silly ancestors in twentyyears, who

 to the theatre would come, Ere they had dined, to take up the best room; There sit on benches not adorned with mats, And graciously did vail their high-crowned hats To every half-dressed player, as he still Through the hangings peeped to see how the house did fill. Good easy judging souls! with what delight They would expect a jig or target fight; A furious tale of Troy, which they ne'er thought Was weakly written so 'twere strongly fought. 

As to the playgoers of the Restoration we have abundant informationfrom the poet Dryden, and the diarist Pepys. For some eighteen yearsthe theatres had been absolutely closed, and during that interval verygreat changes had occurred. England, under Charles II. , seemed as anew and different country to the England of preceding monarchs. Therestored king and his courtiers brought with them from their exile inFrance strange manners, and customs, and tastes. The theatre theyfavoured was scarcely the theatre that had flourished in Englandbefore the Civil War. Dryden reminds the spectators, in one of hisprologues--

 You now have habits, dances, scenes, and rhymes, High language often, ay, and sense sometimes. 

There was an end of dramatic poetry, as it was understood underElizabeth. Blank verse had expired or swooned away, never again to bewholly reanimated. Fantastic tragedies in rhyme, after the Frenchpattern, became the vogue; and absolute translations from the Frenchand Spanish for the first time occupied the English stage. Shakespeareand his colleagues had converted existing materials to dramatic uses, but not as did the playwrights of the Restoration. In the Epilogue tothe comedy of "An Evening's Love; or, The Mock Astrologer, " borrowedfrom "Le Feint Astrologue" of the younger Corneille, Dryden, theadapter of the play, makes jesting defence of the system ofadaptation. The critics are described as conferring together in thepit on the subject of the performance:

 They kept a fearful stir In whispering that he stole the Astrologer: And said, betwixt a French and English plot, He eased his half-tired muse on pace and trot. Up starts a Monsieur, new come o'er, and warm In the French stoop and pull-back of the arm: "Morbleu, " dit-il, and cocks, "I am a rogue, But he has quite spoiled the 'Feigned Astrologue!'"

The poet is supposed to make excuse:

 He neither swore, nor stormed, as poets do, But, most unlike an author, vowed 'twas true; Yet said he used the French like enemies, And did not steal their plots but made them prize. 

Dryden concludes with a sort of apology for his own productiveness, and the necessity of borrowing that it involved:

 He still must write, and banquier-like, each day Accept new bills, and he must break or pay. When through his hands such sums must yearly run, You cannot think the stock is all his own. 

Pepys, who, born in 1633, must have had experiences of youthfulplaygoing before the great Civil War, finds evidence afterwards of"the vanity and prodigality of the age" in the nightly company ofcitizens, 'prentices, and others attending the theatre, and holds it agrievance that there should be so many "mean people" in the pit at twoshillings and sixpence apiece. For several years, he mentions, he hadgone no higher than the twelvepenny, and then the eighteenpennyplaces. Oftentimes, however, the king and his court, the Duke andDuchess of York, and the young Duke of Monmouth, were to be seen inthe boxes. In 1662 Charles's consort, Catherine, was first exhibitedto the English public at the Cockpit Theatre in Drury Lane, whenShirley's "Cardinal" was represented. Then there are accounts ofscandals and indecorums in the theatre. Evelyn reprovingly speaks ofthe public theatres being abused to an "atheistical liberty. " NellGwynne is in front of the curtain prattling with the fops, loungingacross and leaning over them, and conducting herself saucily andimpudently enough. Moll Davis is in one box, and my Lady Castlemaine, with the king, in another. Moll makes eyes at the king, and he at her. My Lady Castlemaine detects the interchange of glances, and "when shesaw Moll Davies she looked like fire, which troubled me, " said Mr. Pepys, who, to do him justice, was often needlessly troubled aboutmatters with which, in truth, he had very little concern. There werebrawls in the theatre, and tipsiness, and much license generally. In1682 two gentlemen, disagreeing in the pit, drew their swords andclimbed to the stage. There they fought furiously until a suddensword-thrust stretched one of the combatants upon the boards. Thewound was not mortal, however, and the duellists, after a briefconfinement by order of the authorities, were duly set at liberty. 

The fop of the Restoration was a different creature to the Elizabethangallant. Etherege satirised him in his "Man of Mode; or, Sir FoplingFlutter, " Dryden supplying the comedy with an epilogue, in which hefully described certain of the prevailing follies of the time inregard to dress and manners. The audience are informed that

 None Sir Fopling him or him can call, He's knight of the shire and represents you all! From each he meets he culls whate'er he can; Legion's his name, a people in a man. 

 * * * * *

 His various modes from various fathers follow; One taught the toss, and one the new French wallow; His sword-knot this, his cravat that designed; And this the yard-long snake he twirls behind. From one the sacred periwig he gained, Which wind ne'er blew nor touch of hat profaned. Another's diving bow he did adore, Which, with a shog, casts all the hair before, Till he with full decorum brings it back, And rises with a water-spaniel shake. 

Upon another occasion the poet writes:

 But only fools, and they of vast estate, The extremity of modes will imitate, The dangling knee-fringe and the bib-cravat. 

While the fops were thus equipped, the ladies wore vizard-masks, andupon the appearance of one of these in the pit--

 Straight every man who thinks himself a wit, Perks up, and managing his comb with grace, With his white wig sets off his nut-brown face. 

For it was the fashion of the gentlemen to toy with their soaring, large-curled periwigs, smoothing them with a comb. Between the fopsand the ladies goodwill did not always prevail. The former were, nodoubt, addicted to gross impertinence in their conversation. 

 Fop Corner now is free from civil war, White wig and vizard-mask no longer jar, France and the fleet have swept the town so clear. 

So Dryden "prologuised" in 1672, attributing the absence of "all ourbraves and all our wits" to the war which England, in conjunction withFrance, had undertaken against the Dutch. 

Queen Anne, in 1704, expressly ordered that "no woman should beallowed, or presume to wear, a vizard-mask in either of thetheatres. " At the same time it was commanded that no person, of whatquality soever, should presume to go behind the scenes, or come uponthe stage, either before or during the acting of any play; and that noperson should come into either house without paying the priceestablished for their respective places. And the disobedient werepublicly warned that they would be proceeded against, as "contemnersof our royal authority and disturbers of the public peace. "

These royal commands were not very implicitly obeyed. Vizard-masks mayhave been discarded promptly, but there was much crowding, behind thescenes and upon the stage, of persons of quality for many years after. Garrick, in 1762, once and for ever, succeeded in clearing the boardsof the unruly mob of spectators, and secured room to move upon thescene for himself and his company. But it was only by enlarging histheatre, and in such wise increasing the number of seats available forspectators in the auditory of the house, that he was enabled to effectthis reform. From that date the playgoers of the past grew more andmore like the playgoers of the present, until the flight of timerendered distinction between them no longer possible, and mergedyesterday in to-day. There must have been a very important change inthe aspect of the house, however, when hair powder went out of fashionin 1795; when swords ceased to be worn--for, of course, then therecould be no more rising of the pit to slash the curtain and scenery, to prick the performers, and to lunge at the mirrors and decorations;when gold and silver lace vanished from coats and waistcoats, silksand velvets gave place to broadcloth and pantaloons; and when, afterwards, trousers covered those nether limbs which had before, andfor so long a period, been exhibited in silk stockings. Yet thesealterations were accomplished gradually, no doubt. All was not done ina single night. Fashion makes first one convert, and then another, andso on, until all are numbered among her followers and wear the liveryshe has prescribed. Garrick's opinion of those playgoers of his time, whom he at last banished from his stage, may be gathered from thedialogue between Æsop and the Fine Gentleman, in his farce of "Lethe. "Æsop inquires: "How do you spend your evening, sir?" "I dress in theevening, " says the Fine Gentleman, "and go generally behind thescenes of both playhouses; not, you may imagine, to be diverted withthe play, but to intrigue and show myself. I stand upon the stage, talk loud, and stare about, which confounds the actors and disturbsthe audience. Upon which the galleries, who hate the appearance of oneof us, begin to hiss, and cry, 'Off, off!' while I, undaunted, stampmy foot, so; loll with my shoulder, thus; take snuff with my righthand, and smile scornfully, thus. This exasperates the savages, andthey attack us with volleys of sucked oranges and half-eaten pippins. ""And you retire?" "Without doubt, if I am sober; for orange will stainsilk, and an apple may disfigure a feature. "

In the Italian opera-houses of London there have long prevailedmanagerial ordinances touching the style of dress to be assumed by thepatrons of those establishments; the British playgoer, however, attending histrionic performances in his native tongue has been leftto his own devices in that respect. It cannot be said that much harmhas resulted from the full liberty permitted him, or that neglect onhis part has impaired the generally attractive aspect of ourtheatrical auditories. Nevertheless, occasional eccentricity has beenforthcoming, if only to incur rebuke. We may cite an instance or two. 

In December, 1738, the editor of _The London Evening Post_ was thusaddressed by a correspondent assuming the character of Miss Townley:

 "I am a young woman of fashion who love plays, and should be glad to frequent them as an agreeable and instructive entertainment, but am debarred that diversion by my relations upon account of a sort of people who now fill or rather infest the boxes. I went the other night to the play with an aunt of mine, a well-bred woman of the last age, though a little formal. When we sat down in the front boxes we found ourselves surrounded by a parcel of the strangest fellows that ever I saw in my life; some of them had those loose kind of great-coats on which I have heard called _wrap-rascals_, with gold-laced hats, slouched in humble imitation of _stage-coachmen_; others aspired at being _grooms_, and had dirty boots and spurs, with black caps on, and long whips in their hands; a third sort wore scanty frocks, with little, shabby hats, put on one side, and clubs in their hands. My aunt whispered me that she never saw such a set of slovenly, unmannerly footmen sent to keep places in her life, when, to her great surprise, she saw those fellows, at the end of the act, pay the box-keeper for their places. "

In 1730 the "Universal Spectator" notes: "The wearing of swords, atthe Court end of the town, is, by many polite young gentlemen, laidaside; and instead thereof they carry large oak sticks, with greatheads and ugly faces carved thereon. "

Elliston was, in 1827, lessee and manager of the Surrey Theatre. "Quite an opera pit, " he said to Charles Lamb, conducting him over thebenches of that establishment, described by Lamb as "the last retreatof his every-day waning grandeur. " The following letter--theauthenticity of which seems to be vouched for by the actor'sbiographer--supplies a different view of the Surrey audience of thatdate:

 "_August 10th, 1827. _

 "SIR, --I really must beg to call your attention to a most abominable nuisance which exists in your house, and which is, in a great measure, the cause of the minor theatres not holding the rank they should amongst playhouses. I mean the admission of _sweeps_ into the theatre in the very dress in which they climb chimneys. This not only incommodes ladies and gentlemen by the obnoxious odour arising from their attire, but these sweeps take up twice the room of other people because the ladies, in particular, object to their clothes being soiled by such unpleasant neighbours. I have with my wife been much in the habit of visiting the Surrey Theatre, and on three occasions we have been annoyed by these sweeps. People will not go, sir, where sweeps are; and you will find, sooner or later, these gentlemen will have the whole theatre to themselves unless an alteration be made. I own, at some theatres, the managers are too particular in dress; those days are passed, and the public have a right to go to theatrical entertainments in their morning costumes; but this ought not to include the sweeps. It is not a week ago since a lady in a nice white gown sat down on the very spot which a nasty sweep had just quitted, and, when she got up, the sight was most horrible, for she was a very heavy lady and had laughed a good deal during the performance; but it was no laughing matter to her when she got home. I hope I have said quite enough, and am your

 "WELL-WISHER. "

 "R. W. Elliston, Esq. "

No doubt some reform followed upon this urgent complaint. 

Regulations as to dress are peculiar to our Italian opera-houses, areunknown, as Mr. Sutherland Edwards writes in his "History of theOpera, " "even in St. Petersburg and Moscow, where, as the theatres aredirected by the Imperial Government, one might expect to find a moredespotic code of laws in force than in a country like England. When anEnglishman goes to a morning or evening concert, he does not presenthimself in the attire of a scavenger, and there is no reason forsupposing that he would appear in any unbecoming garb if liberty ofdress were permitted to him at the opera.... If the check-takers areempowered to inspect and decide as to the propriety of the cut andcolour of clothes, why should they not also be allowed to examine thetexture? On the same principle, too, the cleanliness of opera-goersought to be inquired into. No one whose hair is not properly brushedshould be permitted to enter the stalls, and visitors to the pitshould be compelled to show their nails. "

There have been, from time to time, protests, unavailing however, against the tyranny of the opera-managers. In his "Seven Years of theKing's Theatre" (1828), Mr. Ebers publishes the remonstrance of agentleman refused admission to the opera on the score of his imperfectcostume, much to his amazement; "for, " he writes, "I was dressed in asuperfine blue coat with gold buttons, white waistcoat, fashionabletight drab pantaloons, white silk stockings and dress shoes, _all wornbut once, a few days before, at a dress concert, at the Crown andAnchor Tavern_. " He proceeds to express his indignation at the idea ofthe manager presuming to enact sumptuary laws without the interventionof the Legislature, and adds threats of legal proceedings and anappeal to a British jury. "I have mixed, " he continues, "too much ingenteel society not to know that black breeches, or pantaloons, withblack silk stockings, is a very prevailing full dress, and why is itso? Because it is convenient and economical, _for you can wear a pairof white silk stockings but once without washing, and a fair of blackis frequently worn for weeks without ablution. _ P. S. --I have noobjection to submit an inspection of my dress of the evening inquestion to you or any competent person you may appoint. " Of thisoffer it would seem that Mr. Ebers did not avail himself. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE MASTER OF THE REVELS. 

Lords of Misrule and Abbots of Unreason had long presided over theYuletide festivities of Old England; in addition to thesefunctionaries King Henry VIII. Nominated a Master and Yeoman of theRevels to act as the subordinates of his Lord Chamberlain, andexpressly to provide and supervise the general entertainments andpastimes of the court. These had already been ordered and establishedafter a manner that seemed extravagant by contrast with the economicaltastes of the preceding sovereign, who yet had not shown indifferenceto the attractions of poetry, music, and the stage. But Henry VIII. , according to the testimony of Hall, was a proficient, not less in armsthan in arts; he exercised himself daily in shooting, singing, dancing, wrestling, "casting of the bar, playing at the recorders, flute, virginals, and in setting of songs, making of ballettes; anddid set two goodly masses, every in them five parts, which were sungoftentimes in his chapel, and afterwards in divers other places. "Early in his reign he appointed Richard Gibson, one of his father'scompany of players, to be "yeoman tailor to the king, " andsubsequently "serjeant-at-arms and of the tents and revels;" and in1546 he granted a patent to Sir Thomas Cawarden, conferring upon himthe office of "Magistri Jocorum, Revellorum et Mascorum, omnium etsingulorum nostrorum, vulgariter nuncupatorum Revells et Masks, " witha salary of £10 sterling--a very modest stipend; but then Sir Thomasenjoyed other emoluments from his situation as one of the gentlemenof the Privy Chamber. The Yeoman of the Revels, who assisted theMaster and probably discharged the chief duties of his office, received an annual allowance of £9 2s. 6d. , and eight players ofinterludes were awarded incomes, of £3 6s. 8d. To these remoteappointments of "yeoman tailor, " and "Master of the Revels, " is duethat office of "Licenser of Plays, " which, strange to say, is extantand even flourishing in the present year of grace. 

As Chalmers has pointed out, however, in his "Apology for theBelievers in the Shakespearean Papers, " the King's Chamberlain, or, ashe was styled in all formal proceedings of the time, CamerariusHospitii, had the government and superintendence of the king's huntingand revels, of the comedians, musicians, and other royal servants; andwas, by virtue of the original constitution of his office, the realMaster of the Revels, "the great director of the sports of the courtby night as well as of the sports of the field by day. " Still theodium of his office, especially in its relation to plays and players, could not but attach to his subordinates and deputies the Masters ofthe Revels; "tasteless and officious tyrants, " as Gifford describesthem in a note to Ben Jonson's "Alchemist, " "who acted with littlediscrimination, and were always more ready to prove their authoritythan their judgment, the most hateful of them all being Sir HenryHerbert, " appointed by Charles I. To an office which naturally expiredwhen the Puritans suppressed the stage and did their utmost toexterminate the players. At the Restoration, however, Herbert resumedhis duties; but he found, as Chalmers relates, "that the recent timeshad given men new habits of reasoning, notions of privileges, andpropensities to resistance. He applied to the courts of justice forredress; but the verdicts of judges were contradictory; he appealed tothe ruler of the state, but without receiving redress or excitingsympathy: like other disputed jurisdictions, the authority of theMaster of the Revels continued to be oppressive till the Revolutiontaught new lessons to all parties. "

It is to be observed, however, that the early severities and arbitrarycaprices to which the players were subjected, were not attributablesolely to the action of the Masters of the Revels. The Privy Councilwas constant in its interference with the affairs of the theatre. Asuspicion was for a long time rife that the dramatic representationsof the sixteenth century touched upon matters of religion or points ofdoctrine, and oftentimes contained matters "tending to sedition and tothe contempt of sundry good orders and laws. " Proclamations were fromtime to time issued inhibiting the players and forbidding therepresentation of plays and interludes. In 1551 even the actorsattached to the households of noblemen were not allowed to performwithout special leave from the Privy Council; and the authorities ofGray's Inn, once famous for its dramatic representations, expresslyordered that there should be "no comedies called interludes in thishouse out of term time, but when the Feast of the Nativity of our Lordis solemnly observed. " Upon the accession of Queen Mary, in 1553, dramatic representations, whether or not touching upon points ofreligious doctrine, appear to have been forbidden for a period of twoyears. In 1556 the Star Chamber issued orders, addressed to thejustices of the peace in every county in the kingdom, withinstructions that they should be rigorously enforced, forbidding therepresentation of dramatic productions of all kinds. Still, in Mary'sreign, certain miracle plays, designed to inculcate and enforce thetenets of the Roman Catholic religion, were now and then encouraged bythe public authorities; and in 1557 the Queen sanctioned varioussports and pageants of a dramatic kind, apparently for theentertainment of King Philip, then arrived from Flanders, and of theRussian ambassador, who had reached England a short time before. 

The players had for a long while few temptations to resist authority, whether rightfully or wrongfully exercised. Sufferance was the badgeof their tribe. They felt constrained to submit without question orrepining, when loud-toned commands were addressed to them, dreadinglest worse things should come about. It was a sort of satisfaction tothem, at last, to find themselves governed by so distinguished apersonage as the Lord Chamberlain, or even by his inferior officer theMaster of the Revels. It was true that he might, as he often did, dealwith them absurdly and severely; but even in this abuse of his powerthere was valuable recognition of their profession--it became investedwith a measure of lawfulness, otherwise often denied it by commonopinion. How it chanced that a member of the royal household ruled notonly the dramatic representations of the court, but controlledarbitrarily enough, plays and players generally, no one appeared toknow, or thought it worth while to inquire. As Colley Cibber writes:"Though in all the letters patent for acting plays, &c. , since KingCharles I. 's time, there has been no mention of the Lord Chamberlain, or of any subordination to his command or authority, yet it was stilltaken for granted that no letters patent, by the bare omission of sucha great officer's name, could have superseded or taken out of hishands that power which time out of mind he always had exercised overthe theatre. But as the truth of the question seemed to be wrapt in agreat deal of obscurity in the old laws, made in former reigns, relating to players, &c. , it may be no wonder that the best companiesof actors should be desirous of taking shelter under the visible powerof a Lord Chamberlain, who, they knew, had at his pleasure favouredand protected, or borne hard upon them; but be all this as it may, aLord Chamberlain, from whencesoever his power might be derived, had, till of later years, had always an implicit obedience paid to it. "

Among the duties undertaken by the Lord Chamberlain was the licensingor refusing new plays, with the suppression of such portions of them_as_ he might deem objectionable; which province was assigned to hisinferior, the Master of the Revels. This, be it understood, was longbefore the passing of the Licensing Act of 1737, which indeed, although it gave legal sanction to the power of the Lord Chamberlain, did not really invest him with much more power than he had oftenbefore exercised. Even in Charles II. 's time, the representation of"The Maid's Tragedy, " of Beaumont and Fletcher, had been forbidden byan order from the Lord Chamberlain. It was conjectured that "thekilling of the king in that play, while the tragical death of KingCharles I. Was then so fresh in people's memory, was an object toohorribly impious for a public entertainment;" and, accordingly, thecourtly poet Waller occupied himself in altering the catastrophe ofthe story, so as to save the life of the king. Another opinionprevailed, to the effect that the murder accomplished by the heroineEvadne offered "a dangerous example to other Evadnes then shining atcourt in the same rank of royal distinction. " In the same reign also, Nat Lee's tragedy of "Lucius Junius Brutus, " "was silenced after threeperformances;" it being objected that the plan and sentiments of ithad too boldly vindicated, and might inflame, Republican principles. Aprologue, by Dryden, to "The Prophetess, " was prohibited, on accountof certain "familiar metaphorical sneers at the Revolution" it wassupposed to contain, at a time when King William was prosecuting thewar in Ireland. Bank's tragedy of "Mary, Queen of Scotland, " waswithheld from the stage for twenty years, owing to "the profoundpenetration of the Master of the Revels, who saw political spectres init that never appeared in the presentation. " From Cibber's version of"Richard III. , " the first act was wholly expunged, lest "thedistresses of King Henry VI. , who is killed by Richard in the firstact, should put weak people too much in mind of King James, thenliving in France. " In vain did Cibber petition the Master of theRevels "for the small indulgence of a speech or two, that the otherfour acts might limp on with a little less absurdity. No! He had notleisure to consider what might be separately inoffensive!" So, too, some eight years before the passing of the Licensing Act, Gay's balladopera of "Polly, " designed as a sequel to "The Beggar's Opera, "incurred the displeasure of the Chamberlain, and was denied thehonours of representation. 

Nor was it only on political grounds that the Lord Chamberlain or theMaster of the Revels exercised his power. The "View of the Stage, "published by the nonjuring clergyman, Jeremy Collier, in 1697, firstdrew public attention to the immorality and profanity of the dramaticwriters of that period. The diatribes and rebukes of Collier, if hereand there a trifle overstrained, were certainly, for the most part, provoked by the nature of the case, and were justified by the result. Even Cibber, who had been cited as one of the offenders, admits that"his calling our dramatic writers to this strict account had a verywholesome effect upon those who wrote after this time. They were now agreat deal more upon their guard ... And, by degrees, the fair sexcame again to fill the boxes on the first day of a new comedy, withoutfear of censure. " For some time, it seems, the ladies had been afraidof venturing "bare-faced" to a new comedy, till they had been assuredthat they could do it without risk of affront; "or if, " as Cibbersays, "their curiosity was too strong for their patience, they tookcare, at least, to save appearances, and rarely came upon the firstdays of acting but in masks, then daily worn and admitted in the pit, the side-boxes, and gallery. " This reform of the drama, it is to beobserved, was really effected, not by the agency of the Chamberlain orany other court official, but by force of the just criticism, strenuously delivered, of a private individual. But now, following theexample of Collier, the Master of the Revels, in his turn, insistedupon amendment in this matter, and oftentimes forbade the performanceof whole scenes that he judged to be vicious or immoral. He hadconstituted himself a _Censor Morum_; a character in which the modernLicenser of Plays still commends himself to our notice. 

Moreover, the Chamberlain had arrogated to himself the right ofinterfering in dramatic affairs upon all occasions that he judgedfitting. Upon his authority the theatres were closed at any moment, even for a period of six weeks, in the case of the death of thesovereign. If any disputes occurred between managers and actors, evenin relation to so small a matter as the privileges of the latter, theChamberlain interfered to arrange the difficulty according to his ownnotion of justice. No actor could quit the company of one patenttheatre, to join the forces of the other, without the permission ofthe Chamberlain, in addition to the formal discharge of his manager. Powell, the actor, even suffered imprisonment on this account, although it was thought as well, after a day or two, to abandon theproceedings that had been taken against him. "Upon this occasion, "says Cibber, with a mysterious air, and in very involved terms, "behind the scenes at Drury Lane, a person of great quality, in myhearing, inquiring of Powell into the nature of his offence ... Toldhim, that if he had patience, or spirit enough to have stayed in hisconfinement till he had given him notice of it, he would have foundhim a handsomer way of coming out of it!" Of the same actor, Powell, it is recorded that he once, at Will's Coffee House, "in a disputeabout playhouse affairs, struck a gentleman whose family had been sometime masters of it. " A complaint of the actor's violence was lodged atthe Chamberlain's office, and Powell having a part in the playannounced for performance upon the following day, an order was sent tosilence the whole company, and to close the theatre, although it wasadmitted that the managers had been without cognisance of theiractor's misconduct! "However, " Cibber narrates, "this order wasobeyed, and remained in force for two or three days, till the sameauthority was pleased, or advised, to revoke it. From the measuresthis injured gentleman took for his redress, it may be judged how farit was taken for granted that a Lord Chamberlain had an absolute powerover the theatre. " An attempt, however, upon the authority of theChamberlain to imprison Dogget, the actor, for breach of hisengagement with the patentees of Drury Lane Theatre, met with signaldiscomfiture. Dogget forthwith applied to the Lord Chief Justice Holtfor his discharge under the Habeas Corpus Act, and readily obtainedit, with, it may be gathered, liberal compensation for the violence towhich he had been subjected. 

The proceedings of the Lord Chamberlain had, indeed, become mostoppressive. Early in 1720, the Duke of Newcastle, then LordChamberlain, took upon himself to close Drury Lane Theatre. Steele, then one of the patentees, addressed the public upon the subject. Hehad lived in friendship with the duke; he owed his seat in Parliamentto the duke's influence. He commenced with saying: "The injury which Ihave received, great as it is, has nothing in it so painful as that itcomes from whence it does. When I complained of it in a private letterto the Chamberlain, he was pleased to send his secretary to me with amessage to forbid me writing, speaking, corresponding, or applying tohim in any manner whatsoever. Since he has been pleased to send anEnglish gentleman a banishment from his person and counsels in a stylethus royal, I doubt not but that the reader will justify me in themethod I take to explain this matter to the town. " Steele could obtainno redress, however. He was virtually dispossessed of his rights aspatentee. He estimated his loss at nine thousand eight hundred pounds, and concluded his statement of the case with the words: "But it isapparent the King is grossly and shamelessly injured ... I never didone act to provoke this attempt, nor does the Chamberlain pretend toassign any direct reason of forfeiture, but openly and wittinglydeclares that he will ruin Steele.... The Lord Chamberlain and manyothers may, perhaps, have done more for the House of Hanover than Ihave, but I am the only man in his majesty's dominions, who did all hecould. " For some months Steele was replaced by other patentees, ofwhom Cibber was one, more submissive to "the lawful monarch of thestage, " as Dennis designated the Chamberlain; but in 1721, upon theintervention of Walpole, Steele was restored to his privileges. It isnot clear, however, that he took any legal measures to obtaincompensation for the wrong done him. Cibber is silent upon thesubject; because, it has been suggested, the Chamberlain had beeninstrumental in obtaining him the appointment of poet laureate, whichcould hardly have devolved upon him in right of his poeticqualifications. 

Nevertheless, Cibber had been active in organising a form ofopposition to the authority of the Chamberlain and the Master of theRevels, which, although it seemed of a trifling kind, had yet itsimportance. For it turned upon the question of fees. The holders ofthe patents considered themselves sole judges of the plays proper tobe acted in their theatres. The Master of the Revels claimed his feeof forty shillings for each play produced. The managers, it seems, were at liberty to represent new plays without consulting him, and tospare him the trouble of reading the same--provided always they paidhim his fees. But these they now thought it expedient to withhold fromhim. Cibber was deputed to attend the Master of the Revels, and toinquire into the justice of his demand, with full powers to settle thedispute amicably. Charles Killigrew at this time filled the office, having succeeded his father Thomas, who had obtained the appointmentof Master of the Revels upon the death of Sir Henry Herbert in 1673. Killigrew could produce no warrant for his demand. Cibber concludedwith telling him that "as his pretensions were not backed with anyvisible instrument of right, and as his strongest plea was custom, themanagers could not so far extend their complaisance as to continue thepayment of fees upon so slender a claim to them. " From that timeneither their plays nor his fees gave either party any furthertrouble. In 1725 Killigrew was succeeded as Master of the Revels byCharles Henry Lea, who for some years continued to exercise "suchauthority as was not opposed, and received such fees as he could findthe managers willing to pay. "

The first step towards legislation in regard to the theatres and thelicensing of plays was made in 1734, when Sir John Barnard moved theHouse of Commons "for leave to bring in a bill for restraining thenumber of houses for playing of interludes and for the betterregulating common players of interludes. " It was represented thatgreat mischief had been done in the city of London by the playhouses:youth had been corrupted, vice encouraged, trade and industryprejudiced. Already the number of theatres in London was double thatof Paris. In addition to the opera-house, the French playhouse in theHaymarket, and the theatres in Covent Garden, Drury Lane, Lincoln'sInn Fields, and Goodman's Fields, there was now a project to erect anew playhouse in St. Martin's-le-Grand. It was no less surprising thanshameful to see so great a change in the temper and inclination of theBritish people; "we now exceeded in levity even the French themselves, from whom we learned these and many other ridiculous customs, as muchunsuitable to the mien and manners of an Englishman or a Scot, as theywere agreeable to the air and levity of a Monsieur. " Moreover, it wasremarked that, to the amazement and indignation of all Europe, Italiansingers received here "set salaries equal to those of the Lords of theTreasury and Judges of England!" The bill was duly brought in, but wasafterwards dropped, "on account of a clause offered to be inserted ... For enlarging the power of the Lord Chamberlain with respect to thelicensing of plays. " It is curious to find that Tony Aston, a popularcomedian of the time, who had been bred an attorney, was, upon his ownpetition, permitted to deliver a speech in the House of Commonsagainst Sir John Barnard's bill. 

But two years later the measure was substantially passed into law. Thetheatres had certainly given in the meantime serious provocation tothe authorities. The power of the Chamberlain and the Master of theRevels had been derided. Playhouses were opened and plays producedwithout any kind of license. At the Haymarket, under the management ofFielding, who styled his actors "The Great Mogul's Comedians, " thebills announcing that they had "dropped from the clouds" (in mockery, probably, of "His Majesty's Servants" at Drury Lane, or of anothertroop describing themselves as "The Comedians of His Majesty'sRevels"), the plays produced had been in the nature of politicallampoons. Walpole and his arts of government were openly satirised, Fielding having no particular desire to spare the prime minister, whose patronage he had vainly solicited. In the play entitled"Pasquin, a Dramatic Satire on the Times; being the rehearsal of twoplays, viz. , a Comedy, called The Election, and a Tragedy, called theLife and Death of Common Sense, " the satire was chiefly aimed at theelectoral corruptions of the age, the abuses prevailing in the learnedprofessions, and the servility of place-men who derided public virtue, and denied the existence of political honesty. "Pasquin, " it may benoted, was received with extraordinary favour, enjoyed a run of fiftynights, and proved a source of both fame and profit to its author. Butthe play of "The Historical Register of 1736, " produced in the springof 1737, contained allusions of a more pointed and personal kind, andgravely offended the government. Indeed, the result could hardly havebeen otherwise. Walpole himself was brought upon the stage, and underthe name of Quidam violently caricatured. He was exhibited silencingnoisy patriots with bribes, and then joining with them in a dance--theproceedings being explained by Medley, another of the characters, supposed to be an author: "Sir, every one of these patriots has a holein his pocket, as Mr. Quidam the fiddler there knows; so that heintends to make them dance till all the money has fallen through, which he will pick up again, and so not lose a halfpenny by hisgenerosity!" The play, indeed, abounded in satire of the boldest kind, in witty and unsparing invective; as the biographer of Fieldingacknowledges, there was much in the work "well calculated both tooffend and alarm a wary minister of state. " Soon both "Pasquin" and"The Historical Register" were brought under the notice of theCabinet. Walpole felt "that it would be inexpedient to allow the stageto become the vehicle of anti-ministerial abuse. " The Licensing Actwas resolved upon. 

The new measure was not avowedly aimed at Fielding, however. It waspreceded by incidents of rather a suspicious kind. Gifford, themanager of Goodman's Fields Theatre, professing to have received fromsome anonymous writer a play of singular scurrility, carried the workto the prime minister. The obsequious manager was rewarded with onethousand pounds for his patriotic conduct, and the libellous nature ofthe play he had surrendered was made the excuse for the legislationthat ensued. It was freely observed at the time, however, that Giffordhad profited more by suppressing the play than he could possibly havegained by representing it, and that there was something more thannatural in the appositeness of his receipt of it. If honest, it wassuggested that he had been trapped by a government spy, who had senthim the play, solely that he might deal with it as he did; but it wasrather assumed that he had disingenuously curried favour with theauthorities, and sold himself for treasury gold. The play in questionwas never acted or printed; nor was the name of the author, or of theperson from whom the manager professed to have received it, everdisclosed. Horace Walpole, indeed, boldly ascribed it to Fielding, andasserted that he had discovered among his father's papers an imperfectcopy of the play. But the statement has not obtained much acceptance. 

The ministry hurried on their Licensing Bill. It was entitled "An Actto explain and amend so much of an Act made in the twelfth year ofQueen Anne, entitled 'An Act for reducing the laws relating to rogues, vagabonds, sturdy beggars, and vagrants, into one Act of Parliament;and for a more effectual punishing such rogues, vagabonds, sturdybeggars, and vagrants, and sending them whither they ought to besent, ' as relates to common players of interludes. " But its chiefobject--undisclosed by its title, was the enactment that, for thefuture, every dramatic piece, including prologues and epilogues, should, previous to performance, receive the license of the LordChamberlain, and that, without his permission, no London theatre, unprotected by a patent, should open its doors. Read a first time onthe 24th of May, 1737, the bill was passed through both Houses withsuch despatch that it received the royal assent on the 8th of Junefollowing. It was opposed in the House of Commons by Mr. Pulteney, andin the House of Lords by the Earl of Chesterfield, whose impressivespeech on the occasion is one of the few specimens that survive of theparliamentary eloquence of the period. With the passing of theLicensing Act, Fielding's career as manager and dramatist was broughtto a close. He was constrained to devote himself to the study of thelaw, and subsequently to the production of novels. And with thepassing of the Licensing Act terminated the existence of the Masterof the Revels; the Act, indeed, made no mention of him, ignored himaltogether. He survived, however, under another name--still as theChamberlain's subordinate and deputy. Thence forward he was known asthe Licenser of Playhouses and Examiner of Plays. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE LICENSER OF PLAYHOUSES. 

The Act of 1737 for licensing plays, playhouses, and players, andlegalising the power the Lord Chamberlain had long been accustomed toexercise, although readily passed by both Houses of Parliament, gavegreat offence to the public. The Abbé Le Blanc, who was visitingEngland at this period, describes the new law as provoking a"universal murmur in the nation. " It was openly complained of in thenewspapers; at the coffee-houses it was denounced as unjust and"contrary to the liberties of the people of England. " Fear prevailedthat the freedom of the press would next be invaded. In the House ofLords Chesterfield had stigmatised the measure both as an encroachmenton liberty and an attack on property. "Wit, my lords, " he said, "is asort of property. It is the property of those that have it, and toooften the only property they have to depend on. It is, indeed; but aprecarious dependence. Thank God, we, my lords, have a dependence ofanother kind. We have a much less precarious support, and, therefore, cannot feel the inconveniences of the bill now before us; but it isour duty to encourage and protect wit, whosoever's property it may be.... I must own I cannot easily agree to the laying of a tax upon wit;but by this bill it is to be heavily taxed--it is to be excised; forif this bill passes, it cannot be retailed in a proper way without apermit; and the Lord Chamberlain is to have the honour of being chiefgauger, supervisor, commissioner, judge and jury. " At this time, however, it is to be noted that parliamentary reporting was forbiddenby both Houses. The general public, therefore, knew little of LordChesterfield's eloquent defence of the liberty of the stage. 

The Act was passed in June, when the patent theatres, according tocustom, were closed for the summer. Some two months after theirreopening in the autumn all dramatic representations were suspendedfor six weeks, in consequence of the death of Queen Caroline. InJanuary was presented at Covent Garden "A Nest of Plays, " as theauthor, one Hildebrand Jacob, described his production: a combinationof three short plays, each consisting of one act only, entitledrespectively, "The Prodigal Reformed, " "Happy Constancy, " and "TheTrial of Conjugal Love. " The performance met with a very unfavourablereception. The author attributed the ill success of his work to itsbeing the first play licensed by the authority of the Lord Chamberlainunder the new bill, many spectators having predetermined to silence, under any circumstances, "the first fruits of that Act of Parliament. "And this seems, indeed, to have been the case. The Abbé Le Blanc, whowas present on the occasion, writes: "The best play in the world wouldnot have succeeded that night. There was a disposition to damnwhatever might appear. The farce in question was damned, indeed, without the least compassion. Nor was that all, for the actors weredriven off the stage, and happy was it for the author that he did notfall into the hands of this furious assembly. " And the Abbé proceedsto explain that the originators of this disturbance were not"schoolboys, apprentices, clerks, or mechanics, " but lawyers, "a bodyof gentlemen perhaps less honoured, but certainly more feared herethan they are in France, " who, "from living in colleges (Inns ofCourt), and from conversing always with one another, mutually preservea spirit of independency through the body, and with great ease formcabals.... At Paris the cabals of the pit are only among youngfellows, whose years may excuse their folly, or persons of the meanesteducation and stamp; here they are the fruit of deliberation in a verygrave body of people, who are not less formidable to the minister inplace than to the theatrical writers. " But the Abbé relates that on asubsequent occasion, when another new play having been announced, hehad looked for further disturbance, the judicious dramatist of thenight succeeded in calming the pit by administering in his prologue adouble dose of incense to their vanity. "Half-an-hour before the playwas to begin the spectators gave notice of their dispositions byfrightful hisses and outcries, equal, perhaps, to what were ever heardat a Roman amphitheatre. " The author, however, having in part tamedthis wild audience by his flattery, secured ultimately its absolutefavour by humouring its prejudices after the grossest fashion. Hebrought upon the stage a figure "with black eyebrows, a ribbon of anell long under his chin, a bag-peruke immoderately powdered, and hisnose all bedaubed with snuff. What Englishman could not know aFrenchman by this ridiculous figure?" The Frenchman was presentlyshown to be, for all the lace down every seam of his coat, nothing buta cook, and then followed severe satire and criticism upon the mannersand customs of France. "The excellence and virtues of English beefwere extolled, and the author maintained that it was owing to thequalities of its juice that the English were so courageous and hadsuch a solidity of understanding, which raised them above all thenations in Europe; he preferred the noble old English pudding beyondall the finest ragouts that ever were invented by the greatestgeniuses that France ever produced. " These "ingenious strokes" wereloudly applauded by the audience, it seems, who, in their delight atthe abuse lavished upon the French, forgot that they came to condemnthe play and to uphold the ancient liberties of the stage. From thattime forward, the Abbé states, "the law was executed without the leasttrouble; all the plays since have been quietly heard, and eithersucceeded or not according to their merits. "

When Garrick visited Paris he declined to be introduced to the Abbé LeBlanc, "on account of the irreverence with which he had treatedShakespeare. " There can, indeed, be no doubt that the Abbé, althoughhe wrote amusing letters, was a very prejudiced person, and hisevidence and opinions touching the English stage must be received withcaution. So far as can be ascertained, especially by study of the"History of the Stage" (compiled by that industrious clergyman, Mr. Genest, from the playbills in the British Museum), but few new playswere produced in the course of the season immediately following thepassing of the Licensing Act; certainly no new play can be foundanswering the description furnished by the Abbé with due regard to theperiod he has fixed for its production. Possibly he referred to the"Beaux' Stratagem, " in which appear a French officer and anIrish-French priest, and which was certainly represented some fewnights after the condemnation of Mr. Jacob's "Nest of Plays. "Farquhar's comedy was then thirty years old, however. Nor has the Abbédone full justice to the public opposition offered to the LicensingAct. At the Haymarket Theatre a serious riot occurred in October, 1738, fifteen months after the passing of the measure. Closed againstthe English actors the theatre was opened by a French company, armedwith a license from the Lord Chamberlain. A comedy, called "L'Embarrasde Richesses, " was announced for representation "by authority. " Thehouse was crowded immediately after the opening of the doors. But theaudience soon gave evidence of their sentiments by singing in chorus"The Roast Beef of Old England. " Then followed loud huzzas and generaltumult. Deveil, one of the Justices of the Peace for Westminster, whowas present, declared the proceedings to be riotous, and announced hisintention to maintain the King's authority. He stated, further, thatit was the King's command that the play should be acted, and that alloffenders would be immediately secured by the guards in waiting. Inopposition to the magistrate it was maintained "that the audience hada legal right to show their dislike to any play or actor; that thejudicature of the pit had been acquiesced in, time immemorial; and asthe present set of actors were to take their fate from the public, they were free to receive them as they pleased. " When the curtain drewup the actors were discovered standing between two files ofgrenadiers, with their bayonets fixed and resting on their firelocks. This seeming endeavour to secure the success of French acting by theaid of British bayonets still more infuriated the audience. EvenJustice Deveil thought it prudent to order the withdrawal of themilitary. The actors attempted to speak, but their voices wereoverborne by hisses, groans, and "not only catcalls, but all thevarious portable instruments that could make a disagreeable noise. " Adance was next essayed; but even this had been provided against:showers of peas descended upon the stage, and "made capering veryunsafe. " The French and Spanish Ambassadors, with their ladies, whohad occupied the stage-box, now withdrew, only to be insulted outsidethe theatre by the mob, who had cut the traces of their carriages. Thecurtain at last fell, and the attempt to present French plays at theHaymarket was abandoned, "the public being justly indignant thatwhilst an arbitrary Act suppressed native talent, foreign adventurersshould be patronised and encouraged. " It must be said, however, thatthe French actors suffered for sins not their own, and that the wrathof the public did not really reach the Lord Chamberlain, or effect anychange in the Licensing Act. 

For twenty years the Haymarket remained without a license of anyendurance. The theatre was occasionally opened, however, for briefseasons, by special permission of the Chamberlain, or in defiance ofhis authority, many ingenious subterfuges being resorted to, so thatthe penalties imposed by the Act might be evaded. One of theadvertisements ran--"At Cibber's Academy, in the Haymarket, will be aconcert, after which will be exhibited (gratis) a rehearsal, in formof a play, called Romeo and Juliet. " Macklin, the actor, opened thetheatre in 1744, and under the pretence of instructing "unfledgedperformers" in "the science of acting, " gave a variety of dramaticrepresentations. It was expressly announced that no money would betaken at the doors, "nor any person admitted but by printed tickets, which will be delivered by Mr. Macklin, at his house in Bow Street, Covent Garden. " At one of these performances Samuel Foote made hisfirst appearance upon the stage, sustaining the part of Othello. Presently, Foote ventured to give upon the stage of the Haymarket, amonologue entertainment, called "Diversions of a Morning. " At theinstance of Lacy, however, one of the patentees of Drury Lane Theatre, whom Foote had satirised, the performance was soon prohibited. ButFoote was not easily discouraged; and, by dint of wit and impudence, for some time baffled the authorities. He invited his friends toattend the theatre, at noon, and "drink a dish of chocolate with him. "He promised that he would "endeavour to make the morning as divertingas possible;" and notified that "Sir Dilbury Diddle would be there, and Lady Betty Frisk had absolutely promised. " Tickets, without whichno person would be admitted, were to be obtained at George's CoffeeHouse, Temple Bar. Some simple visitors, no doubt, expected thatchocolate would be really served to them. But the majority werecontent with an announcement from the stage that, while chocolate waspreparing, Mr. Foote would, with the permission of his friends, proceed with his instruction of certain pupils he was educating in theart of acting. Under this pretence a dramatic representation wasreally given, and repeated on some forty occasions. Then he grewbolder, and opened the theatre in the evening, at the request, as hestated, "of several persons who are desirous of spending an hour withMr. Foote, but find the time inconvenient. " Instead of chocolate inthe morning, Mr. Foot's friends were therefore invited to drink "adish of tea" with him at half-past six in the evening. By-and-by, hisentertainment was slightly varied, and described as an Auction ofPictures. Eventually, Foote obtained from the Duke of Devonshire, theLord Chamberlain, a permanent license for the theatre, and theHaymarket took rank as a regular and legal place of entertainment, tobe open, however, only during the summer months. Upon Foote's decease, the theatre devolved upon George Colman, who obtained a continuance ofthe license. 

The theatre in Goodman's Fields underwent experiences very similar tothose of the Haymarket. Under the provisions of the Licensing Act itsperformances became liable to the charge of illegality. It was withouta patent or a license. It was kept open professedly for concerts ofvocal and instrumental music, divided into two parts. Between theseparts dramatic performances were presented gratis. The obscurity ofthe theatre, combined with its remote position, probably protected itfor some time from interference and suppression. But on the 19thOctober, 1741, at this unlicensed theatre, a gentleman, who, as theplaybill of the night untruly stated, had never before appeared on anystage, undertook the part of Richard III. In Cibber's version ofShakespeare's tragedy. The gentleman's name was David Garrick. Had hefailed the theatre might have lived on. But his success was fatal toit. The public went in crowds from all parts of the town to see thenew actor. "From the polite ends of Westminster the most elegantcompany flocked to Goodman's Fields, insomuch that from Temple Bar thewhole way was covered with a string of coaches. " The patentees ofDrury Lane and Covent Garden interfered, "alarmed at the deficiencyof their own receipts, " and invoked the aid of the Lord Chamberlain. The Goodman's Fields Theatre was closed, and Garrick was spirited awayto Drury Lane, with a salary of 600 guineas a-year, a larger sum thanhad ever before been awarded to any performer. 

It will be seen that the Chamberlain had deemed it his mission tolimit, as much as possible, the number of places of theatricalentertainment in London. Playgoers were bidden to be content withDrury Lane and Covent Garden; it was not conceivable to the noblemenand commoners occupying the Houses of Parliament, or to theplace-holders in the Chamberlain's office, or in the royal household, that other theatres could possibly be required. 

Still attempts were occasionally made to establish additional placesof entertainment. In 1785, John Palmer, the actor famous as theoriginal Joseph Surface, laid the first stone of a new theatre, to becalled the East London, or Royalty, in the neighbourhood of the oldGoodman's Fields Theatre, which had been many years abandoned of theactors and converted into a goods warehouse. The building wascompleted in 1787. The opening representation was announced; when theproprietors of the patent theatres gave warning that any infringementof their privileges would be followed by the prosecution of Mr. Palmerand his company. The performances took place, nevertheless, but theywere stated to be for the benefit of the London Hospital, and not, therefore, for "hire, gain, or reward;" so the actors avoided risk ofcommitment as rogues and vagabonds. But necessarily the enterpriseended in disaster. Palmer, his friends alleged, lost his wholefortune; it was shrewdly suspected, however, that he had, in truth, nofortune to lose. In any case he speedily retired from the new theatre. It was open for brief seasons with such exhibitions of music, dancing, and pantomime, as were held to be unaffected by the Act, andpermissible under the license of the local magistrates. From time totime, however, the relentless patentees took proceedings against theactors. Delpini, the clown, was even committed to prison forexclaiming "Roast Beef!" in a Christmas pantomime. By uttering wordswithout the accompaniment of music he had, it appeared, constitutedhimself an actor of a stage play. 

Some five-and-twenty years later, Elliston was now memorialising theking, now petitioning the House of Commons and the Privy Council, inreference to the opening of an additional theatre. He had been intreaty for the Pantheon, in Oxford Street, and urged that "theintellectual community would be benefited by an extension of licensefor the regular drama. " As lessee of the Royal Circus or SurreyTheatre, he besought liberty to exhibit and perform "all suchentertainments of music and action as were commonly called pantomimesand ballets, together with operatic or musical pieces, accompaniedwith dialogue in the ordinary mode of dramatic representations, "subject, at all times, to the control and restraint of the LordChamberlain, "in conformity to the laws by which theatres possessingthose extensive privileges were regulated. " But all was in vain. Theking would not "notice any representation connected with theestablishment of another theatre. " The other petitions were withoutresult. 

Gradually, however, it became necessary for the authorities torecognise the fact that the public really did require more amusementsof a theatrical kind than the privileged theatres could furnish. Butthe regular drama, it was held, must still be protected: performedonly on the patent boards. So now "burletta licenses" were issued, under cover of which melodramas were presented, with entertainments ofmusic and dancing, spectacle and pantomime. In 1809, the Lyceum orEnglish Opera House, which for some years before had been licensed formusic and dancing, was licensed for "musical dramatic entertainmentsand ballets of action. " The Adelphi, then called the Sans PareilTheatre, received a "burletta license" about the same time. In 1813 theOlympic was licensed for similar performances and for horsemanship;but it was for a while closed again by the Chamberlain's order, uponElliston's attempt to call the theatre Little Drury Lane, and torepresent upon its stage something more like the "regular drama" thanhad been previously essayed at a minor house. "Burletta licenses" werealso granted for the St. James's in 1835, and for the Strand in 1836. 

And, in despite of the authorities, theatres had been established onthe Surrey side of the Thames; but, in truth, for the accommodation ofthe dwellers on the Middlesex shore. Under the Licensing Act, whilethe Chamberlain was constituted licenser of all new plays throughoutGreat Britain, his power to grant licenses for theatricalentertainments was confined within the city and liberties ofWestminster, and wherever the sovereign might reside. The Surrey, theCoburg (afterwards the Victoria), Astley's, &c. , were, therefore, outof his jurisdiction. There seemed, indeed, to be no law in existenceunder which they could be licensed. They affected to be open under amagistrate's license for "music, dancing, and public entertainments. "But this, in truth, afforded them no protection when it was thoughtworth while to prosecute the managers for presenting dramaticexhibitions. For although an Act, passed in the 28th year of GeorgeIII. , enabled justices of the peace, under certain restrictions, togrant licenses for dramatic entertainments, their powers did notextend to within twenty miles of London. Lambeth was thus neutralground, over which neither the Lord Chamberlain nor the countryjustices had any real authority, with this difficulty about thecase--performances that could not be licensed could not be legalised. 

The law continued in this unsatisfactory state till the passing, in1843, of the Act for Regulating Theatres. This deprived the patenttheatres of their monopoly of the "regular drama, " in that it extendedthe Lord Chamberlain's power to grant licenses for the performance ofstage plays to all theatres within the parliamentary boundaries of theCity of London and Westminster, and of the Boroughs of Finsbury andMarylebone, the Tower Hamlets, Lambeth, and Southwark, and also"within those places where Her Majesty, her heirs and successors, shall, in their royal persons, occasionally reside;" it being fullyunderstood that all the theatres then existing in London would receiveforthwith the Chamberlain's license "to give stage plays in thefullest sense of the word;" to be taken to include, according to theterms of the Act, "every tragedy, comedy, farce, opera, burletta, interlude, melodrama, pantomime, or other entertainment of the stage, or any part thereof. "

Thus, at last, more than a century after the passing of the LicensingAct, certain of its more mischievous restrictions were in effectrepealed. A measure of free trade in theatres was established. TheLord Chamberlain was still to be "the lawful monarch of the stage, "but in the future his rule was to be more constitutional, lessabsolute than it had been. The public were no longer to be confined toDrury Lane and Covent Garden in the winter, and the Haymarket in thesummer. Actors were enabled, managers and public consenting, topersonate Hamlet or Macbeth, or other heroes of the poetic stage, atLambeth, Clerkenwell, or Shoreditch, anywhere indeed, without risk ofcommittal to gaol. It was no longer necessary to call a play a"burletta, " or to touch a note upon the piano, now and then, in thecourse of a performance, so as to justify its claim to be a musicalentertainment; all subterfuges of this kind ceased. 

It was with considerable reluctance, however, that the Chamberlain, inhis character of Licenser of Playhouses, divested himself of thepaternal authority he had so long exercised. He still clung to thenotion that he was a far better judge of the requirements and desiresof playgoers than they could possibly be themselves. He was stronglyof opinion that the number of theatres was "sufficient for thetheatrical wants of the metropolis. " He could not allow that thematter should be regulated by the ordinary laws of supply and demand, or by any regard for the large annual increase of the population. Systematically he hindered all enterprise in the direction of newtheatres. It was always doubtful whether his license would be granted, even after a new building had been completed. He decided that he mustbe guided by his own views of "the interests of the public. " It is notclear that he possessed authority in this respect other than thatderived from custom and the traditions of his office. The Act of 1843contained no special provisions on the subject. But he insisted thatall applicants for the licensing of new theatres should be armed withpetitions in favour of the proposal, signed by many of the inhabitantsin the immediate vicinity of the projected building; he 'required thePolice Commissioners to verify the truth of these petitions, and toreport whether inconvenience was likely to result in the way ofinterruption of traffic, or otherwise, from the establishment of a newtheatre. Further, he obtained the opinion of the parish authorities, the churchwardens, &c. , of the district; he was even suspected oftaking counsel with the managers of neighbouring establishments; "inshort, he endeavoured to convince himself generally that the grant ofthe license would satisfy a legitimate want"--or what the Chamberlainin his wisdom, or his unwisdom, held to be such. 

Under these conditions it is not surprising that for nearly a quarterof a century there was no addition made to the list of Londontheatres. But time moves on, and even Chamberlains have to move withit. Of late years there has been no difficulty in regard to thelicensing of new theatres, and the metropolis has been the richer bymany well-conducted houses of dramatic entertainment. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE EXAMINER OF PLAYS. 

The Lord Chamberlain holds office only so long as the political partyto which he is attached remains in power. He comes in and goes outwith the ministry. Any peculiar fitness for the appointment is notrequired of him; it is simply a reward for his political services. Ofcourse different Chamberlains have entertained different opinions ofthe duties to be performed in regard to the theatres; and, in suchwise, much embarrassment has arisen. The Chamberlain's office issupported by a grant from the Civil List, which is settled upon theaccession of the sovereign. In addition, fees are received for thelicensing of theatres, and for the examination of plays. 

The Examiner of Plays has long been recognised as a more permanentfunctionary than the Lord Chamberlain, although it would seem theprecise nature of his appointment has never been clearly understood. "I believe, " said Mr. Donne, the late Examiner, in his evidence beforethe Parliamentary Committee of 1866, "that it is an appointment thatexpires with the sovereign (at least, I infer so from the evidencewhich Mr. Colman gave in the year 1833), but I cannot say that from myown knowledge: I believe it to be an appointment for life. "

In truth, the Examiner is simply the employé of the Chamberlain, appointed by him, and holding the office only so long as the superiorfunctionary shall deem fitting. There is no instance on record, however, of the displacement of an Examiner, or of the cancelling byone Chamberlain of the appointment made by his predecessor. Power ofthis kind, however, would seem to be vested in the Chamberlain for thetime being. Colman's evidence, it may be noted, is of no presentworth. He was appointed as a consequence of the old Licensing Act, repealed in 1843. 

The first Licenser of Plays sworn in after the passing of theLicensing Act of 1737 was William Chetwynd, with a salary of £400a-year. But this deputy of the Chamberlain was in his turn allowed adeputy, and one Thomas Odell was appointed assistant examiner, with asalary of £200 a-year. Strange to say, it was this Odell who had firstopened a theatre in Goodman's Fields, which, upon the complaint of thecivic authorities, who believed the drama to be a source of danger tothe London apprentices of the period, he had been compelled forthwithto close. He applied to George II, for a royal license, but met with aperemptory refusal. In 1731 he sold his property to one Giffard, whorebuilt the theatre, and, dispensing with official permission, performed stage plays between the intervals of a concert, untilproducing Garrick, and obtaining extraordinary success by thatmeasure, he roused the jealousy of the authorities, and was compelledto forego his undertaking. 

The Licenser's power of prohibition was exercised very shortly afterhis appointment, in the case of two tragedies: "Gustavus Vasa, " byHenry Brooke, and "Edward and Eleonora, " by James Thomson. Politicalallusions of an offensive kind were supposed to lurk somewhere inthese works. "Gustavus Vasa" was especially forbidden "on account ofsome strokes of liberty which breathed through several parts of it. "On the Irish stage, however, over which the Chamberlain had no power, the play was performed as "The Patriot;" while, by the publication of"Gustavus Vasa, " Mr. Brooke obtained £1000 or so from a public curiousas to the improprieties it was alleged to contain, and anxious toprotest against the oppressive conduct of the Licenser. In 1805, withthe permission of the Chamberlain, the play was produced at CoventGarden, in order that Master Betty, the Young Roscius, might personatethe hero. But the youthful actor failed in the part, and the tragedy, being found rather dull, was represented but once. At this time Mr. Brooke had been dead some years. In a preface to his play he hadvouched for its purity, and denounced the conduct of the Licenser, asopposed to the intention of the Legislature, Dr. Johnson assisting hiscause by the publication of an ironical pamphlet--"A Vindication ofthe Licenser from the malicious and scandalous aspersions of Mr. Brooke. " Modern readers may well be excused for knowing little of thedramatist whose "Gustavus Vasa" had no great deal to recommend it, perhaps, beyond the fact of its performance having been prohibited. Yet some few years since, it may be noted, the late Charles Kingsleymade endeavours, more strenuous than successful, to obtain applausefor Brooke's novel, "The Fool of Quality;" but although a new andhandsome edition of this work was published, it was received with someapathy by the romance-reading public. 

The author of "The Seasons" hardly seems a writer likely to giveoffence designedly to a Chamberlain. But Thomson was a sort of PoetLaureate to Frederick, Prince of Wales, then carrying on fierceopposition to the court of his father, and the play of "Edward andEleonora"--a dramatic setting of the old legend of Queen Eleanorsucking the poison from her husband's arm--certainly containedpassages applicable to the differences existing between the king andhis heir-apparent. In the first scene, one of the characters demands--

 Has not the royal heir a juster claim To share his father's inmost heart and counsels, Than aliens to his interest, those who make A property, a market of his honour?

And King Edward apostrophises his dead sire--

 O my deluded father! little joy Hadst thou in life, led from thy real good And genuine glory, from thy people's love, The noblest aim of kings, by smiling traitors!

In 1775, however, the play was produced at Covent Garden. George III. Was king, and the allusions to the squabbles of his father andgrandfather were not, perhaps, supposed to be any longer of theremotest concern or significance to anybody. 

At this time and long afterwards, the Licenser regarded it as hischief duty to protect the court against all possibility of attack fromthe stage. With the morality of plays he did not meddle much; but hestill clung to the old superstition that the British drama had only aright to exist as the pastime of royalty; plays and players were stillto be subservient to the pleasure of the sovereign. The Britishpublic, who, after all, really supported the stage, he declined toconsider in the matter; conceding, however, that they were at libertyto be amused at the theatre, provided they could achieve that end instrict accordance with the prescription of the court and itsChamberlain. In George III. 's time King Lear was prohibited, becauseit was judged inexpedient that royal insanity should be exhibited uponthe stage. In 1808 a play, called "The Wanderer, " adapted fromKotzebue, was forbidden at Covent Garden, in that it dealt with theadventures of Prince Charles Edward, the Pretender. Even after theaccession of Queen Victoria, a license was refused to an Englishversion of Victor Hugo's "Ruy Blas, " lest playgoers should perceive init allusions to the matrimonial choice her Majesty was then about tomake. 

The Licenser's keenness in scenting a political allusion oftentimes, indeed, entailed upon him much and richly-merited ridicule. Theproduction, some fifty years ago, of a tragedy called "Alasco"furnishes a notable instance of the absurdity of his conduct in thisrespect. "Alasco" was written by Mr. Shee, a harmless gentlemanenough, if at that time a less fully-developed courtier than heappeared when, as Sir Martin Archer Shee, he occupied the presidentialchair of the Royal Academy. Possibly some suspicion attached to thedramatist by reason of his being an Irishman and a Roman Catholic. Inany case, the Licenser found much to object to in "Alasco. " The playwas in rehearsal at Covent Garden; but so many alterations andsuppressions were insisted on, that its representation becameimpracticable. We may note a few of the lines expunged by theLicenser:

 With most unworthy patience have I seen My country shackled and her sons oppressed; And though I've felt their injuries, and avow My ardent hope hereafter to avenge them, &c. 

 Tyrants, proud lord, are never safe, nor should be; The ground is mined beneath them as they tread; Haunted by plots, cabals, conspiracies, Their lives are long convulsions, and they shake, Surrounded by their guards and garrisons!

 Some slanderous tool of state, Some taunting, dull, unmannered deputy!

The words in italics were to be expunged from the following passages:

 Tis ours to rescue from the oblivious grave _Where tyrants have contrived to bury them, _ A gallant race--a nation--_and her fame; To gather up the fragments of our state, And in its cold, dismembered body, breathe The living soul of empire. _

 Fear God and love the king--the soldier's faith-- Was always my religion; and I know No heretics but cowards, knaves, and traitors-- _No, no, whate'er the colour of his creed, The man of honour's orthodox. _

It is difficult now to discover what offence was contained in theselines, and many more such as these, which were also denounced by theLicenser. Shee expostulated--for he was not a meek sort of man by anymeans, and he knew the advantages of a stir to one aiming atpublicity--appealed from the subordinate to the superior, from theExaminer to the Chamberlain, then the Duke of Montrose, and wrote tothe newspapers; but all in vain. The tragedy could not be performed. That the stage lost much it would be rash to assert. "Alasco" waspublished, and those who read it--they were not many--found itcertainly harmless; but not less certainly pompous and wearisome. However, that Shee was furnished with a legitimate grievance wasgenerally agreed, although in "Blackwood's Magazine, " then veryintense in its Toryism, it was hinted that the dramatist, his religionand his nationality being considered, might be in league with theauthor of "Captain Rock, " and engaged in seditious designs against thepeace and Protestantism of Ireland! Some five years later, it may benoted, "Alasco" was played at the Surrey Theatre, without theslightest regard for the opinion of the Examiner of Plays, or with anychange in the passages he had ordered to be expunged. Westminster wasnot then very well informed as to what happened in Lambeth, andprobably it was not generally known that "Alasco, " with all itssupposed seditious utterances unsilenced, could be witnessed upon theSurrey stage. Nor is there any record that anybody was at all theworse, or the treasury of the theatre any the better, for therepresentation of the forbidden tragedy. 

The Examiner of Plays at this time was George Colman the younger, whowas appointed to the office, less on account of the distinction heenjoyed as a dramatist, than because he was a favourite and a sort ofboon companion of George IV. Colman had succeeded a Mr. Larpent, whohad filled the post for some twenty years, and who, notwithstandingthat, as a strict Methodist, he scarcely seemed a very fit person topronounce judgment upon stage plays, had exercised the powersentrusted to him with moderation. It was generally agreed that he wasa considerate and benignant ruler, and that his career as Examineroffered few occasions for remark, although upon its close somesurprise was excited at the exposure for sale by public auction of themany manuscripts of plays, &c. , which were found in his possession, and which should certainly have been preserved among the archives ofthe Chamberlain's office. Colman, however, proved a very tyrant--aconsummate Jack-in-office. As a gentleman of rather unbridled habitsof life, and the author of "Broad Grins" and other works certainlypaying small heed to the respectabilities, it had been hoped that hewould deal leniently with his brother playwrights. But he carried tofanatic extravagance his devotion to the purity of the stage. Warnedby earlier example, few dramas which could possibly be considered of apolitical complexion were now submitted for examination. Still thediction of the stage demanded a measure of liberty. But Mr. Colmanwould not allow a lover to describe his mistress as "an angel. " Heavowed that "an angel was a character in Scripture, and not to beprofaned on the stage by being applied to a woman!" The exclamation, "Oh, Providence!" was not permitted. The words "heaven" and "hell" heuniformly expunged. "Oh, lud!" and "Oh, la!" were condemned forirreverence. Oaths and all violent expletives were strictlyprohibited. 

Now it was rather an imprecatory age. Men swore in those days, notmeaning much harm, or particularly conscious of what they were doing, but as a matter of bad habit, in pursuance of a custom certainlyodious enough, but which they had not originated, and could hardly beexpected immediately to overcome. In this way malediction formed partof the manners of the time. How could these be depicted upon the stagein the face of Mr. Colman's new ordinance? There was greatconsternation among actors and authors. Plays came back from theExaminer's office so slashed with red ink that they seemed to bebleeding from numerous wounds; line after line had been prohibited;and by Colman of all people! Critics amused themselves by searchingthrough his own dramatic writings, and cataloguing the bad languagethey contained. The list was very formidable. There were comminationsand anathemas in almost every scene. The matter was pointed out tohim, but he treated it with indifference. He was a writer of playsthen; but now he was Examiner of Plays. His point of view was changed, that was all. It was no fault of his if there had been neglect of dutyon the part of previous examiners. Mr. Arnold, the proprietor andmanager of the Lyceum Theatre, expostulated with him on the subject. In a play by John Banim, one of the authors of the "Tales of theO'Hara Family, " Colman had forbidden certain lines to be chanted bymonks and nuns in a scene of a foreign cathedral. It was too profane. What about the singing of "God save the King" upon the stage? That hadbeen sanctioned by custom, Colman maintained; but he could not regardit as a precedent. Was he prepared to mutilate Portia's great speechin the "Merchant of Venice?" Certainly he was; but then custom hadsanctioned it, and playgoers were not prepared for any meddling withthe text of Shakespeare. He admitted, however, that he did not troublehimself to ascertain whether his excisions were carried into effectwhen the plays came to be represented. "My duty, " he said, "is simplyto object to everything immoral or politically dangerous. When I havemarked my objections the play is licensed, subject to the omission ofthe passages objected to; beyond this I have nothing to do, or anexaminer would become a spy as well as a censor on the theatre. " Anybreach of the law was therefore left to be remedied by the action ofthe "common informer" of the period. 

As evidence of Colman's lack of conscientiousness in this matter, aletter he wrote to Mr. Frederick Yates, in 1829, may be cited. Adramatic author, the friend both of Colman and Yates, had bitterlycomplained of the retrenchments made by the Examiner in a certainplay, or, to follow Colman's own words, had stated "that his comedywould be sure to be damned by the public, owing to the removal of somedevilish good jokes by the Examiner. " "Cannot you, my dear Fred, instruct him better?" wrote Colman. "The play, you know, must beprinted in strict accordance with my obliterations; but if the partsbe previously given out, it will be difficult to induce the actors topreach from my text!" No doubt upon this hint the actors spake. Only, in that case, of what good was the Examiner, regarded as a publicservant?

It was questioned at the time whether the Chamberlain, by his deputy, was not exercising more authority than he was really clothed with, under virtue of the Licensing Act. He was entitled to prohibit theperformance of any play; but could he make terms with the managers, and cut and carve their manuscripts, forcing upon them his capriciousalterations? Further, it was asked by what right he delegated hispower to another? The Act made no mention of his deputy or of such anofficer as an Examiner of Plays. And then, as to the question of fees. What right had he to exact fees? There was no mention of fees in theAct. No doubt the managers had long been in the habit of payingfees--£2 2s. For every piece, song, &c. But it was urged that this wassimply to secure expedition in the examination of their plays, whichthey were bound to submit to the Chamberlain fourteen days at leastbefore representation, and not in pursuance of any legal enactment. The Examiner of Plays received a salary from the Chamberlain for thelabour he performed; why should he levy a tax upon managers andauthors, and so be paid twice over for the same work?

Now, on the subject of fees Colman was certainly most rapacious. Hespared no effort to increase, in this way, the emoluments of hisoffice. Did an actor on a benefit night advertise any new songs, glees, or other musical performance--Colman was prompt to demand a feeof £2 2s. For every separate production. Occasional addresses, prologues, and epilogues, were all rated as distinct stage plays, andthe customary fees insisted upon. One actor, long famous as "LittleKnight, " so far defeated this systematic extortion that he strungtogether a long list of songs, recitations, imitations, &c. , which hewished to have performed at his benefit with any nonsense of dialoguethat came into his head, and so sent them to be licensed as one piece. They were licensed accordingly; the dialogue was all omitted, and theingenious actor aided his benefit by saving £8 8s. Or £10 10s. , whichwould otherwise have found their way into the pocket of the Examiner. When the French plays were performed in London, in 1829, Colmaninsisted that a fee must be paid for every vaudeville or other lightpiece of that class produced. As some three or four of such works werepresented every night--the same plays being rarely repeated--it wascomputed that the Examiner's fees amounted upon an average to £6 6s. Anight. During an interval, however, the Duke of Devonshire succeedingthe Duke of Montrose as Chamberlain, this demand was not enforced;eventually a compromise was agreed upon, and a reduced fee of £1 1s. Was levied upon each vaudeville, &c. Colman even succeeded in ratingas a stage play, an astronomical lecture, delivered at the Lyceum. The"At Homes" of Mathews were of course taxed, a "slight sketch andtitle" being submitted to the Examiner, the actor professing to speakwithout any precise text, but simply from "heads and hints before himto refer to should his memory falter. " In an attempt to levy a fee onaccount of an oratorio performed at Covent Garden, Colman failed, however; it was proved that the libretto was entirely composed ofpassages from the Scriptures. After great discussion it was ultimatelydecided that the Bible did not need the license of the LordChamberlain. 

Colman died in 1836, and was succeeded as Examiner of Plays by Mr. Charles Kemble, who, strange to say, while holding that appointmentreturned to the stage for a short season and performed certain of hismost celebrated characters. He resigned the office in 1840, and hisson John Mitchell Kemble then held it in his stead. On the death ofJohn Mitchell Kemble, in 1857, Mr. William Bodham Donne, the lateExaminer, received the appointment. Mr. Donne, however, had in truthperformed the duties of the office as the deputy of the Chamberlain'sdeputy since the year 1849. As he informed the Parliamentary committeeof 1866, he had received a salary of £320, subject to deduction onaccount of income-tax. Further, the Examiner receives fees for everyplay examined. Two guineas are paid for every play of three acts ormore; under three acts the fee is £1 1s. For every song sung in atheatre a fee of 5s. Is paid. As Mr. Donne explained to thecommittee, he had examined between 1857 and 1866 about 1800 plays. 

It is to be noted that in 1843 the Act for Regulating Theatres, commonly known as Sir James Graham's Act, became law. By this measurethe powers of the Lord Chamberlain were enlarged and more firmlyestablished; he was empowered to charge such fees as he might deem fitin regard to every play, prologue, epilogue, or part thereof, intendedto be produced or acted in Great Britain, although no fee was in anycase to exceed £2 2s. In amount. Further, it was made lawful for him, whenever he should be of opinion that it was fitting for thepreservation of good manners, decorum, or of the public peace so todo, to forbid the performance of any stage play, or any act, scene orpart thereof, or any prologue or epilogue or any part thereof, anywhere in Great Britain or in any such theatre as he should specify, and either absolutely or for such time as he should think fit. It wasenacted, moreover, that the term "stage play" should be taken toinclude "every tragedy, comedy, farce, opera, burletta, interlude, melodrama, pantomime, or other entertainment of the stage. "

The Act provides for no appeal against the decision of theChamberlain. His government was to be quite absolute. If he chose toprohibit the performance of Shakespeare's plays, for instance, no onecould question his right to take that strong measure; only another Actof Parliament could, under such circumstances, restore Shakespeare, tothe stage. Of the Examiner of Plays the Act made no mention: thatoffice continued to be the creation simply of the Lord Chamberlain, and without any sort of legal status. The old Licensing Act of 1737was absolutely repealed; yet, unaccountably enough, Mr. Donne'sappointment, bearing date 1857, and signed by the Marquis ofBreadalbane, then Lord Chamberlain, began: "Whereas in consequence ofan Act of Parliament, made in the tenth year of the reign of His lateMajesty King George the Second, " &c. &c. 

The intensity of George Colman's regard for "good manners and decorum"has no doubt furnished a precedent to later Examiners. For some timelittle effort was made again to apply the stage to the purposes ofpolitical satire. Mr. Buckstone informed the Parliamentary Committeethat an attempt made about 1846, to represent the House of Commonsupon the stage of the Adelphi--Mr. Buckstone was to have personatedthe Lord John Russell of that date--had been promptly forbidden; andthe late Mr. Shirley Brooks stated that a project of dramatising Mr. Disraeli's novel of "Coningsby" had also, in regard to its politicalbearing, been interdicted by the Chamberlain. Few other essays in thisdirection appear worth noting, until we come to a few seasons back, when certain members of the administration were caricatured upon thestage of the Court Theatre, after a fashion that speedily brought downthe rebuke of the Chamberlain, and the exhibition was prohibitedwithin his jurisdiction. But the question of "good manners anddecorum" has induced much controversy. For where, indeed, isdiscoverable an acceptable standard of "good manners and decorum"? Insuch matters there is always growth and change of opinion. Sir WalterScott makes mention of an elderly lady, who, reading over againcertain books she had deemed in her youth to be of a most harmlesskind, was shocked at their exceeding grossness. She had unconsciouslymoved on with the civilising and refining influences of her time. Andthe question of morality in relation to the drama is confessedly verydifficult to deal with. "It must be something almost of a scandalouscharacter to warrant interference, " says Mr. Donne. "If you sift thematter to the very dross, two-thirds of the plays of any period in thehistory of the stage must be condemned. Where there is an obviousintention, or a very strong suspicion of an intention to make wrongappear right or right appear wrong, those are the cases in which Iinterfere, or those in which there is any open scandal, or anyinducement to do wrong is offered; but stage morality is--the moralityof the stage, and generally, quite as good as the morality of theliterature of fiction. " This does not define the Examiner's principleof action very clearly. As instances of his procedure, it may bestated that upon religious grounds he has forbidden such operas as the"Nabuco" of Verdi and the "Mosé in Egitto" of Rossini, allowing themto be presented, however, when their names were changed to "Nino" and"Zora" or "Pietro l'Eremita" respectively. On the other hand, whileprohibiting "La Dame aux Camélias"[1] of M. Alexandre Dumas fils, hehas sanctioned its performance as the opera "La Traviata. " "I think, "explained Mr. Donne, "that if there is a musical version of a piece itmakes a difference, for the story is then subsidiary to the music andsinging. " Prohibiting "Jack Sheppard" he yet licensed forrepresentation an adaptation of a French version of the same piece. Madame Ristori was not allowed to appear in the tragedy of "Myrrha, "and the dramas which French companies of players visiting this countryfrom time to time have designed to produce, have been severely dealtwith, the Examiner forgetting, apparently, that such works shouldrather be judged by a foreign than a native standard of "good mannersand decorum. " As a result, we have the strange fact of the Examinerstepping between the English public and what have been judged to bethe masterpieces of the French stage. 

 [1] "La Dame aux Camélias" obtained a license at last, and was played for the first time in England at the Gaiety Theatre, on the 11th June, 1881, with Mdlle. Sarah Bernhardt as the representative of the leading character. 

The Chamberlain has also held it to be a part of his duty to interferein regard to certain of the costumes of the theatre, when these seemedto be more scanty than seemliness required, and from time to time hehas addressed expostulations to the managers upon the subject. It mustnot be concluded, however, that from his action in the matter, muchchange or amendment has ensued. 

In America there is no Lord Chamberlain, Examiner of Plays, or anycorresponding functionary. The stage may be no better for the absenceof such an officer, but it does not seem to be any the worse. 

In 1832, the late Lord Lytton (then Mr. Bulwer), addressing the Houseof Commons on the laws affecting dramatic literature, said of theauthority vested in the Lord Chamberlain: "I am at a loss to know whatadvantages we have gained by the grant of this almost unconstitutionalpower. Certainly, with regard to a censor, a censor upon plays seemsto me as idle and unnecessary as a censor upon books.... The publictaste, backed by the vigilant admonition of the public press, may, perhaps, be more safely trusted for the preservation of theatricaldecorum, than any ignorant and bungling censor who (however well theoffice may be now fulfilled) might be appointed hereafter; who, whilehe might strain at gnats and cavil at straws, would be without anyother real power than that of preventing men of genius from submittingto the caprice of his opinions. "

CHAPTER V. 

A BILL OF THE PLAY. 

Are there, nowadays, any collectors of playbills? In the catalogues ofsecondhand booksellers are occasionally to be found such entries as:"Playbills of the Theatre Royal, Bath, 1807 to 1812;" or "Hull TheatreRoyal--various bills of performances between 1815 and 1850;" or"Covent Garden Theatre--variety of old bills of the last centurypasted in a volume;" yet these evidences of the care and diligence ofpast collectors would not seem to obtain much appreciation in thepresent. The old treasures can generally be purchased at a verymoderate outlay. Still, if scarceness is an element of value, thesethings should be precious. It is in the nature of such ephemera of theprinting-press to live their short hour, and disappear with exceedingsuddenness. They may be originally issued in hundreds or even inthousands; but once gone they are gone for ever. Relative to suchmatters there is an energy of destruction that keeps pace with theindustry of production. The demands of "waste" must be met: fires mustbe lighted. So away go the loose papers, sheets and pamphlets of theminute. They have served their turn, and there is an end of them. Hence the difficulty of obtaining, when needed, a copy of a newspaperof old date, or the guide-book or programme of a departedentertainment, or the catalogue of a past auction of books orpictures. It has been noted that, notwithstanding the enormouscirculation it enjoyed, the catalogue of our Great Exhibition of ascore of years ago is already a somewhat rare volume. Complete sets ofthe catalogues of the Royal Academy's century of exhibitions arepossessed by very few. And of playbills of the English stage from theRestoration down to the present time, although the British Museum cancertainly boast a rich collection, yet this is disfigured here andthere by gaps and deficiencies which cannot now possibly be supplied. 

The playbill is an ancient thing. Mr. Payne Collier states that thepractice of printing information as to the time, place, and nature ofthe performances to be presented by the players was certainly commonprior to the year 1563. John Northbrooke, in his treatise againsttheatrical performers, published about 1579, says: "They used to setup their bills upon posts some certain days before, to admonish peopleto make resort to their theatres. " The old plays make frequentreference to this posting of the playbills. Thus, in the Induction to"A Warning for Fair Women, " 1599, Tragedy whips Comedy from the stage, crying:

 'Tis you have kept the theatre so long Painted in playbills upon every post, While I am scorned of the multitude. 

Taylor, the water-poet, in his "Wit and Mirth, " records the story ofField the actor's riding rapidly up Fleet Street, and being stopped bya gentleman with an inquiry as to the play that was to be played thatnight. Field, "being angry to be stayed upon so frivolous a demand, answered, that he might see what play was to be played upon everypost. 'I cry you mercy, ' said the gentleman. 'I took you for a post, you rode so fast. '"

It is strange to find that the right of printing playbills wasoriginally monopolised by the Stationers' Company. At a later period, however, the privilege was assumed and exercised by the Crown. In1620, James I. Granted a patent to Roger Wood and Thomas Symcock forthe sole printing, among other things, of "all bills for playes, pastimes, showes, challenges, prizes, or sportes whatsoever. " It wasnot until after the Restoration that the playbills contained a list ofthe _dramatis personæ_, or of the names of the actors. But it had beenusual, apparently, with the title of the drama, to supply the name ofits author, and its description as a tragedy or comedy. Shirley, inthe prologue to his "Cardinal, " apologises for calling it only a"play" in the bill:

 Think what you please, we call it but a "play:" Whether the comic muse, or lady's love, Romance or direful tragedy it prove, The bill determines not. 

From a later passage in the same prologue Mr. Collier judges that thetitles of tragedies were usually printed, for the sake of distinction, in red ink:

 ----and you would be Persuaded I would have't a comedy For all the purple in the name. 

But this may be a reference to the colour of a cardinal's robes. Thereis probably no playbill extant of an earlier date than 1663. Aboutthis time, in the case of a new play, it was usual to state in thebill that it had been "never acted before. "

In the earliest days of the stage, before the invention of printing, the announcement that theatrical performances were about to beexhibited was made by sound of trumpet, much after the manner ofmodern strollers and showmen at fairs and street-corners. Indeed, longafter playbills had become common, this musical advertisement wasstill requisite for the due information of the unlettered patrons ofthe stage. In certain towns the musicians were long looked upon as theindispensable heralds of the actors. Tate Wilkinson, writing in 1790, records that a custom obtained at Norwich, "and if abolished it hasnot been many years, " of proclaiming in every street with drum andtrumpet the performances to be presented at the theatre in theevening. A like practice also prevailed at Grantham. To theLincolnshire company of players, however, this musical preface totheir efforts seemed objectionable and derogatory, and theydetermined, on one of their visits to the town, to dispense with theold-established sounds. But the reform resulted in empty benches. Thereupon the "revered, well-remembered, and beloved Marquis ofGranby" sent for the manager of the troop and thus addressed him: "Mr. Manager, I like a play; I like a player; and I shall be glad to serveyou. But, my good friend, why are you all so offended at and averse tothe noble sound of a drum? I like it, and all the inhabitants likeit. Put my name on your playbill, provided you drum, but nototherwise. Try the effect on to-morrow night; if then you are asthinly attended as you have lately been, shut up your playhouse atonce; but if it succeeds, drum away!" The players withdrew theiropposition and followed the counsel of the marquis. The musicalprelude was again heard in the streets of Grantham, and crowded houseswere obtained. The company enjoyed a prosperous season, and left thetown in great credit. "And I am told, " adds Wilkinson, "the custom iscontinued at Grantham to this day. "

An early instance of the explanatory address, signed by the dramatistor manager, which so frequently accompanies the modern playbill, is tobe found in the fly-sheet issued by Dryden in 1665. The poet thoughtit expedient in this way to inform the audience that his tragedy of"The Indian Emperor" was to be regarded as a sequel to a former work, "The Indian Queen, " which he had written in conjunction with hisbrother-in-law, Sir Robert Howard. The handbill excited someamusement, by reason of its novelty, for in itself it was but a simpleand useful intimation. In ridicule of this proceeding, Bayes, the heroof the Duke of Buckingham's burlesque, "The Rehearsal, " is made tosay: "I have printed above a hundred sheets of paper to insinuate theplot into the boxes. "

Chetwood, who had been twenty years prompter at Drury Lane, and in1749 published a "History of the Stage, " describes a difficulty thathad arisen in regard to printing the playbills. Of old the list ofcharacters had been set forth according to the books of the plays, without regard to the merits of the performers. "As, for example, in'Macbeth, ' Duncan, King of Scotland, appeared first in the bill, though acted by an insignificant person, and so every other actorappeared according to his dramatic dignity, all of the same-sizedletter. But latterly, I can assure my readers, I have found it adifficult task to please some ladies as well as gentlemen, because Icould not find letters large enough to please them; and some were sofond of elbow room that they would have shoved everybody out butthemselves, as if one person was to do all and have the merit of all, like generals of an army. " Garrick seems to have been the first actorhonoured by capital letters of extra size in the playbills. "TheConnoisseur, " in 1754, says: "The writer of the playbills deals outhis capitals in so just a proportion that you may tell the salary ofeach actor by the size of the letter in which his name is printed. When the present manager of Drury Lane first came on the stage, a newset of types, two inches long, were cast on purpose to do honour tohis extraordinary merit. " These distinctions in the matter of printingoccasioned endless jealousies among the actors. Macklin made it anexpress charge against his manager, Sheridan, the actor, that he wasaccustomed to print his own name in larger type than was permitted theother performers. Kean threatened to throw up his engagement at DruryLane on account of his name having been printed in capitals of asmaller size than usual. His engagement of 1818 contained a condition, "and also that his name shall be continued in the bills of performancein the same manner as it is at present, " viz. , large letters. On theother hand, Dowton, the comedian, greatly objected to having his namethus particularised, and expostulated with Elliston, his manager, onthe subject. "I am sorry you have done this, " he wrote. "You know wellwhat I mean. This cursed quackery. These big letters. There is a wantof respectability about it, or rather a notoriety, which gives one thefeeling of an absconded felon, against whom a hue-and-cry is madepublic. Or if there be really any advantage in it, why should I, orany single individual, take it over the rest of our brethren? But ithas a nasty disreputable look, and I have fancied the whole day thefinger of the town pointed at me, as much as to say, 'That is he! Nowfor the reward!' Leave this expedient to the police officers, or tothose who have a taste for it. I have none. "

Macready, under date of 28th September, 1840, enters in his journal:"Spoke to Webster on the subject of next year's engagement. He saidthat he understood I had said that while I was comfortable at theHaymarket I would stay. _I mentioned the position of my name on theplaybills; that it should not, on any occasion be put under any otherperson's, as it had been_; that I should have the right to a privatebox when they were not let, " &c. 

O'Keeffe relates that once when an itinerant showman brought over toDublin a trained monkey of great acquirements, Mossop engaged theanimal at a large salary to appear for a limited number of nights athis theatre. Mossop's name in the playbill was always in a type nearlytwo inches long, the rest of the performers' names being in very smallletters. But to the monkey were devoted capitals of equal size toMossop's; so that, greatly to the amusement of the public, on theplaybills pasted about the town, nothing could be distinguished butthe words, MOSSOP, MONKEY. Under John Kemble's management, "for hisgreater ease and the quiet of the theatre, " letters of unreasonablesize were abandoned, and the playbills were printed after an amendedand more modest pattern. 

With the rise and growth of the press came the expediency ofadvertising the performances of the theatres in the columns of thenewspapers. To the modern manager advertisements are a very formidableexpense. The methods he is compelled to resort to in order to bringhis plays and players well under the notice of the public, involve aserious charge upon his receipts. But of old the case was preciselythe reverse. The theatres were strong, the newspapers were weak. Sofar from the manager paying money for the insertion of hisadvertisements in the journals, he absolutely received profits on thisaccount. The press then suffered under severe restrictions, and wasmost jealously regarded by the governing powers; leading articles wereas yet unknown; the printing of parliamentary debates was strictlyprohibited; foreign intelligence was scarcely obtainable; of home newsthere was little stirring that could with safety be promulgated. Sothat the proceedings of the theatres became of real importance to thenewspaper proprietor, and it was worth his while to pay considerablesums for early information in this respect. Moreover, in those days, not merely by reason of its own merits, but because of the absence ofcompeting attractions and other sources of entertainment, the stagewas much more than at present an object of general regard. In Andrew's"History of British Journalism" it is recorded on the authority of theledger of Henry Woodfall, the publisher of the _Public Advertiser_:"The theatres are a great expense to the papers. Amongst the items ofpayment are: Playhouses, £100. Drury Lane advertisements, £64 8s. 6d. ;Covent Garden ditto, £66 11s. The papers paid £200 a-year to eachtheatre for the accounts of new plays, and would reward the messengerwith a shilling or half-a-crown who brought them the first copy of aplaybill. " In 1721, the following announcement appeared in the _DailyPost_: "The managers of Drury Lane think it proper to give notice thatadvertisements of their plays, by their authority, are published onlyin this paper and the _Daily Courant_, and that the publishers of allother papers who insert advertisements of the same plays, can do itonly by some surreptitious intelligence or hearsay, which frequentlyleads them to commit gross errors, as, mentioning one play foranother, falsely representing the parts, &c. , to the misinformation ofthe town, and the great detriment of the said theatre. " And the_Public Advertiser_ of January 1st, 1765, contains a notice: "Toprevent any mistake in future in advertising the plays andentertainments of Drury Lane Theatre, the managers think it proper todeclare that the playbills are inserted by their direction in thispaper only. " It is clear that the science of advertising was but dimlyunderstood at this date. Even the shopkeepers then paid for theprivilege of exhibiting bills in their windows, whereas now theyrequire to be rewarded for all exertions of this kind, by, at anyrate, free admissions to the entertainments advertised, if not by aspecific payment of money. The exact date when the managers began topay instead of receive on the score of their advertisements, is hardlyto be ascertained. Genest, in his laborious "History of the Stage, "says obscurely of the year 1745: "At this time the plays wereadvertised at three shillings and sixpence each night or advertisementin the _General Advertiser_. " It may be that the adverse systems wenton together for some time. The managers may have paid certain journalsfor the regular insertion of advertisements, and received payment fromless favoured or less influential newspapers for theatrical news orinformation. 

One of Charles Lamb's most pleasant papers arose from "the casualsight of an old playbill which I picked up the other day; I know notby what chance it was preserved so long. " It was but two-and-thirtyyears old, however, and presented the cast of parts in "Twelfth Night"at Old Drury Lane Theatre, destroyed by fire in 1809. Lamb's delightin the stage needs not to be again referred to. "There is somethingvery touching in these old remembrances, " he writes. "They make usthink how we once used to read a playbill, not as now, peradventuresingling out a favourite performer and casting a negligent eye overthe rest; but spelling out every name down to the very mutes andservants of the scene; when it was a matter of no small moment to uswhether Whitfield or Packer took the part of Fabian; when Benson, andBurton, and Phillimore--names of small account--had an importancebeyond what we can be content to attribute now to the time's bestactors. " The fond industry with which a youthful devotee of thetheatre studies the playbills could hardly be more happily indicatedthan in this extract. 

Mention of Old Drury Lane and its burning bring us naturally to theadmirable "story of the flying playbill, " contained in the parody ofCrabbe, perhaps the most perfect specimen in that unique collection ofparodies, "Rejected Addresses. " The verses by the pseudo-Crabbeinclude the following lines:

 Perchance while pit and gallery cry "Hats off!" And awed consumption checks his chided cough, Some giggling daughter of the Queen of Love Drops, reft of pin, her playbill from above; Like Icarus, while laughing galleries clap, Soars, ducks, and dives in air the printed scrap; But, wiser far than he, combustion fears; And, as it flies, eludes the chandeliers; Till, sinking gradual, with repeated twirl, It settles, curling, on a fiddler's curl, Who from his powdered pate the intruder strikes, And, for mere malice, sticks it on the spikes. 

"The story of the flying playbill, " says the mock-preface, "iscalculated to expose a practice, much too common, of pinning playbillsto the cushions insecurely, and frequently, I fear, not pinning themat all. If these lines save one playbill only from the fate I haverecorded, I shall not deem my labour ill employed. "

Modern playbills may be described as of two classes, indoor andout-of-door. The latter are known also as "posters, " and may thusmanifest their connection with the early method of "setting upplaybills upon posts. " Shakespeare's audiences were not supplied withhandbills as our present playgoers are; such of them as could readwere probably content to derive all the information they needed fromthe notices affixed to the doors of the theatre, or otherwise publiclyexhibited. Of late years the vendors of playbills, who were wonturgently to pursue every vehicle that seemed to them bound to thetheatre, in the hope of disposing of their wares, have greatlydiminished in numbers, if they have not wholly disappeared. Manymanagers have forbidden altogether the sale of bills outside the doorsof their establishments. The indoor programmes are again divided intotwo kinds. To the lower-priced portions of the house an inferior billis devoted; a folio sheet of thin paper, heavily laden and stronglyodorous with printers' ink. Visitors to the more expensive seats arenow supplied with a scented bill of octavo size, which is generally, in addition, the means of advertising the goods and inventions of anindividual perfumer. Attempts to follow Parisian example, and to makethe playbill at once a vehicle for general advertisements and a sourceof amusing information upon theatrical subjects, have been venturedhere occasionally, but without decided success. From time to timepapers started with this object under such titles as the "OperaGlass, " the "Curtain, " the "Drop Scene, " &c. , have appeared, but theyhave failed to secure a sufficiency of patronage. The playgoer'sopenness to receive impressions or information of any kind by way ofemployment during the intervals of representation, has not beenunperceived by the advertisers, however, and now and then, as aresult, a monstrosity called an "advertising curtain" has disfiguredthe stage. Some new development of the playbill in this direction maybe in store for us in the future. The difficulty lies, perhaps, in thegilding of the pill. Advertisements by themselves are not veryattractive reading, and a mixed audience cannot safely be creditedwith a ruling appetite merely for dramatic intelligence. 

CHAPTER VI. 

STROLLING PLAYERS. 

It is rather the public than the player that strolls nowadays. Thetheatre is stationary--the audience peripatetic. The wheels have beentaken off the cart of Thespis. Hamlet's line, "Then came each actor onhis ass, " or the stage direction in the old "Taming of the Shrew"(1594), "Enter two players with packs on their backs, " no longerdescribes accurately the travelling habits of the histrionicprofession. But of old the country folk had the drama brought as itwere to their doors, and just as they purchased their lawn andcambric, ribbons and gloves, and other raiment and bravery of thewandering pedlar--the Autolycus of the period--so all their playhouselearning and experience they acquired from the itinerant actors. Thesewere rarely the leading performers of the established Londoncompanies, however, unless it so happened that the capital wassuffering from a visitation of the plague. "Starring in the provinces"was not an early occupation of the players of good repute. As a rule, it was only the inferior actors who quitted town, and as Dekkercontemptuously says, "travelled upon the hard hoof from village tovillage for cheese and buttermilk. " "How chances it they travel?"inquires Hamlet concerning "the tragedians of the city"--"their_residence_ both in reputation and profit were better both ways. " JohnStephens, writing in 1615, and describing "a common player, " observes, "I prefix the epithet 'common' to distinguish the base and artlessappendants of our City companies, which oftentimes start away intorustical wanderings, and then, like Proteus, start back again intothe City number. " The strollers were of two classes, however. First, the theatrical companies protected by some great personage, wearinghis badge or crest, and styling themselves his "servants"--just as tothis day the Drury Lane troop, under warrant of Davenant's patent, still boast the title of "Her Majesty's Servants"--who attended atcountry seats, and gave representations at the request or by thepermission of the great people of the neighbourhood; and secondly, themere unauthorised itinerants, with no claim to distinction beyond suchas their own merits accorded to them, who played in barns, or in largeinn-yards and rooms, and against whom was especially levelled the Actof Elizabeth declaring that all players, &c. , "not licensed by anybaron or person of high rank, or by two justices of the peace, shouldbe deemed and treated as rogues and vagabonds. "

The suppression of the theatres by the Puritans reduced all theplayers to the condition of strollers of the lowest class. Legallytheir occupation was gone altogether. Stringent measures were taken toabolish stage-plays and interludes, and by an Act passed in 1647, allactors of plays for the time to come were declared rogues within themeaning of the Act of Elizabeth, and upon conviction were to bepublicly whipped for the first offence, and for the second to bedeemed incorrigible rogues, and dealt with accordingly; all stagegalleries, seats, and boxes were to be pulled down by warrant of twojustices of the peace; all money collected from the spectators was tobe appropriated to the poor of the parish; and all spectators ofplays, for every offence, fined five shillings. Assuredly these werevery hard times for players, playhouses, and playgoers. Still thetheatre was hard to kill. In 1648, a provost-marshal was nominated tostimulate the vigilance and activity of the lord mayor, justices, andsheriffs, and among other duties, "to seize all ballad-singers andsellers of malignant pamphlets, and to send them to the severalmilitias, and to suppress stage-plays. " Yet, all this notwithstanding, some little show of life stirred now and then in the seeming corpse ofthe drama. A few players met furtively, assembled a select audience, and gave a clandestine performance, more or less complete, in someobscure quarter. Secret Royalists and but half-hearted Puritansabounded, and these did not scruple to abet a breach of the law, andto be entertained now and then in the old time-honoured way. 

With the Restoration, however, Thespis enjoyed his own again, and sockand buskin became once more lawful articles of apparel. Charles II. Mounted the throne arm-in-arm, as it were, with a player-king andqueen. The London theatres reopened under royal patronage, and in theprovinces the stroller was abroad. He had his enemies, no doubt. Prejudice is long-lived, of robust constitution. Puritanism had struckdeep root in the land, and though the triumphant Cavaliers might hewits branches, strip off its foliage, and hack at its trunk, they couldby no means extirpate it altogether. Religious zealotry, strenuous andstubborn, however narrow, had fostered, and parliamentary enactmentshad warranted, hostility of the most uncompromising kind to the playerand his profession. To many he was still, his new liberty andprivileges notwithstanding, but "a son of Belial"--ever of near kin tothe rogue and the vagabond, with the stocks and the whipping-poststill in his immediate neighbourhood, let him turn which way he would. And then, certainly, his occupation had its seamy side. With this thesatirists, who loved censure rather for its wounding than its healingproperties, made great play. They were never tired of pointing out andridiculing the rents in the stroller's coat; his shifts, trials, misfortunes, follies, were subjects for ceaseless derision. What GrubStreet and "penny-a-lining" have been to the vocation of letters, strolling and "barn-strutting" became to the histrionic profession--anexcuse for scorn, underrating, and mirth, more or less bitter. 

Still strolling had its charms. To the beginner it afforded a kind ofinformal apprenticeship, with the advantage that while a learner ofits mysteries, he could yet style himself a full member of theprofession of the stage, and share in its profits. He was at once budand flower. What though the floor of a ruined barn saw his first crudeefforts, might not the walls of a patent theatre resound by-and-bywith delighted applause, tribute to his genius? It was a free, frank, open vocation he had adopted; it was unprotected and unrestricted bylegislative provisions in the way of certificates, passes, examinations, and diplomas. There was no need of ticket, or voucher, or preparation of any kind to obtain admission to the ranks of theplayers. "Can you shout?" a manager once inquired of a novice. "Thenonly shout in the right places, and you'll do. " No doubt this impliedthat even in the matter of shouting some science is involved. Andthere may be men who cannot shout at all, let the places be right orwrong. Still the stage can find room and subsistence of a sort forall, even for mutes. But carry a banner, walk in a procession, or formone of a crowd, and you may still call yourself actor, though not anactor of a high class, certainly. The histrionic calling is a ladderof many rungs. Remain on the lowest or mount to the highest--it isonly a question of degree--you are a player all the same. 

The Thespian army had no need of a recruiting-sergeant or a press-gangto reinforce its ranks. There have always been amateurs lured by themere spectacle of the foot-lights, as moths by a candle. Crabbe'sdescription of the strollers in his "Borough" was a favourite passagewith Sir Walter Scott, and was often read to him in his last fatalillness:

 Of various men these marching troops are made, Pen-spurning clerks and lads contemning trade; Waiters and servants by confinement teased, And youths of wealth by dissipation eased; With feeling nymphs who, such resource at hand, Scorn to obey the rigour of command, &c. &c. 

And even to the skilled and experienced actors a wandering lifeoffered potent attractions. Apart from its liberty and adventure, itsdefiance of social convention and restraint, ambition had space tostir, and vanity could be abundantly indulged in the itineranttheatre. Dekker speaks of the bad presumptuous players, who out of adesire to "wear the best jerkin, " and to "act great parts, forsake thestately and more than Roman city stages, " and join a strollingcompany. By many it was held better to reign in a vagrant than toserve in an established troop--preferable to appear as Hamlet in theprovinces than to play Horatio or Guildenstern in town. And then, inthe summer months, when the larger London houses were closed, strolling became a matter of necessity with a large number of actors;they could gain a subsistence in no other way. "The little theatre inthe Haymarket, " as it was wont to be called, which opened its doors insummer, when its more important neighbours had concluded theiroperations, could only offer engagements to a select few of theircompanies. The rest must needs wander. Whatever their predilections, they were strollers upon compulsion. 

Indeed, strolling was only feasible during summer weather. Audiencescould hardly be moved from their firesides in winter, barns were toofull of grain to be available for theatrical purposes, and the playerswere then glad to secure such regular employment as they could, however slender might be the scale of their remuneration. There is astory told of a veteran and a tyro actor walking in the fields earlyin the year, when, suddenly, the elder ran from the path, stoppedabruptly, and planting his foot firmly upon the green-sward, exclaimedwith ecstasy: "Three, by heaven! _That_ for managers!" and snapped hisfingers. His companion asked an explanation of this strange conduct. "You'll know before you have strutted in three more barns, " said the"old hand. " "In winter, managers are the most impudent fellows living, because they know we don't like to travel, don't like to leave ournests, fear the cold, and all that. But when I can put my foot uponthree daisies--summer's near, and managers may whistle for me!"

The life was not dignified, perhaps, but it had certain picturesquequalities. The stroller toiling on his own account, "padding thehoof, " as he called journeying on foot--a small bundle under his arm, containing a few clothes and professional appliances--wandered fromplace to place, stopping now at a fair, now at a tavern, now at acountry-house, to deliver recitations and speeches, and to gain suchreward for his labours as he might. Generally he found it advisable, however, to join a company of his brethren and share profits withthem, parting from them again upon a difference of opinion or upon thereceipts diminishing too seriously, when he would again rely upon hisindependent exertions. Sometimes the actor was able to hire orpurchase scenes and dresses, the latter being procured generally fromcertain shops in Monmouth Street dealing in cast clothes and tarnishedfrippery that did well enough for histrionic purposes; then, engaginga company, he would start from London as a manager, to visit certaindistricts where it was thought that a harvest might be reaped. Thereceipts were divided among the troop upon a prearranged method. Theimpresario took shares in his different characters of manager, proprietor, and actor. Even the fragments of the candles that hadlighted the representations were divided amongst the company. Permission had always to be sought of the local magnates before aperformance could be given; and the best-dressed and mostcleanly-looking actor was deputed to make this application, as well asto conciliate the farmer or innkeeper, whose barn, stable, or greatroom was to be hired for the occasion. Churchill writes:

 The strolling tribe, a despicable race, Like wandering Arabs, shift from place to place. Vagrants by law, to justice open laid, They tremble, of the beadle's lash afraid; And fawning, cringe for wretched means of life To Madame Mayoress or his worship's wife. 

"I'm a justice of the peace and know how to deal with strollers, " saysSir Tunbelly, with an air of menace, in "The Relapse. " Themagistrates, indeed, were much inclined to deal severely with thewandering actor, eyeing his calling with suspicion, and prompt toenforce the laws against him. Thus we find in "Humphrey Clinker, " themayor of Gloucester eager to condemn as a vagrant, and to commit toprison with hard labour, young Mr. George Dennison, who, in the guiseof Wilson, a strolling player, had presumed to make love to Miss LydiaMelford, the heroine of the story. 

In truth, the stroller's life, with all its seeming license andindependence, must always have been attended with hardship andprivation. If the player had ever deemed his art the "idle calling"many declared it to be, he was soon undeceived on that head. There wasbut a thin partition between him and absolute want; meanwhile hislabour was incessant. The stage is a conservative institution, adhering closely to old customs, manners, and traditions, and whatstrolling had once been it continued to be almost for centuries. "Acompany of strolling comedians, " writes the author of "The Road toRuin, " who had himself strolled in early life, "is a small kingdom, ofwhich the manager is the monarch. Their code of laws seems to haveexisted, with little variation, since the days of Shakespeare. " Whocan doubt that Hogarth's famous picture told the truth, not only ofthe painter's own time, but of the past and of the future? The poorplayer followed a sordid and wearisome routine. He was constrained todevote long hours to rehearsal and to the study of various parts, provided always he could obtain a sight of the book of the play, forthe itinerant theatre afforded no copyist then to write neatly outeach actor's share in the dialogues and speeches. Night brought theperformance, and, for the player engaged as "utility, " infinite changeof dress and "making-up" of his face to personate a variety ofcharacters. The company would, probably, be outnumbered by the_dramatis personæ_, in which case it would devolve upon the actor toassume many parts in one play. Thus, supposing Hamlet to be announcedfor representation, the stroller of inferior degree might be calledupon to appear as Francisco, afterwards as a lord-in-waiting in thecourt scenes, then as Lucianus, "nephew to the king, " then as one ofthe grave-diggers, then as a lord again, or, it might be, Osric, thefop, in the last act. Other duties, hardly less arduous, would fall tohim in the after-pieces. "I remember, " said King, the actor famous asbeing the original Sir Peter Teazle and Lord Ogleby, "that when I hadbeen but a short time on the stage, I performed one night KingRichard, sang two comic songs, played in an interlude, danced ahornpipe, spoke a prologue, and was afterwards harlequin, in a sharingcompany; and after all this fatigue my share came to threepence andthree pieces of candle!" A strolling manager of a later period waswont to boast that he had performed the complete melodrama of "RobRoy" with a limited company of five men and three women. Hard-worked, ill-paid, and, consequently, ill-fed, the stroller must have often leda dreary and miserable life enough. The late Mr. Drinkwater Meadowsused to tell of his experiences with a company that travelled throughWarwickshire, and their treasury being empty, depended for theirsubsistence upon their piscatorial skill. They lived for some time, indeed, upon the trout streams of the county. They plied rod and line, and learned their parts at the same time. "We could fish and study, study and fish, " said the actor. "I made myself perfect in Bob Acreswhile fishing in the Avon, and committed the words to my memory quiteas fast as I committed the fish to my basket. "

The straits and necessities of the strollers have long been a sourceof entertainment to the public. In an early number of the "Spectator, "Steele describes a company of poor players then performing at Epping. "They are far from offending in the impertinent splendour of thedrama. Alexander the Great was acted by a fellow in a paper cravat. The next day the Earl of Essex seemed to have no distress but hispoverty; and my Lord Foppington wanted any better means to showhimself a fop than by wearing stockings of different colours. In aword, though they have had a full barn for many days together, ouritinerants are so wretchedly poor that the heroes appear only likesturdy beggars, and the heroines gipsies. " It is added that the stageof these performers "is here in its original situation of a cart. " Inthe "Memoirs of Munden" a still stranger stage is mentioned. Astrolling company performing in Wales had for theatre a bedroom, andfor stage a large four-post bed! The spaces on either side wereconcealed from the audience by curtains, and formed the tiring-roomsof the ladies and gentlemen of the troop. On this very curious stagethe comedian afterwards famous as Little Knight, but then new to hisprofession, appeared as Acres in "The Rivals, " and won great applause. Goldsmith's Strolling Player is made to reveal many of the smallerneeds and shifts of his calling, especially in the matter of costume. "We had figures enough, but the difficulty was to dress them. The samecoat that served Romeo, turned with the blue lining outwards, servedfor his friend Mercutio: a large piece of crape sufficed at once forJuliet's petticoat and pall; a pestle and mortar from a neighbouringapothecary answered all the purposes of a bell; and our landlord's ownfamily, wrapped in white sheets, served to fill up the procession. Inshort, there were but three figures among us that might be said to bedressed with any propriety; I mean the nurse, the starved apothecary, and myself. " Of his own share in the representation the strollerspeaks candidly enough: "I snuffed the candles, and, let me tell you, that without a candle-snuffer the piece would lose half itsembellishments. " But there has always been forthcoming a very abundantsupply of stories of this kind, not always to be understood literally, however, concerning the drama under difficulties, and the comical sideof the player's indigence, distresses, and quaint artifices to concealhis poverty. 

A word should be said as to the courage and enterprise of our earlystrollers. Travelling is nowadays so easy a matter that we are apt toforget how solemnly it was viewed by our ancestors. In the lastcentury a man thought about making his will as a becoming preliminaryto his journeying merely from London to Edinburgh. But the strollerswere true to themselves and their calling, though sometimes theresults of their adventures were luckless enough. "Our plantations inAmerica have been voluntarily visited by some itinerants, Jamaica inparticular, " writes Chetwood, in his "History of the Stage" (1749). "Ihad an account from a gentleman who was possessed of a large estate inthe island that a company in the year 1733 came there and cleared alarge sum of money, where they might have made moderate fortunes ifthey had not been too busy with the growth of the country. Theyreceived three hundred and seventy pistoles the first night of the'Beggar's Opera, ' but within the space of two months they buried theirthird Polly and two of their men. The gentlemen of the island for sometime took their turns upon the stage to keep up the diversion; butthis did not hold long; for in two months more there were but one oldman, a boy, and a woman of the company left. The rest died either withthe country distemper or the common beverage of the place, the noblespirit of rum-punch, which is generally fatal to new-comers. Theshattered remains, with upwards of two thousand pistoles in bank, embarked for Carolina, to join another company at Charlestown, butwere cast away in the voyage. Had the company been more blessed withthe virtue of sobriety, &c. , they might perhaps have lived to carryhome the liberality of those generous islanders. "

It is to be observed that the strolling profession had its divisionsand grades. The "boothers, " as they are termed, have to be viewed asalmost a distinct class. These carry their theatre, a booth, aboutwith them, and only pretend to furnish very abridged presentments ofthe drama. With them "Richard III. , " for instance, is but anentertainment of some twenty minutes' duration. They are only anxiousto give as many performances as possible before fresh assemblies ofspectators in as short a time as may be. "Boothers" have been known togive even six distinct exhibitions on Saturday nights. And theycertainly resort to undignified expedients to lure their audiences. They parade in their theatrical attire, dance quadrilles andhornpipes, fight with broadswords, and make speeches on the externalplatform of their booth. Histrionic art is seen to little advantageunder these conditions, although it should be said that many notableplayers have commenced the study of their profession among the"boothers. " The travelling circus is again a distinct institution, itstumblers and riders only in a very distant and illegitimate wayconnected with even the humblest branches of the great Thespianfamily. 

But strolling, in its old sense, is fast expiring. Barns have ceasedto be temples of the drama. The railways carry the public to theestablished theatres; London stars and companies travelling infirst-class carriages, with their secretary and manager, visit in turnthe provincial towns, and attract all the playgoers of theneighbourhood. The country manager, retaining but a few "utilitypeople, " is well content to lend his stage to these dignified players, who stroll only nominally, without "padding the hoof, " or the leastchance of hardship or privation attending their rustical wanderings. Their travels are indeed more in the nature of royal progresses. Evenfor the "boothers" times have changed. Waste lands on which to "pitch"their playhouses are now hard to find; the "pleasure fairs, " oncetheir chief source of profit, become more and more rare; indeed, thereis a prevalent disposition nowadays to abolish altogether thoseold-fashioned celebrations. And worse than all, perhaps, the audienceshave become sophisticated and critical, and have not so much simplefaith and hearty goodwill to place at the disposal of the itinerants. Centralisation has now affected the stage. The country is no longerthe nursery and training-school of the player. He commences his careerin London, and then regales the provinces with an exhibition of hisproficiency. The strollers are now merged in the "stars. " Theapprentice has become the master, which may possibly account for thefact, that the work accomplished is not invariably of first-ratequality. 

CHAPTER VII. 

"PAY HERE. "

Acting, as a distinct profession, seems to have been known in Englandat least as far back as the reign of Henry VI. There had beentheatrical exhibitions in abundance, however, at a much earlierperiod. Stow, in his "Survey of London, " in 1599, translates from the"Life of Thomas à Becket, " by Fitzstephen, who wrote about 1182, mention of "the shews upon theatres and comical pastimes" of London, "its holy playes, representations of miracles which holy confessorshave wrought, or representations of tormentes wherein the constancieof martirs appeared. " As Mr. Payne Collier observes, "no country inEurope, since the revival of letters, has been able to produce anynotice of theatrical performances of so early a date as England. " Butour primitive stage was a chapel-of-ease, as it were, to the Church. The plays were founded upon the lives of the saints, or upon theevents of the Old and New Testaments, and were contrived and performedby the clergy, who borrowed horses, harness, properties, and hallowedvestments from the monasteries, and did not hesitate even to paint anddisguise their faces, in order to give due effect to theirexhibitions, which were presented not only in the cathedrals, churches, and cemeteries, but also "on highways or greens, " as mightbe most convenient. In 1511, for instance, the miracle-play of "St. George of Cappadocia" was acted in a croft, or field, at Basingborne, one shilling being paid for the hire of the land. The clergy, however, were by no means unanimous as to the propriety and policy of thesedramatic representations. They were bitterly attacked in anAnglo-French poem, the "Manuel de Péché, " written about the middle ofthe thirteenth century, and ascribed to Robert Grossetête, who becameBishop of Lincoln in 1235. Gradually the kind of histrionic monopolywhich the Church had long enjoyed was invaded. Education spread, andmany probably found themselves as competent to act as the clergy. Still, the ecclesiastical performers for some time resisted allattempts to interfere with what they viewed as their especialprivileges and vested interests. In 1378 the scholars or choristers ofSt. Paul's petitioned Richard II. To prohibit certain ignorant andinexperienced persons from acting the history of the Old Testament, tothe prejudice of the clergy of the Church, who had expended large sumsin preparing plays founded upon the same subject. But some few yearslater the parish clerks of London, who had been incorporated by HenryIII. , performed at Skinner's Well, near Smithfield, in the presence ofthe king, queen, and nobles of the realm, a play which occupied threedays in representation. As Warton remarks, however, in his "History ofEnglish Poetry, " the parish clerks of that time might fairly beregarded as a "literary society, " if they did not precisely come underthe denomination of a religious fraternity. 

The religious or miracle plays soon extended their boundaries, becameblended with "mummings, " or "disguisings, " and entertainments ofpageantry. Morals, interludes, and masques were gradually brought uponthe scene. Dancers, singers, jugglers, and minstrels becameindispensable to the performances. The Church and the Theatre driftedapart; were viewed in time as wholly independent establishments. Theactor asserted his individuality; his profession was recognised asdistinct and complete in itself; companies of players began to strollthrough the provinces. The early moral-play of the "Castle ofPerseverance, " which is certainly as old as the reign of Henry VI. , was represented by itinerant actors, who travelled round the countryfor that purpose, preceded by their standard-bearers and trumpeters, to announce on what day, and at what hour, the performance would takeplace. It would seem that the exhibition concluded at nine o'clock inthe morning, so that the playgoers of the period must probably haveassembled so early as six. In the reign of Edward IV. The actors firstobtained parliamentary recognition. The Act passed in 1464, regulating the apparel to be worn by the different classes of society, contains special exception in favour of henchmen, pursuivants, sword-bearers to mayors, messengers, minstrels, and "players in theirinterludes. " The first royal personage who entertained a company ofplayers as his servants was probably Richard III. When Duke ofGloucester, who seems, moreover, to have given great encouragement tomusic and musicians. In the reign of Henry VII. Dramaticrepresentations were frequent in all parts of England. The kinghimself had two companies of players, the "gentlemen of the chapel, "and his "players of interludes. "

The early actors, whose performances took place in the open air or inpublic places, doubtless obtained recompense for their labours muchafter the manner of our modern street exhibitors: by that system of"sending round the hat, " which too many lookers-on nowadays consideras an intimation to depart about their business, leaving theirentertainment unpaid for. The companies of players in the service ofany great personage were in the receipt of regular salaries, wereviewed as members of his household, and wore his livery. They probablyobtained, moreover, largess from the more liberally disposedspectators of their exertions. But as the theatre became more and morea source of public recreation, it was deemed necessary to establishpermanent stages, and a tariff of charges for admission to witness theentertainments. For a long time the actors had been restricted to themansions of the nobility, and to the larger inn-yards of the city. In1574, however, the Earl of Leicester, through his influence with QueenElizabeth, obtained for his company of players, among whom wasincluded James Burbadge, the father of the famous Shakespearean actor, Richard Burbadge, a patent, under the Great Seal, empowering theactors, "during the queen's pleasure, to use, exercise, and occupy theart and faculty of playing tragedies, comedies, interludes, and stageplays, as well for the recreation of the queen's subjects as for herown solace and pleasure, within the city of London and its liberties, and within any cities, towns, and boroughs throughout England. " Thismost important concession to the players was strenuously opposed bythe Lord Mayor and Corporation, who maintained that "the playing ofinterludes and the resort to the same" were likely to provoke "theinfection of the plague, " were "hurtfull in corruption of youth, " were"great wasting both of the time and thrift of many poor people, " and"great withdrawing of the people from publique prayer and from theservice of God. " At last they proposed, as a compromise, that theplayers of the queen, or of Lord Leicester--for these titles seem tohave been bestowed upon the actors indifferently--should be permittedto perform within the city boundaries upon certain special conditions, to the effect that their names and number should be notified to theLord Mayor and the Justices of Middlesex and Surrey, and that theyshould not divide themselves into several companies; that they shouldbe content with playing in private houses, at weddings, &c. , withoutpublic assemblies, or "if more be thought good to be tolerated, " thatthey should not play openly till the whole deaths in London had beenfor twenty days under fifty a week; that they should not play on theSabbath or on holy days until after evening prayer; and that noplaying should be in the dark, "nor continue any such time but as anyof the auditoire may returne to their dwellings in London beforesonne-set, or at least before it be dark. " These severe restrictionsso far defeated the objects of the civic powers, that they led intruth to the construction of three theatres beyond the Lord Mayor'sjurisdiction, but sufficiently near to its boundaries to occasion himgrave disquietude. About 1576 Burbadge built his theatre in theLiberty of the Blackfriars--a precinct in which civic authority was atany rate disputed. Within a year or so The Curtain and The Theatre, both in Shoreditch, were also opened to the public. The Mayor andCorporation persistently endeavoured to assert authority over theseestablishments, but without much practical result. It may be addedthat the Blackfriars Theatre was permanently closed in 1647, part ofthe ground on which it stood, adjoining Apothecaries' Hall, stillbearing the name of Playhouse Yard; that The Theatre in Shoreditch wasabandoned about 1598 (it was probably a wooden erection, and in twentyyears might have become untenantable); and that The Curtain fell intodisuse at the beginning of the reign of Charles I. 

The prices of admission to the theatres varied according to theestimation in which they were held, and were raised on specialoccasions. "Twopenny rooms, " or galleries, were to be found at thelarger and more popular theatres. In Goffe's "Careless Shepherdess, "1656, acted at the Salisbury Court Theatre, appear the lines:

 I will hasten to the money-box And take my shilling out again; I'll go to the Bull or Fortune, and there see A play for twopence and a jig to boot. 

The money received was placed in a box, and there seems to have beenone person specially charged with this duty. Dekker, dedicating one ofhis plays to his "friends and fellows, " the queen's servants, wishesthem "a full audience and one honest doorkeeper. " Even thus early theabsolute integrity of the attendants of the theatre would appear tohave been a subject of suspicion. "Penny galleries" are referred to bysome early writers, and from a passage in the "Gull's Horn Book, "1609--"Your groundling and gallery commoner buys his sport for apenny"--it is apparent that the charges for admission to the yard, where the spectators stood, and to the galleries, where they sat onbenches, were the same. In Dekker's "Satiromastix, " one of thecharacters speaks scornfully of "penny bench theatres, " where agentleman or an honest citizen "might sit with his squirrel by hisside cracking nuts. " But according to the Induction to Ben Jonson's"Bartholomew Fair, " first acted in 1614, at the Hope, a small dirtytheatre on the Bankside, which had formerly been used forbear-baiting, the prices there ranged from sixpence to half-a-crown. "It shall be lawful for any man to judge his six pen'worth, his twelvepen'worth, so to his eighteen pence, two shillings, half-a-crown, tothe value of his place; provided always his place get not above hiswit ... Marry, if he drop but sixpence at the door, and will censure acrown's worth, it is thought there is no conscience or justice inthat. " It is probable, however, that the dramatist was referring tothe prices charged at the first representation of his play. Sixpencemight then be the lowest admission; on other occasions, twopence, oreven one penny. The prologue to "Henry VIII. " states:

 Those that come to see Only a show or two, and so agree, The play may pass; if they be still and willing, I'll undertake, may see away their shilling Richly in two short hours. 

And there is evidence that in Shakespeare's time one shilling was theprice of admission to the best rooms or boxes. Sir Thomas Overburywrites in his "Characters, " published in 1614: "If he have but twelvepence in his purse he will give it for the best room in a playhouse. "And the "Gull's Horn Book, " 1609, counsels, "At a new play you take upthe twelvepenny room next the stage, because the lords and you mayseem to be hail-fellow well met!"

But it is plain that the tariff of admission was subject to frequentalterations, and that as money became more abundant, the managersgradually increased their charges. In the "Scornful Lady" "eighteenpence" is referred to as though it were the highest price of admissionto the Blackfriars Theatre. Sir John Suckling writes, about the middleof the seventeenth century:

 The sweat of learned Jonson's brain, And gentle Shakespeare's easier strain, A hackney-coach conveys you to, In spite of all that rain can do, And for your eighteenpence you sit, The lord and judge of all fresh wit. 

It must always be doubtful, however, as to the precise portion of thetheatre these writers intended to designate. As Mr. Collier suggests, the discordances between the authorities on this question arise, probably, from the fact that "different prices were charged atdifferent theatres at different periods. "

In our early theatres, the arrangements for receiving the money of theplaygoers were rather of a confused kind. There would seem to havebeen several doors, one within the other, at any of which visitorsmight tender their admission money. It was understood that he who, disapproving the performance, withdrew after the termination of thefirst act of the play, was entitled to receive back the amount he hadpaid for his entrance. This system led to much brawling and fraud. Thematter was deemed important enough to justify royal intervention. Anorder was issued in 1665, reciting that complaints had been made by"our servants, the actors in the Royal Theatre, " of divers personsrefusing to pay at the first door of the said theatre, therebyobliging the doorkeepers to send after, solicit, and importune themfor their entrance-money, and stating it to be the royal will andpleasure, for the prevention of these disorders, and so that such asare employed by the said actors might have no opportunity of deceivingthem, that all persons thenceforward coming to the said theatre shouldat the first door pay their entrance-money, which was to be restoredto them again in case they returned the same way before the end of theact. The guards attending the theatre, and all others whom it mightconcern, were charged to see that this order was obeyed, and to returnto the Lord Chamberlain the names of such persons as offered "anyviolence contrary to this our pleasure. "

Apparently the royal decree was not very implicitly obeyed by theplaygoers. At any rate we find, under date January 7th, 1668, thefollowing entry in Mr. Pepys's "Diary" bearing upon the matter: "Tothe Nursery, but the house did not act to-day; and so I to the othertwo playhouses, into the pit to gaze up and down, and there did bythis means for nothing see an act in the 'School of Compliments, ' atthe Duke of York's house, and 'Henry IV. ' at the King's House; but notliking either of the plays, I took my coach again and home. " At thetrial of Lord Mohun, in 1692, for the murder of Mountford, the actor, John Rogers, one of the doorkeepers of the theatre, deposes that heapplied to his lordship and to Captain Hill, his companion, "for theoverplus of money for coming in, because they came out of the pit uponthe stage. They would not give it. Lord Mohun said if I brought any ofour masters he would slit their noses. " It was the fashion for patronsof the stage at this time to treat its professors with great scorn, and often to view them with a kind of vindictive jealousy, "I see thegallants do begin to be tired with the vanity and pride of the theatreactors, who are indeed grown very proud and rich, " noted Pepys, in1661. In the second year of her reign, Queen Anne issued a decree "forthe better regulation of the theatres, " the drama being at this periodthe frequent subject of royal interference, and strictly commandedthat "no person of what quality soever should presume to go behind thescenes, or come upon the stage, either before or during the acting ofany play; that no woman should be allowed, or presume to wear, avizard mask in either of the theatres; and that no person should comeinto either house without paying the price established for theirrespective places. "

As the stage advanced more and more in public favour, the actorsceased to depend for existence upon private patronage and found itunnecessary to be included among the retinue and servants of thegreat. After the Restoration patents were granted to Killigrew andDavenant, and their companions were described as the servants of theking and of the Duke of York respectively; but individual noblemen nolonger maintained and protected "players of interludes" for their ownprivate amusement. And now the court began to come to the dramainstead of requiring that the drama should be carried to the court. Charles II. Was probably the first English monarch who habituallyjoined with the general audience and occupied a box at a publictheatre. In addition, he followed the example of preceding sovereigns, and had plays frequently represented before him at Whitehall and otherroyal residences. These performances took place at night, and werebrilliantly lighted with wax candles. With the fall of the Stuartdynasty the court theatricals ceased almost altogether. Indeed, inCharles's time there had been much decline in the dignity andexclusiveness of these entertainments; admission seems to have beenobtainable upon payment at the doors, as though at a public theatre. Evelyn writes in 1675: "I saw the Italian Scaramuccio act before theking at Whitehall, people giving money to come in, which was veryscandalous, and never so before at court diversions. Having seen himact in Italy many years past, I was not averse from seeing the mostexcellent of that kind of folly. "

It is to be observed that in Pepys's time, and long afterwards, theprices of admission to the theatres were: Boxes, four shillings; pit, two shillings and sixpence; first gallery, one shilling and sixpence;and upper gallery, one shilling. It became customary to raise theprices whenever great expenses had been incurred by the manager in theproduction of a new play or of a pantomime. As the patent theatreswere enlarged or rebuilt, however, the higher rate of charges becamepermanently established. After the famous O. P. Riots the scale agreedupon was: Boxes, seven shillings; pit, three shillings; galleries, twoshillings and one shilling; with half-price at nine o'clock. In latertimes these charges have been considerably reduced. Half price hasbeen generally abolished, however, and many rows of the pit have beenconverted into stalls at seven or ten shillings each. Altogether, itmay perhaps be held that in Western London, although theatricalentertainments have been considerably cheapened, they still tax thepockets of playgoers more severely than need be. 

Country managers would seen to have ruled their scale of charges instrict accordance with the means of their patrons; to have beencontent, indeed, with anything they could get from the provincialplaygoers. Mr. Bernard, the actor, in his "Retrospections, " makesmention of a strolling manager, once famous in the north of Englandand in Ireland, and known popularly as Jemmy Whitely, who, inimpoverished districts, was indifferent as to whether he received thepublic support in money or "in kind. " It is related of him that hewould take meat, fowl, vegetables, &c. , and pass in the owner andfriends for as many admissions as the food was worth. Thus very oftenon a Saturday his treasury resembled a butcher's warehouse, ratherthan a banker's. At a village on the coast the inhabitants brought himnothing but fish; but as the company could not subsist without itsconcomitants of bread, potatoes, and spirits, a general appeal wasmade to his stomach and sympathies, and some alteration in the termsof admission required. Jemmy, accordingly, after admitting nineteenpersons one evening for a shad apiece, stopped the twentieth, andsaid, "I beg your pardon, my darling, I am extremely sorry to refuseyou; but if we eat any more fish, by the powers, we shall all beturned into mermaids!"

A famous provincial manager, or "manageress, " was one Mrs. Baker, concerning whom curious particulars are related in the "Memoirs ofThomas Dibdin, " and in the "Life of Grimaldi, the Clown. " The ladyowned theatres at Canterbury, Rochester, Maidstone, Tunbridge Wells, Faversham, Deal, and other places, but was understood to havecommenced her professional career in connection with a puppet-show, oreven the homely entertainment of Punch and Judy. But her industry, energy, and enterprise were of an indomitable kind. She generallylived in her theatres, and rising early to accomplish her marketingand other household duties, she proceeded to take up her position inthe box-office, with the box-book open before her, and resting upon it"a massy silver inkstand, which, with a superb pair of silvertrumpets, several cups, tankards, and candlesticks of the same puremetal, it was her honest pride to say she had paid for with her ownhard earnings. " While awaiting the visits of those desirous to booktheir places for the evening, she arranged the programme of theentertainments. Her education was far from complete, however, foralthough she could read she was but an indifferent scribe. By the helpof the scissors, needle, thread, and a bundle of old playbills, sheachieved her purpose. She cut a play from one bill, an interlude fromanother, a farce from a third, and sewing the slips neatly togetheravoided the use of pen and ink. When the name of a new performer hadto be introduced she left a blank to be filled up by the first of heractors she happened to encounter, presuming him to be equal to the useof a pen. She sometimes beat the drum, or tolled the bell behind thescenes, when the representation needed such embellishments, andoccasionally fulfilled the duties of prompter. In this respect it wasunavoidable that she should be now and then rather overtasked. On onespecial evening she held the book during the performance of the oldfarce of "Who's the Dupe?" The part of Gradus was undertaken by herleading actor, one Gardner, and in the scene of Gradus's attempt toimpose upon the gentleman of the story, by affecting to speak Greek, the performer's memory unfortunately failed him. He glancedappealingly towards the prompt-side of the stage. Mrs. Baker was mute, examining the play-book with a puzzled air. "Give me the word, madam, "whispered the actor. "It's a hard word, Jem, " the lady replied. "Thengive me the next. " "That's harder. " The performer was at astand-still; the situation was becoming desperate. "The next!" criedGardner, furiously. "Harder still!" answered the prompter, and then, perplexed beyond bearing, she flung the book on the stage, andexclaimed aloud: "There, now you have them all; take your choice. "

The lady's usual station was in front of the house, however She washer own money-taker, and to this fact has been ascribed the great goodfortune she enjoyed as a manager. "Now then, pit or box, pit orgallery, box or pit!" she cried incessantly. "Pit! Pit!" half-a-dozenvoices might cry. "Then pay two shillings. Pass on, Tom Fool!" for soon busy nights she invariably addressed her patrons of all classes. To a woman who had to quit the theatre, owing to the cries of thechild she bore in her arms disturbing the audience, Mrs. Bakerobserved, as she returned the entrance-money, "Foolish woman! Foolishwoman! Don't come another night till half-price, and then give yourbaby some Dalby's Carminative. " "I remember, " writes Dibdin, "one verycrowded night patronised by a royal duke at Tunbridge Wells, when Mrs. Baker was taking money for three doors at once, her anxiety and veryproper tact led her, while receiving cash from one customer, to keepan eye in perspective on the next, to save time, as thus: 'Littlegirl! get your money ready, while this gentleman pays. My lord! I'msure your lordship has silver. Let that little boy go in while I givehis lordship change. Shan't count after your ladyship. Here comes theduke! Make haste! His royal highness will please to get his ticketready while my lady--now, sir! Now your royal highness!' 'Oh dear, Mrs. Baker, I've left my ticket in another coat-pocket!' 'To be sureyou have! Take your royal highness's word! Let his royal highnesspass! His royal highness has left his ticket in his _other_coat-pocket. ' Great laughter followed, and I believe the rank andfashion of the evening found more entertainment in the lobby than onthe stage. "

On the occasion of Grimaldi's engagement, "for one night only, " it wasfound necessary to open the doors of the Maidstone Theatre at a veryearly hour, to relieve the thoroughfare of the dense crowd which hadassembled. The house being quite full, Mrs. Baker locked up the box inwhich the receipts of the evening had been deposited, and, going roundto the stage, directed the performances to be commenced forthwith, remarking, reasonably enough, "that the house could but be full, andbeing full to the ceiling now, they might just as well begin at once, and have business over so much the sooner. " Greatly to thesatisfaction of the audience, the representation accordingly beganwithout delay, and terminated shortly after nine o'clock. 

It should be added that Mrs. Baker had been a dancer in early life, and was long famed for the grace of her carriage and the elegance ofher curtsey. Occasionally she ventured upon the stage dressed in thebonnet and shawl she had worn while receiving money and issuingtickets at the door, and in audible tones announced the performancesarranged for future evenings, the audience enthusiastically welcomingher appearance. A measure of her manifold talents was shared by othermembers of her family. Her sister, Miss Wakelin, was principal comicdancer to the theatre, occasional actress, wardrobe keeper, andprofessed cook, being, rewarded for her various services by board andlodging, a salary of £1 11s. 6d. Per week, and a benefit in every townMrs. Baker visited, with other emoluments by way of perquisites. Twoof Mrs. Baker's daughters were also members of her company, anddivided between them the heroines of tragedy and comedy. One MissBaker subsequently became the wife of Mr. Dowton, the actor. 

A settled distrust of the Bank of England was one of Mrs. Baker's mostmarked peculiarities. At the close of the performance she resigned theposition she had occupied for some five hours as money-taker for pit, boxes, and gallery, and retired to her chamber, carrying the receiptsof the evening in a large front pocket. This money she added to astore contained in half-a-dozen large china punch-bowls, ranged uponthe top shelf of an old bureau. For many years she carried her savingsabout with her from town to town, sometimes retaining upon her persongold in rouleaux to a large amount. She is even said to have kept inher pocket for seven years a note for £200. At length her wealthbecame a positive embarrassment to her. She deposited sums in countrybanks and in the hands of respectable tradesmen, at three per cent. , sometimes without receiving any interest whatever, but merely with aview to the safer custody of her resources. It was with exceedingdifficulty that she was eventually persuaded to become a fundholder. She handed over her store of gold to her stockbroker withextraordinary trepidation. It is satisfactory to be assured that atlast she accorded perfect confidence to the Old Lady in ThreadneedleStreet, increased her investments from time to time, and learned tofind pleasure in visiting London half-yearly to receive her dividends. 

Altogether Mrs. Baker appears to have been a thoroughly estimablewoman, cordially regarded by the considerate members of the theatricalprofession with whom she had dealings. While recording hereccentricities, and conceding that occasionally her language was moreforcible and idiomatic than tasteful or refined, Dibdin hastens toadd that "she owned an excellent heart, with much of the appearanceand manners of a gentlewoman. " Grimaldi was not less prompt inexpressing his complete satisfaction in regard to his engagements with"the manageress. " Dibdin wrote the epitaph inscribed above her gravein the cathedral yard of Rochester. A few lines may be extracted, butit must be said that the composition is of inferior quality:

 Alone, untaught, And self-assisted (save by Heaven), she sought To render each his own, and fairly save What might help others when she found a grave; By prudence taught life's troubled waves to stem, In death her memory shines, a rich, unpolished gem. 

It is conceivable--so much may perhaps be added by way of concludingnote--that Mrs. Baker unconsciously posed as a model, and lent afeature or two, when the portrait came to be painted of even a moredistinguished "manageress, " whose theatre was a caravan, however, whose company consisted of waxen effigies, and who bore the nameof--Jarley. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

IN THE PIT. 

There is something to be written about the rise and fall of the pit:its original humility, its possession for a while of great authority, and its forfeiture, of late years, of power in the theatre. We allknow Shakespeare's opinion of "the groundlings, " and how he held themto be, "for the most part, capable of nothing but inexplicable dumbshows and noise. " The great dramatist's contemporaries entertainedsimilar views on this head. They are to be found speaking with supremecontempt of the audience occupying the _yard_; describing them as"fools, " and "scarecrows, " and "understanding, grounded men. "

Our old theatres were of two classes, public and private. Thecompanies of the private theatres were more especially under theprotection of some royal or noble personage. The audiences theyattracted were usually of a superior class, and certain of these wereentitled to sit upon the stage during the representation. Thebuildings, although of smaller dimensions than the public theatresboasted, were arranged with more regard for the comfort of thespectators. The boxes were enclosed and locked. There were _pits_furnished with seats, in place of the _yards_, as they were called, ofthe public theatres, in which the "groundlings" were compelled tostand throughout the performance. And the whole house was roofed infrom the weather; whereas the public theatres were open to the sky, excepting over the stage and boxes. Moreover, the performances at theprivate theatres were presented by candle or torch light. Probably itwas held that the effects of the stage were enhanced by their beingartificially illuminated, for in these times, at both public andprivate theatres, the entertainments commenced early in the afternoon, and generally concluded before sunset, or, at any rate, before dark. 

As patience and endurance are more easy to the man who sits than tothe standing spectator, it came to be understood that a livelier kindof entertainment must be provided for the "groundlings" of the publictheatres than there was need to present to the seated pit of theprivate playhouses. The "fools of the yard" were charged withrequiring "the horrid noise of target-fight, " "cutler's work, " andvulgar and boisterous exhibitions generally. These early patrons ofthe more practical parts of the drama are entitled to be forbearinglyjudged, however. Their comfort was little studied, and it is notsurprising, under the circumstances, that they should have favoured abrisk and vivacious class of representations. The tedious playwrightdid not merely oppress their minds; he made them remember how wearywere their legs. 

But it is probable that the tastes thus generated were maintained longafter the necessity for their existence had departed, and that, evenwhen seats were permitted them, the "groundlings" still held by theirold forms of amusement, demanding dramas of liveliness, incident, andaction, and greatly preferring spectacle to speeches. From thephilosophical point of view the pit had acquired a bad name, andcouldn't or wouldn't get quit of it. Still it is by no means clearthat the sentiments ascribed to the pit were not those of the audiencegenerally. 

Nevertheless the pit was improving in character. Gradually it boasteda strong critical leaven; it became the recognised resort of the moreenlightened playgoers. Dryden in his prologues and epilogues oftenaddresses the pit, as containing notably the judges of plays and themore learned of the audience. "The pit, " says Swift, in theintroduction to his "Tale of a Tub, " "is sunk below the stage, thatwhatever of weighty matter shall be delivered thence, whether it belead or gold, may fall plump into the jaws of certain critics, as Ithink they are called, which stand ready open to devour them. " "Yourbucks of the pit, " says an old occasional address of later date, ascribed to Garrick, but on insufficient evidence:

 Your bucks of the pit are miracles of learning, Who point out faults to show their own discerning; And critic-like bestriding martyred sense, Proclaim their genius and vast consequence. 

There were now critics by profession, who duly printed and publishedtheir criticisms. The awful Churchill's favourite seat was in thefront row of the pit, next the orchestra. "In this place he thought hecould best discern the real workings of the passions in the actors, orwhat they substituted instead of them, " says poor Tom Davies, whosedread of the critic was extreme. "During the run of 'Cymbeline, '" hewrote apologetically to Garrick, his manager, "I had the misfortune todisconcert you in one scene, for which I did immediately beg yourpardon; and did attribute it to my accidentally seeing Mr. Churchillin the pit; with great truth, it rendered me confused and unmindful ofmy business. " Garrick had himself felt oppressed by the gloomypresence of Churchill, and learnt to read discontent in the critic'slowering brows. "My love to Churchill, " he writes to Colman; "hisbeing sick of Richard was perceived about the house. "

That Churchill was a critic of formidable aspect, the portrait helimned of himself in his "Independence" amply demonstrates:

 Vast were his bones, his muscles twisted strong, His face was short, but broader than 'twas long; His features though by nature they were large, Contentment had contrived to overcharge And bury meaning, save that we might spy Sense low'ring on the pent-house of his eye; His arms were two twin oaks, his legs so stout That they might bear a mansion-house about; Nor were they--look but at his body there-- Designed by fate a much less weight to bear. O'er a brown cassock which had once been black, Which hung in tatters on his brawny back, A sight most strange and awkward to behold, He threw a covering of blue and gold. &c. &c. 

This was not the kind of man to be contemptuously regarded orindiscreetly attacked. Foote ventured to designate him "the clumsycurate of Clapham, " but prudently suppressed a more elaborate lampoonhe had prepared. Murphy launched an ode more vehement than decent inits terms. Churchill good-humouredly acknowledged the justice of thesatire; he had said, perhaps, all he cared to say to the detriment ofMurphy, and was content with this proof that his shafts had reachedtheir mark. Murphy confirms Davies's account of Churchill's seat inthe theatre:

 No more your bard shall sit In foremost row before the astonished pit, And grin dislike, and kiss the spike, And twist his mouth and roll his head awry, The arch-absurd quick glancing from his eye. 

Charles Lamb was a faithful patron of the pit. In his early days therehad been such things as "pit orders. " "Beshrew the uncomfortablemanager who abolished them!" he exclaims. Hazlitt greatly preferredthe pit to the boxes. Not simply because the fierceness of hisdemocratic sentiments induced in him a scorn of the visitors to theboxes, as wrapped up in themselves, fortified against impressions, weaned from all superstitious belief in dramatic illusions, taking solittle interest in all that was interesting, disinclined to discomposetheir cravats or their muscles, "except when some gesticulation of Mr. Kean, or some expression of an author two hundred years old, violatedthe decorum of fashionable indifference. " These were good reasons forhis objection to the boxes. But he preferred the pit, in truth, because he could there see and hear so very much better. "We saw Mr. Kean's Sir Giles Overreach on Friday night from the boxes, " he writesin 1816, "and are not surprised at the incredulity as to this greatactor's powers entertained by those persons who have only seen himfrom that elevated sphere. We do not hesitate to say that those whohave only seen him at that distance have not seen him at all. Theexpression of his face is quite lost, and only the harsh and gratingtones of his voice produce their full effect on the ear. The samerecurring sounds, by dint of repetition, fasten on the attention, while the varieties and finer modulations are lost in their passageover the pit. All you discover is an abstraction of his defects, bothof person, voice, and manner. He appears to be a little man in a greatpassion, " &c. 

But the pit was not famous merely as the resort of critics. The"groundlings" had given place to people of fashion and socialdistinction. Mr. Leigh Hunt notes that the pit even of Charles II. 'stime, although now and then the scene of violent scuffles and brawls, due in great part to the general wearing of swords, was wont tocontain as good company as the pit of the Opera House five-and-twentyyears ago. A reference to Pepys's "Diary" justifies this opinion. "Among the rest here the Duke of Buckingham to-day openly sat in thepit, " records Pepys, "and there I found him with my Lord Buckhurst, and Sedley, and Etheridge the poet. " Yet it would seem that alreadythe visitors to the pit had declined somewhat in quality. Pepys, likeJohn Gilpin's spouse, had a frugal mind, however bent on pleasure. Herelates, in 1667, with some sense of injury, how once, there being noroom in the pit, he was forced to pay four shillings and go into oneof the upper boxes, "which is the first time I ever sat in a box in mylife. "

One does not now look to find members of the administration or cabinetministers occupying seats in the pit. Yet the "Journals of the RightHonourable William Windham, " some time Chief Secretary to the LordLieutenant of Ireland, and afterwards Colonial Secretary, tell of hisfrequent visits to the pit of Covent Garden. Nor does he "drop into"the theatre, after dining at his club, as even a bachelor of fashionmight do without exciting surprise. Playgoing is not an idle matter tohim. And he is accompanied by ladies of distinction, his relatives andothers. "Went about half-past five to the pit, " he records; "sat byMiss Kemble, Steevens, Mrs. Burke, and Miss Palmer, " the lady lastnamed being the niece of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who afterwards marriedLord Inchiquin. "Went in the evening to the pit with Mrs. Lukin" (thewife of his half-brother). "After the play, went with Miss Kemble toMrs. Siddons's dressing-room: met Sheridan there, with whom I sat inthe waiting room, and who pressed me to sup at his house with Fox andG. North. " Assuredly "the play, " not less than the pit, was morehighly regarded in Windham's time than nowadays. 

Though apart from our present topic, it is worth noting that Windhammay claim to have anticipated Monsieur Gambetta as a statesmanvoyaging in a balloon. Ballooning was a hobby of Windham's. He was aregular attendant of ascents, and inspected curiously the early aerialmachines of Blanchard and Lunardi. Something surprised at his owntemerity, he travelled the air himself, rose in a balloon--probablyfrom Vauxhall--crossed the river at Tilbury, and descended in safetyafter losing his hat. He regretted that the wind had not beenfavourable for his crossing the Channel. "Certainly, " he writes, "theexperiences I have had on this occasion will warrant a degree ofconfidence more than I have ever hitherto indulged. I would not wish adegree of confidence more than I enjoyed at every moment of the time. "

To return to the pit for a concluding note or two. Audiences had cometo agree with Hazlitt, that "it was unpleasant to see a play from theboxes, " that the pit was far preferable. Gradually the managers--soundsleepers as a rule--awakened to this view of the situation, andproceeded accordingly. They seized upon the best seats in the pit, andconverted them into stalls, charging for admission to these a higherprice than they had ever levied in regard to the boxes. Stalls werefirst introduced at the Opera House in the Haymarket in the year 1829. Dissatisfaction was openly expressed, but although the overture washissed--the opera being Rossini's "La Donna del Lago"--no seriousdisturbance arose. There had been a decline in the public spirit ofplaygoers. The generation that delighted in the great O. P. Riot hadpretty well passed away. Such another excitement was not possible;energy and enthusiasm on such a subject seemed to have been exhaustedfor ever by that supreme effort. So the audience paid the increasedprice or stayed away from the theatre--for staying away from thetheatre could now be calmly viewed as a reasonable alternative. "Theplay" was no more what once it had been, a sort of necessary of life. The example of the Opera manager was presently followed by all othertheatrical establishments, and high-priced stalls became the ruleeverywhere. The pit lost its old influence--was, so to say, disfranchised. It was as one of the old Cinque Ports which thedeparting sea and the ever indrifting sand have left high and dry, unapproachable by water, a port only in name. It was divided andconquered. The most applauded toast at the public banquet of the O. P. Rioters--"The ancient and indisputable rights of the pit"--will nevermore be proposed. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE FOOTMEN'S GALLERY. 

Of old the proprietors of theatres acted towards their patrons uponthe principle of "first come, first served. " If you desired a goodplace at the playhouse it was indispensably necessary to go early andto be in time: to secure your seat by bodily occupation of it. Box-offices, at which places might be engaged a fortnight in advanceof the performance, were as yet unknown. The only way, therefore, bywhich people of quality and fashion could obtain seats without thetrouble of attending at the opening of the doors for that purpose, wasby sending on their servants beforehand to occupy places until suchtime as it should be convenient for the masters and mistresses topresent themselves at the theatre. When Garrick took his benefit atDrury Lane in 1744, the play--"Hamlet"--was to begin at six o'clock, and in the bills of the day ladies were requested _to send theirservants by three o'clock. _ It was further announced that byparticular desire five rows of the pit would be railed into boxes, andthat servants would be permitted to keep places on the stage, which, for the better accommodation of the ladies, would be railed intoboxes. 

The custom of sending servants early to the theatre to secure seats inthis way was, no doubt, a very old one; and, of course, at theconclusion of the entertainment they were compelled to be again inattendance with the carriages and chairs of their employers. Meanwhile, they assembled in the lobbies and precincts of theplayhouse in great numbers, and considerable noise and confusion thusensued. In the prologue to Carlell's tragi-comedy of "Arviragus, "1672, Dryden writes, begging the public to support rather the Englishthan the French performers who were visiting London:

 And therefore, Messieurs, if you'll do us grace. Send lacqueys early to preserve your place;

and in one of his epilogues he makes mention of the nuisanceoccasioned by the noisy crowd of servants disturbing the performance:

 Then for your lacqueys and your train beside, By whate'er name or title dignified, They roar so loud, you'd think behind the stairs, Tom Dove and all the brotherhood of bears; They've grown a nuisance beyond all disasters, We've none so great but their unpaying masters. We beg you, sirs, to beg your men that they Would please to give us leave to hear the play. 

"Tom Dove, " it may be noted, was a "bear-ward, " or proprietor ofbears, of some fame; his name is frequently mentioned in the lightliterature of the period. 

At this time the servants were admitted gratis to the upper gallery ofthe theatre on the conclusion of the fourth act of the play of theevening. In 1697, however, Rich, the manager of the theatre inLincoln's Inn Fields, placed his gallery at their disposal, withoutcharge, during the whole of the evening. Cibber speaks of thisproceeding on the part of Rich as the lowest expedient to ingratiatehis company in public favour. Alarmed by the preference evinced by thetown for the rival theatre in Drury Lane, Rich conceived that this newprivilege would incline the servants to give his house "a good word inthe respective families they belonged to, " and, further, that it wouldgreatly increase the applause awarded to his performances. In thisrespect his plan seems to have succeeded very well. 

Cibber relates that "it often thundered from the full gallery above, while the thin pit and boxes below were in the utmost serenity. " Heproceeds to add, however, that the privilege, which from customripened into right, became the most disgraceful nuisance that everdepreciated the theatre. "How often, " he exclaims, "have the mostpolite audiences in the most affecting scenes of the best plays beendisturbed and insulted by the noise and clamour of these savagespectators!"

The example set by Rich seems to have been soon followed by othermanagers. For many years the right of the footmen to occupy the uppergallery without payment was unchallenged. In 1737, however, Mr. Fleetwood, manager of Drury Lane Theatre, announced his determinationto put an end to a privilege which it was generally felt had growninto a serious nuisance. A threatening letter was sent to him, whichhe answered by offering a reward of fifty guineas for the discovery ofits author or authors. The letter is given in full in Malcolm's"Anecdotes of London, " 1810:

 "SIR, --We are willing to admonish you before we attempt our design; and, provided you will use us civil and admit us into your gallery, which is our property according to Formalities; and if you think proper to come to a composition this way, you'll hear no further; and if not, our intention is to join a body _incognito_, and reduce the playhouse to the ground. --We are, INDEMNIFIED. "

A riot of an alarming nature followed. The footmen, denied admissionto their own gallery, as they regarded it, assembled in a body ofthree hundred, and, armed with offensive weapons, broke into thetheatre, and, taking forcible possession of the stage, wounded sometwenty-five persons who had opposed their entrance. Great confusionprevailed. The Prince and Princess of Wales and other members of theRoyal Family were in the theatre at the time. Colonel Deveil, justiceof the peace, who was also present, after attempting in vain to readthe Riot Act ("he might as well have read Caesar's 'Commentaries, '"observed a facetious critic), caused some of the ringleaders to bearrested, and thirty of them were sent to Newgate. While in prison, they were supported by the subscriptions of their sympathisingbrethren. Meanwhile, anonymous letters were thrown down the areas ofpeople of fashion, denouncing vengeance against all who attempted todeprive the footmen of their liberty and property. A further attackupon the theatre was expected. For several nights a detachment offifty soldiers protected the building and its approaches; but thepublic peace was not further disturbed. The footmen were compelled toacknowledge themselves defeated. They were admitted _gratis_ to theupper gallery no more. 

Arnot's "History of Edinburgh, " 1789, contains an account of aservants' riot in the theatre of that city on the occasion of thesecond performance of the Rev. Mr. Townley's farce of "High Life BelowStairs, " originally played at Drury Lane in 1759. The footmen, highlyoffended at the representation of a farce reflecting on theirfraternity, resolved to prevent its repetition. In Edinburgh thefootmen's gallery still existed. "That servants might not be keptwaiting in the cold, nor induced to tipple in the adjacent ale-houseswhile they waited for their masters, the humanity of the gentry hadprovided that the upper gallery should afford gratis admission to theservants of such persons as were attending the theatre. " On the secondnight of the performance of the farce, Mr. Love, one of the managersof the theatre, came upon the stage, and read a letter he hadreceived, containing the most violent threatenings both against theactors and the house, in case "High Life Below Stairs" should berepresented, and declaring "that above seventy people had agreed tosacrifice fame, honour, and profit to prevent it. " In spite of thismenace, however, the managers ordered that the performance shouldproceed. Immediately a storm of disapprobation arose in the footmen'sgallery. The noise continued, notwithstanding the urgent ordersaddressed to the servants to be quiet. Many of the gentlemenrecognised among this unruly crew their individual servants. Whenthese would not submit to authority, their masters, assisted by othersin the house, went up to the gallery; but it was not until after abattle, in which the servants were fairly overpowered and thrust outof the house, that quietness was restored. 

After this disturbance, the servants were not only deprived of thefreedom of the playhouse, but the custom of giving them "vails, " whichhad theretofore universally prevailed in Scotland, was abolished. "Nothing, " writes Mr. Arnot, "can tend more to make servantsrapacious, insolent, and ungrateful, than allowing them to displaytheir address in extracting money from the visitors of their lord. "After the riot in the footmen's gallery, the gentlemen of the countyof Aberdeen resolved neither to give, nor to allow their servants toreceive, any money from their visitors under the name of drink-money, card-money, &c. , and instead, augmented their wages. This example was"followed by the gentlemen of the county of Edinburgh, by the Facultyof Advocates, and other respectable public bodies; and the practicewas utterly exploded over all Scotland. "

It was not only while they occupied the gallery, however, that thefootmen contrived to give offence to the audience. Their conduct whilethey kept places for their employers in the better portions of thehouse, appears to have been equally objectionable. In the _WeeklyRegister_ for March 25th, 1732, it is remarked: "The theatre should beesteemed the centre of politeness and good manners, yet numbers ofthem [the footmen] every evening are lolling over the boxes, whilethey keep places for their masters, with their hats on; play overtheir airs, take snuff, laugh aloud, adjust their cocks'-combs, orhold dialogues with their brethren from one side of the house to theother. " The fault was not wholly with the footmen, however: theirmasters and mistresses were in duty bound to come earlier to thetheatre and take possession of the places retained for them. But itwas the fashion to be late: to enter the theatre noisily, when theplay was half over, and even then to pay little attention to theplayers. In Fielding's farce of "Miss Lucy in Town, " produced in 1742, when the country-bred wife inquires of Mrs. Tawdry concerning thebehaviour of the London fine ladies at the playhouses, she isanswered: "Why, if they can they take a stage-box, where they let thefootman sit the two first acts to show his livery; then they come into show themselves--spread their fans upon the spikes, make curtsiesto their acquaintance, and then talk and laugh as loud as they areable. "

CHAPTER X. 

FOOT-LIGHTS. 

As the performances of the Elizabethan theatres commenced at threeo'clock in the afternoon, and the public theatres of the period wereopen to the sky (except over the stage and galleries), much artificiallighting could not, as a rule, have been requisite. Malone, in hisaccount of the English stage prefixed to his edition of "Shakespeare, "describes the stage as formerly lighted by means of two large branches"of a form similar to those now hung in churches. " The pattern ofthese branches may be seen in the frontispiece to "Kirkman'sCollection of Drolls, " printed in 1672, representing a view of atheatrical booth. In time, however, it was discovered that thebranches obstructed the view of the spectators, and were otherwiseincommodious; they then gave place to small circular wooden framesfurnished with candles, eight of which were hung on the stage, four oneither side. The frontispiece to the Dublin edition of Chetwood's"History of the Stage, " 1749, exhibits the stage lighted by hoops ofcandles in this way, suspended from the proscenium, and with nofoot-lights between the actors and the musicians in the orchestra. Itis probable that these candles were of wax or tallow, accordingly asthe funds of the theatrical manager permitted. Mr. Pepys, in his"Diary, " February 12th, 1667, chronicles a conversation withKilligrew, the manager of the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. "He tellsme that the stage is now, by his pains, a thousand times better andmore glorious than ever heretofore. _Now, wax candles and many ofthem; then, not above 3 lb. Of tallow. _ Now, all things civil: norudeness anywhere; then, as in a bear-garden, " &c. The body of thehouse, according to Malone, was formerly lighted "by cressets or largeopen lanthorns of nearly the same size with those which are fixed inthe poop of a ship. "

The use of candles involved the employment of candle-snuffers, whocame on at certain pauses in the performance to tend and rectify thelighting of the stage. Goldsmith's Strolling Player narrates how hecommenced his theatrical career in this humble capacity: "I snuffedthe candles; and let me tell you, that without a candle-snuffer thepiece would lose half its embellishment. " The illness of one of theactors necessitated the pressing of the candle-snuffer into thecompany of players. "I learnt my part, " he continues, "withastonishing rapidity, and bade adieu to snuffing candles ever after. Ifound that nature had designed me for more noble employment, and I wasresolved to take her when in the humour. " But the duties of acandle-snuffer, if not very honourable, were somewhat arduous. It wasthe custom of the audience, especially among those frequenting thegalleries, to regard him as a butt, with whom to amuse themselvesduring the pauses between the acts. Something of this habit is yetextant. Even nowadays the appearance of a servant on the stage for thenecessary purposes of the performance--to carry chairs on or off, tospread or remove a carpet, &c. --is frequently the signal for cries ofderision from the gallery. Of old the audience proceeded to greaterextremities--even to hurling missiles of various kinds at theunfortunate candle-snuffer. In Foote's comedy of "The Minor, " Shift, one of the characters, describes the changing scenes of his life. Froma linkboy outside a travelling theatre he was promoted to employmentwithin. "I did the honours of the barn, " he says, "by sweeping thestage and clipping the candles. Here my skill and address were soconspicuous that it procured me the same office the ensuing winter, atDrury Lane, where I acquired intrepidity, the crown of all myvirtues.... For I think, sir, he that dares stand the shot of thegallery, in lighting, snuffing, and sweeping, the first night of a newplay, may bid defiance to the pillory with all its customarycompliments.... But an unlucky crab-apple applied to my right eye by apatriot gingerbread baker from the Borough, who would not sufferthree dancers from Switzerland because he hated the French, forced meto a precipitate retreat. "

Mr. Richard Jenkins, in his "Memoirs of the Bristol Stage, " publishedin 1826, relates how one Winstone, a comic actor, who sometimesessayed tragical characters, appeared upon a special occasion asRichard III. He played his part so energetically, and flourished hissword to such good purpose while demanding "A horse! a horse!" in thefifth act that "the weapon coming in contact with a rope by which oneof the hoops of tallow candles was suspended, the blazing circle (notthe golden one he had looked for) fell round his neck and lodgedthere, greatly to his own discomfiture and to the amusement of theaudience. " The amazed Catesby of the evening, instead of helping hissovereign to a steed, is said to have been sufficiently occupied withextricating him from his embarrassing situation. Winstone, indeed, seems to have enjoyed some fame on the score of eccentricity. He tookleave of the stage in 1784, being then about eighty years of age. Buthe was at this time so afflicted with deafness that it was impossiblefor him to "catch the word" from the prompter at the side of thestage. To assist him, therefore, in the delivery of his farewelladdress, one of the performers, provided with a copy of the speech, was stationed behind the speaker and instructed to keep moving forwardand backward as he did, like his shadow. The effect must certainlyhave been whimsical. Winstone had been a pupil of Quin's, and hadplayed Downright to Garrick's Kitely in "Every Man in his Humour, " atDrury Lane, in 1751. He was a constant attendant at the ExchangeCoffee House, the established resort of the Bristol merchants. "He hadthe good fortune at one time to win a considerable prize in thelottery, and often looked in at the insurance offices, where hesometimes received premiums as an underwriter of ships and cargoes. "In consequence, he obtained much patronage, and always inserted at thehead of the playbills of his benefit, "By desire of several eminentmerchants. "

Garrick, in 1765, after his return from Italy (according to Jackson's"History of the Scottish Stage"), introduced various improvements inthe theatre, and amongst them, the employment of a row of foot-lightsin lieu of the old circular chandeliers over head. The labours of thecandle-snuffers in front of the curtain were probably brought to aconclusion soon afterwards, when oil-lamps took the place of candles. The snuffer then found his occupation gone. Probably the trimming ofthe lamps became his next duty; and then, as time went on, hedeveloped into a "gasman, " that most indispensable attendant of themodern theatre. 

Thackeray, in his novel of "The Virginians, " has some very appositeremarks upon the limited state of illumination in which our ancestorswere content to dwell. "In speaking of the past, " he writes, "I thinkthe night-life of society a hundred years since was rather a _dark_life. There was not one wax-candle for ten which we now see in aladies' drawing-room: let alone gas and the wondrous new illuminationsof clubs. Horrible guttering tallow smoked and stunk in passages. Thecandle-snuffer was a notorious officer in the theatre. See Hogarth'spictures: how dark they are, and how his feasts are, as it were, begrimed with tallow! In 'Mariage à la Mode, ' in Lord ViscountSquanderfield's grand saloons, where he and his wife are sittingyawning before the horror-stricken steward when their party is over, there are but eight candles--one on each table and half-a-dozen in abrass chandelier. If Jack Briefless convoked his friends to oystersand beer in his chambers, Pump Court, he would have twice as many. Letus comfort ourselves by thinking that Louis Quatorze in all his gloryheld his revels in the dark, and bless Mr. Price and other Luciferousbenefactors of mankind for abolishing the abominable mutton of ouryouth. "

The first gas-lamp appeared in London in the year 1809, Pall Mallbeing the first and for some years the only street so illuminated. Gradually, however, the new mode of lighting made way, and stole fromthe streets into manufactories and public buildings, and, finally, into private houses. The progress was not very rapid however; for wefind that gas was not introduced into the Mall of St. James's Parkuntil the year 1822. It is difficult to fix the exact date when gasfoot-lights appeared upon the stage. But in the year 1828 an explosiontook place in Covent Garden Theatre by which two men lost their lives. Great alarm was excited. The public were afraid to re-enter thetheatre. The management published an address in which it was statedthat the gas-fittings would be entirely removed from the interior ofthe house, and safer methods of illumination resorted to. In order toeffect the necessary alterations the theatre was closed for afortnight, during which the Covent Garden company appeared at theEnglish Opera House, or Lyceum Theatre, and an address was issued onbehalf of the widows of the men who had been killed by the explosion. In due time, however, the world grew bolder on the subject, and gasreappeared upon the scene. Some theatres, however (being probablyrestricted by the conditions of their leases), were very tardy inadopting the new system of lighting. Mr. Benjamin Webster, in hisspeech in the year 1853, upon his resigning the management of theHaymarket Theatre after a tenancy of fifteen years, mentions, amongthe improvements he had originated during that period, that he had"introduced gas for the fee of £500 a-year, and the presentation ofthe centre chandelier to the proprietors. "

The employment of gas-lights in theatres was strenuously objected toby many people. In the year 1829 a medical gentleman, writing fromBolton Row, and signing himself "Chiro-Medicus, " addressed to a publicjournal a remonstrance on the subject. He had met with several fatalcases of apoplexy which had occurred in the theatres, or a few hoursafter leaving them, and he had been led, with some success, as healleged, to investigate the cause. It appeared to him "that the strongvivid light evolved from the numerous gas-lamps on the stage sopowerfully stimulated the brain through the medium of the opticnerves, as to occasion a preternatural determination of blood to thehead, capable of producing headache or giddiness: and if the subjectshould at the time laugh heartily, the additional influx of bloodwhich takes place, may rupture a vessel, the consequence of which willbe, from the effusion of blood within the substance of the brain, oron its surface, fatal apoplexy. " From inquiries he had made among hisprofessional brethren who had been many years in practice in theMetropolis, it appeared to him that the votaries of the drama were byno means so subject to apoplexy or nervous headache _before_ theadoption of gas-lights. Some of his medical friends were of opinionthat the air of the theatre was very considerably deteriorated by thecombustion of gas, and that the consumption of oxygen, and the newproducts, and the escape of hydrogen, occasioned congestion of thevessels of the head. He thought it probable that this deteriorationof the air might act in conjunction with the vivid light in producingeither apoplexy or nervous headache. He found, moreover, that theactors were subject not only to headache, but also to weakness ofsight and attacks of giddiness, from the action of the powerfullyvivid light evolved from the combustion of gas; and he noted that thepupils of the eyes of all actors or actresses, who had been two orthree years on the stage, were much dilated; though this, he thought, might be attributable to the injurious pigments they employed toheighten their complexions; common rouge containing either red oxideof lead or the sulphuret of mercury, and white paint being oftencomposed of carbonate of lead, all of which were capable of actingdetrimentally upon the optic nerve. 

The statements of "Chiro-Medicus" may seem somewhat overcharged; yet, after allowance has been made for that exaggerated way of putting thecase which seems habitual to "the faculty" when it takes up with a newtheory, a sufficient residuum of fact remains to justify many of thedoctor's remarks. That a headache too often follows hard upon adramatic entertainment must be tolerably plain to anyone who has eversat in a theatre. Surely a better state of things must have existed acentury ago, when the grandsires and great-grandsires of us Londonerswere in the habit of frequenting the theatres night after night, almost as punctually as they ate their dinner or sipped their claretor their punch. To look in at Drury Lane or Covent Garden, if only towitness an act or two of the tragedy or comedy of the evening, was asort of duty with the town gentlemen, wits, and Templars, a hundredyears back, when George III. Was king. But gas had not then supersededwax, and tallow, and oil. 

Beyond increasing the _quantity_ of light, stage management has donelittle since Garrick's introduction of foot-lights, or "floats, " asthey are technically termed, in the way of satisfactorily adjustingthe illumination of the stage. The light still comes from the wrongplace: from below instead of, naturally, from above. In 1863, Mr. Fechter, at the Lyceum, sank the _floats_ below the surface of thestage, so that they should not intercept the view of the spectator;and his example has been followed by other managers; and of lateyears, owing to accidents having occurred to the dresses of thedancers when they approached too near to the foot-lights, these havebeen carefully fenced and guarded with wire screens and metal bars. Moreover, the dresses of the performers have been much shortened. Butthe obvious improvement required still remains to be effected. 

George Colman the younger, in his "Random Records, " describes anamateur dramatic performance in the year 1780, at Wynnstay, in NorthWales, the seat of Sir Watkin Williams Wynn. The theatre had formerlybeen the kitchen of the mansion--a large, long, rather low-pitchedroom. One advantage of these characteristics, according to Mr. Colman, was the fact that the foot-lights, or _floats_, could be dispensedwith: the stage was lighted by a row of lamps affixed to a large beamor arch above the heads of the performers--"on that side of the archnearest to the stage, so that the audience did not see the lamps, which cast a strong vertical light upon the actors. This, " he writes, "is as we receive light from nature; whereas the operation of the_float_ is exactly upon a reversed principle, and throws all theshades of the actor's countenance the wrong way. " This defect, however, appeared to our author to be irremediable; for, as he argues, "if a beam to hold lamps as at Wynnstay were placed over theproscenium at Drury Lane or Covent Garden Theatre, the goddesses inthe upper tiers of boxes, and the two and one shilling gods in thegalleries, would be completely intercepted from a view of the stage. "Still, Mr. Colman was not without hope that "in this age ofimprovement, while theatres are springing up like mushrooms, someingenious architect may hit upon a remedy. At all events, " heconcludes, "it is a grand desideratum. "

Colman was writing in the year 1830. It is rather curious to find himdescribing theatres as "springing up like mushrooms, " when it isconsidered that, notwithstanding the enormous extension of London, andthe vast increase of its population, but one or two theatres wereadded to it for some thirty years. Meanwhile, the "ingeniousarchitect, " to whom he looked hopefully to amend the lighting of thestage, has not yet appeared. But then, one does not meet ingeniousarchitects every day. 

A concluding note may be added touching the difficulties that mayensue from the system of lighting the theatres by means of gas. 

On December 3rd, 1872, there occurred the strike of some 2400 stokers;and, as a consequence, the West-end of London was involved in completedarkness, while in the City the supply of gas was limited to a veryfew streets. Upon the theatres this deprivation fell heavily. Theperformances were given up in despair at some houses, and carried onat others in a very restricted manner, by suddenly calling intorequisition the twilight of tallow-candles and oil-lamps. Thefollowing advertisements, among many others of like tenor, appearingin _The Times_ of the 4th December, are illustrative of the situationof affairs:

 SPECIAL NOTICE. --COURT THEATRE. --This theatre, from its situation, is in no way affected by the Gas Strike, and will be open every evening, and brilliantly illuminated. 

 ST. JAMES'S THEATRE. --The management having received no notice that, in consequence of the strike, the supply of gas would be discontinued, found at the last moment no light could be obtained, and were compelled to inform the crowds at the door that there would be no performance. _All Tickets_ issued last night will be available this evening. 

 GAS. --GAIETY. --SPECIAL NOTICE. --Arrangements (if necessary) have been made to light this Theatre with lime-lights and oil. 

CHAPTER XI. 

"COME, THE RECORDERS!"

Among the earlier emotions of the youthful playgoer, whose enthusiasmfor dramatic representations is generally of a very fervid anduncompromising kind, must be recognised his pity for the money-taker, forbidden by the cares of office to witness a performance, and hisenvy of the musicians, so advantageously stationed for the incessantenjoyment of the delights of the theatre. But he perceives, withregretful wonder, that these gentlemen are habitually negligent oftheir opportunities, and fail to appreciate the peculiar happiness oftheir position; that they are apt, indeed, their services not beingimmediately required, to abandon their instruments, and quietly tosteal away through the cramped doorway that admits to the mysteriousregions beneath the stage. He is grieved to note that for them, at anyrate, the play is _not_ "the thing. " One or two may remain--theperformer on the drum, I have observed, is often very faithful in thisrespect, though I have failed to discover any special reason why alove of histrionic efforts should be generated by his professionaloccupation--but the majority of the orchestra clearly manifest analmost indecent alacrity in avoiding all contemplation of the displayson the other side of the foot-lights. They are but playgoers oncompulsion. They even seem sometimes, when they retain their seats, toprefer gazing at the audience, rather than at the actors, and thus toadvertise their apathy in the matter. And I have not heard that theparsimonious manager, who proposed to reduce the salaries of hismusicians on the ground that they every night enjoyed admission to thebest seats, for which they paid nothing, "even when stars wereperforming, " ever succeeded in convincing his band of the justice ofhis arguments. 

The juvenile patron of the drama will, of course, in due time becomeless absorbed in his own view of the situation, and learn that just asone man's meat is another man's poison, so the pleasures of some arethe pains of others. He will cease to search the faces of theorchestra for any evidence of "pride of place, " or enjoyment ofperformances they witness, not as volunteers, but as pressed men. Hewill understand that they are at work, and are influenced by a naturalanxiety to escape from work as soon as may be. So, the overture ended, they vanish, and leave the actors to do their best or their worst, asthe case may be. But our young friend's sentiments are not peculiar tohimself--have been often shared, indeed, by very experienced persons. We have heard of comic singers and travelling entertainment givers whohave greatly resented the air of indifference of their musicalaccompanist. They have required of him that he should feel amused, oraffect to feel amused, by their efforts. He has had to supplement hisskill as a musician by his readiness as an actor. It has been thoughtdesirable that the audience should be enabled to exclaim: "The greatSo-and-So _must_ be funny! Why, see, the man at the piano, who playsfor him every night, who has, of course, seen his performances scoresand scores of times, even _he_ can't help laughing, the greatSo-and-So is so funny. " The audience, thus convinced, find themselves, no doubt, very highly amused. Garrick himself appears, on one occasionat any rate, to have been much enraged at the indifference of amember of his band. Cervetto, the violoncello player, once ventured toyawn noisily and portentously while the great actor was delivering anaddress to the audience. The house gave way to laughter. Theindignation of the actor could only be appeased by Cervetto's absurdexcuse, that he invariably yawned when he felt "the greatest rapture, "and to this emotion the address to the house, so admirably deliveredby his manager, had justified him in yielding. Garrick accepted theexplanation, perhaps rather on account of its humour than of itscompleteness. 

Music and the drama have been inseparably connected from the mostremote date. Even in the cart of Thespis some corner must have beenfound for the musician. The custom of chanting in churches has beentraced to the practice of the ancient and pagan stage. Music pervadedthe whole of the classical drama, was the adjunct of the poetry: theplay being a kind of recitation, the declamation composed and writtenin notes, and the gesticulations even being accompanied. The oldmiracle plays were assisted by performers on the horn, the pipe, thetabret, and the flute--a full orchestra in fact. Mr. Payne Collier, inhis "Annals of the Stage, " points out that at the end of the prologueto "Childermas Day, " 1512, the minstrels are required to "do theirdiligence, " the same expression being employed at the close of theperformance, when they are besought either themselves to dance, or toplay a dance for the entertainment of the company:

 Also ye menstrelles doth your diligence Afore our depertying geve us a daunce. 

The Elizabethan stage relied greatly upon the aid of trumpets, cornets, &c. , for the "soundings" which announced the commencement ofthe prologue, and for the "alarums" and "flourishes" which occurred inthe course of the representation. Malone was of opinion that the bandconsisted of some eight or ten musicians stationed in "an upperbalcony over what is now called the stage-box. " Collier, however, shows that the musicians were often divided into two bands, and quotesa stage direction in Marston's "Antonio's Revenge, " 1602: "While themeasure is dancing, Andrugio's ghost is placed betwixt the musichouses. " In a play of later date, Middleton's "Chaste Maid inCheapside, " 1630, appears the direction: "While the company seem toweep and mourn, there is a sad song in the music-room. " Boxes werethen often called rooms, and one was evidently set apart for the useof the musicians. In certain of Shakespeare's plays the musicians areclearly required to quit their room for awhile, and appear upon thestage among the _dramatis personæ. _

The practice of playing music between the acts is of long standing, the frequent inappropriateness of these interludes having beenrepeatedly commented on, however. A writer in the last centuryexpressly complains that at the end of every act, the audience, "carried away by a jig of Vivaldi's, or a concerto of Giardini's, loseevery warm impression relative to the piece, and begin again cool andunconcerned as at the commencement of the representation. " Headvocates the introduction of music adapted to the subject: "The musicafter an act should commence in the tone of the preceding passion, andbe gradually varied till it accords with the tone of the passion thatis to succeed in the next act, " so that "cheerful, tender, melancholy, or animated impressions" may be inspired, as the occasion may need. Atthe conclusion of the second act of "Gammer Gurton's Needle, " 1566, Diccon, addressing himself to the musicians, says simply: "In themeantime, fellows, pipe up your fiddles. " But in a later play, the"Two Italian Gentlemen, " by Anthony Munday, printed about 1584, thedifferent kinds of music to be played after each act are stated, whether a "pleasant galliard, " a "solemn dump, " or a "pleasantallemaigne. " So Marston in his "Sophonisba, " 1606, indicatesparticularly the instruments he would have played during the pausesbetween the acts. After act one, "the cornets and organs playing loudfull of music;" after act two, "organs mixed with recorders;" afteract three, "organs, viols, and voices;" with "a base lute and a trebleviol" after act four. In the course of this play, moreover, musicalaccompaniments of a descriptive kind were introduced, the stagedirection on two occasions informing us that "infernal music playssoftly. " Nabbes, in the prologue to his "Hannibal and Scipio, " 1637, alludes at once to the change of the place of action of the drama, andto the performance of music between the acts:

 The place is sometimes changed, too, with the scene, Which is transacted as the music plays Betwixt the acts. 

The closing of the theatres by the Puritans, in 1642, plainlydistressed the musicians almost as much as the players. Theiroccupation was practically gone, although not declared illegal by Actof Parliament. "Our music, " writes the author of "The Actor'sRemonstrance, " 1643, "that was held so delectable and precious thatthey scorned to come to a tavern under twenty shillings for two hours, now wander with their instruments under their cloaks--I mean such ashave any--into all houses of good fellowship, saluting every roomwhere there is company with: 'Will you have any music, gentlemen?'"

At the Restoration, however, king, actors, and orchestra all enjoyedtheir own again. Presently, for the first time it would seem in anEnglish theatre, the musicians were assigned that intrenched positionbetween the pit and the stage they have so long maintained. "The frontof the stage is opened, and the band of twenty-four violins with theharpsicals and theorbos which accompany the voices are placed betweenthe pit and the stage. While the overture is playing the curtain risesand discovers a new frontispiece joined to the great pilasters on eachside of the stage, " &c. So runs one of the preliminary stagedirections in the version of Shakespeare's "Tempest, " arranged byDryden and Davenant for performance at the Duke's Theatre, Lincoln'sInn Fields, in 1667. The change was, no doubt, introduced by Davenantin pursuance of French example. The authors of the "HistoireUniverselle des Théâtres" state, regarding the French stage, thatafter the disuse of the old chorus in 1630, "à la place du chant quidistinguoit les actes et qui marquoit les repos nécessaires, onintroduisit des joueurs d'instrumens, qui d'abord furent placés surles aîles du théâtre, où ils exécutoient différens airs avant lacommencement de la pièce et entre les actes. Ensuite ils furent mis aufond des troisième loges, puis aux secondes, enfin entre le théâtre etla parterre, où ils sont restés. "

Theatres differ little save in regard to their dimensions. The minorhouse is governed by the same laws, is conducted upon the same system, as the major one. It is as a humbler and cheaper edition, but itrepeats down to minute particulars the example of its costly original. The orchestra, or some form of orchestra, is always indispensable. Even that street-corner tragedy which sets forth the story of Punchand Judy, could not be presented without its pandean-pipeaccompaniment. The lowest vagrant theatre must, like the lady in thenursery ballad, have music wherever it goes. No doubt this is often ofmost inferior quality, suggestive of a return to very early musicalmethods. But poverty constrains to primitiveness. Mr. Pepys, comparing the state of the stage under Killigrew to what it had beenin earlier years, notes: "Then, two or three fiddlers; now, nine orten of the best, " &c. The orchestra of a strolling theatre has beenknown to consist of one fiddler only, and he has been required tocombine with his musical exertions the discharge of secretarialduties, enlivened by occasional appearances on the stage to strengthencasts, or help fill up the scene. The strollers' band is often ofuncertain strength. For when the travelling company meets withmisadventure, the orchestra are usually the first to prove unfaithful. They are the Swiss of the troop. The receipts fail, and the musiciansdesert. They carry their gifts elsewhere, and seek independentmarkets. The fairs, the racecourses, the country inn-doors, attractthe fiddler, and he strolls on his own account, when the payment ofsalaries is suspended. A veteran actor was wont to relate hisexperiences of fifty years ago as a member of the Stratford-upon-Avoncompany, when the orchestra consisted only of a fife and a tambourine, the instrumentalists performing, as they avowed, "not from notes butentirely by ear. " Presently the company removed to Warwick for therace week. But here the managerial difficulties increased--no bandwhatever could be obtained! This was the more distressing in that theperformances were to be of an illegitimate character: a "famoustight-rope dancer" had been engaged. The dancer at once declared thathis exhibition without music was not for a moment to be thought of. One of the company thereupon obligingly offered his services. He couldplay upon the violin: four tunes only. Now, provided an instrumentcould be borrowed for the occasion, and provided, moreover, thetight-rope artist could dance to the tune of "There's Nae Luck, " or"Drink to Me Only, " or "Away with Melancholy, " or the "NationalAnthem, " here was a way out of the dilemma, and all might yet be well. Unfortunately a violin was not forthcoming at any price, and thedancer declared himself quite unable to dance to the airs stated! Howwas faith to be kept with the public? At the last moment abarrel-organ was secured. The organist was a man of resources. Inaddition to turning the handle of his instrument, he contrived to playthe triangle and the pan-pipes. Here, then, was a full band. Thedancer still demurred. He must be assisted by a "clown to the rope, "to chalk his soles, amuse the audience while he rested, and performother useful duties. Another obliging actor volunteered his help. Hewould "by special desire and on this occasion only, " appear as clown. So having played Pangloss in the "Heir at Law, " the first piece, heexchanged his doctorial costume for a suit of motley, and theperformance "drew forth, " as subsequent playbills stated, "universaland reiterated bursts of applause from a crowded and elegantaudience. " The experiment of the barrel-organ orchestra was not oftenrepeated. The band of the Leamington Theatre was lent to the Warwickhouse, the distance between the establishments being only two miles. The Leamington audience were provided with music at the commencementof the evening only; the Warwick playgoers dispensed with orchestralaccompaniments until a later period in the performances. 

CHAPTER XII. 

PROLOGUES. 

"It is singular, " Miss Mitford wrote to Mr. Fields, her Americanpublisher, "that epilogues were just dismissed at the firstrepresentation of one of my plays--'Foscari, ' and prologues atanother--'Rienzi. '" "Foscari" was originally produced in 1826;"Rienzi" in 1828. According to Mr. Planché, however, the first play ofimportance presented without a prologue was his adaptation of Rowley'sold comedy, "A Woman never Vext, " produced at Covent Garden onNovember 9th, 1824, with a grand pageant of the Lord Mayor's Show asit appeared in the time of Henry VI. At one of the last rehearsals, Fawcett, the stage manager, inquired of the adapter if he had writtena prologue? "No. " "A five-act play and no prologue! Why, the audiencewill tear up the benches!" But they did nothing of the kind. They tooknot the slightest notice of the omission. After that, little more washeard of the time-honoured custom which had ruled that prologuesshould, according to Garrick's description of them--

 Precede the play in mournful verse, As undertakers stalk before the hearse; Whose doleful march may strike the harden'd mind, And wake its feeling for the dead behind. 

People, indeed, began rather to wonder why they had ever required orbeen provided with a thing that was now found to be, in truth, soentirely unnecessary. 

The prologues of our stage date from the earliest period of theBritish drama. They were not so much designed, as were the prologuesof the classical theatre, to enlighten the spectators touching thesubject of the forthcoming play; but were rather intended to bespeakfavour for the dramatist, and to deprecate adverse opinion. Originally, indeed, the prologue-speaker was either the author himselfin person, or his representative. In his prologue to his farce of "TheDeuce is in Him, " George Colman, after a lively fashion, points outthe distinction between the classical and the British forms ofprefatory address:

 What does it mean? What can it be? A little patience--and you'll see. Behold, to keep your minds uncertain, Between the scene and you this curtain! So writers hide their plots, no doubt, To please the more when all comes out! Of old the Prologue told the story, And laid the whole affair before ye; Came forth in simple phrase to say: "'Fore the beginning of the play I, hapless Polydore, was found By fishermen, or others, drowned! Or--I, a gentleman, did wed The lady I would never bed, Great Agamemnon's royal daughter, Who's coming hither to draw water. " Thus gave at once the bards of Greece The cream and marrow of the piece; Asking no trouble of your own To skim the milk or crack the bone. The poets now take different ways, "E'en let them find it out for Bayes!"

The prologue-speaker of the Elizabethan stage entered after thetrumpets had sounded thrice, attired in a long cloak of black cloth orvelvet, occasionally assuming a wreath or garland of bays, emblematicof authorship. In the "Accounts of the Revels in 1573-74, " a charge ismade for "bays for the prologgs. " Long after the cloak had beendiscarded it was still usual for the prologue-speaker to appeardressed in black. Robert Lloyd, in his "Familiar Epistle to GeorgeColman, " 1761, writes:

 With decent sables on his back (Your 'prologuisers' all wear black) The prologue comes; and, if it's mine It's very good and very fine. If not--I take a pinch of snuff, And wonder where you got such stuff. 

Upon this subject, Mr. Payne Collier notes a stage direction in theInduction to Heywood's "Four 'Prentices of London, " 1615: "Enterthree, in black cloaks, at the doors. " Each of them advancing to speakthe prologue, the first exclaims--"What mean you, my masters, toappear thus before your times? Do you not know that I am the prologue?Do you not see this long black velvet cloak upon my back? Have you notsounded thrice?" So also, in the Induction to Ben Jonson's "Cynthia'sRevels, " two of the children of the chapel contend for the privilegeof speaking the prologue, one of them maintaining his claim bypleading "possession of the cloak. "

The custom of regarding the "prologuiser" as the author or hisrepresentative, seems gradually to have been departed from, andprologues came to be delivered by one of the chief actors in the play, in the character he was about to undertake, or in some other assumedfor the occasion. A certain solemnity of tone, however, was usuallypreserved in the prologue to tragedy--the goodwill and mercifulconsideration of the audience being still entreated for the author andhis work, although considerable licence was permitted to the comedyprologue. And the prologues acquired more and more of a dramaticnature, being divided sometimes between two and three speakers, andless resembling formal prologues than those Inductions of which theearly dramatists, and especially Ben Jonson, seem to have been sounreasonably fond. The prologue to "The Poetaster" is spoken, in part, by Envy "rising in the midst of the stage, " and, in part, by anofficial representative of the dramatist. So, the prologue toShakespeare's Second Part of "King Henry IV. " is delivered by Rumour, "painted full of tongues;" a like office being accomplished by Gowerand Chorus, in regard to the plays of "Pericles" and "King Henry V. "It is to be noted that but few of Shakespeare's prologues andepilogues have been preserved. Malone conjectures that they were notheld to be indispensable appendages to a play in Shakespeare's time. But Mr. Collier is probably more correct in assuming that they wereoften retrenched by the printer, because they could not be broughtwithin the compass of a page, and because he was unwilling to addanother leaf. In addition to those mentioned above, the prologues to"King Henry VIII. , " "Troilus and Cressida, " and "Romeo and Juliet" areextant, and have the peculiarity of informing the audience, after theold classical fashion, something as to the nature of the entertainmentto be set before them. To the tragedy of "The Murder of Gonzago, "contained in "Hamlet, " Shakespeare, no doubt, recognising establishedusage, provided the prologue:

 For us and for our tragedy Here stooping to your clemency, We beg your hearing patiently. 

Steele, writing in _The Guardian, _ in 1713, expresses much concern forthe death of Mr. Peer, of the Theatre Royal, "who was an actor at theRestoration, and took his theatrical degree with Betterton, Kynaston, and Harris. " Mr. Peer, it seems, especially distinguished himself intwo characters, "which no man ever could touch but himself. " One ofthese was the Apothecary in "Caius Marius, " Otway's wretchedadaptation of "Romeo and Juliet;" the other was the speaker of theprologue to the play in "Hamlet. " It is plain that Mr. Peer'sprofessional rank was not high; for these characters are not usuallyundertaken by performers of note. Steele admits that Peer's eminencelay in a narrow compass, and to that attributes "the enlargement ofhis sphere of action" by his employment as property-man in addition tohis histrionic duties. Peer, however, is described as delivering thethree lines of prologue "better than any man else in the world, " andwith "universal applause. " He spoke "with such an air as representedthat he was an actor and with such an inferior manner as only actingan actor, as made the others on the stage appear real great personsand not representatives. This was a nicety in acting that none but themost subtle player could so much as conceive. " It is conceivable, however, that some of this subtlety existed rather in the fancy of thecritic than in the method of the player. This story of Mr. Peer ishardly to be equalled; yet Davies relates of Boheme, the actor, thatwhen, upon his first appearance upon the stage, he played with some"itinerants" at Stratford-le-Bow, his feeling but simple manner ofdelivering Francisco's short speech in "Hamlet"--

 For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart--

at once roused the audience to a sense of his merits. "His salary wasimmediately increased by the manager; and he proved afterwards a greatornament of the stage. "

The delivery of a prologue by an actress--that is to say, of course, by a boy in female dress, personating the character of awoman--appears to have been an unusual proceeding upon the Elizabethanstage. Mr. Collier has noted instances, however. In the case of theprologue to "Every Woman in her Humour, " 1609, spoken by the heroineFlavia, "Enter Flavia as a Prologue, " runs the stage direction; andshe begins--"Gentles of both sexes and of all sorts, I am sent to bidye welcome. I am but instead of a prologue, for a she prologue is asrare as a usurer's alms. " And the prologue to Shirley's "Coronation, "1640, was also delivered by one of the representatives of femalecharacter. A passage is worth quoting, for its description of ordinaryprologue-speaking at this time:

 Since 'tis become the title of our play, A woman once in a Coronation may With pardon speak the prologue, give as free A welcome to the theatre, as he That with a little beard, a long black cloak, With a starched face and supple leg hath spoke Before the plays this twelvemonth. Let me then Present a welcome to these gentlemen. If you be kind and noble you will not Think the worse of me for my petticoat. 

It would seem that impatience was sometimes expressed at the poeticprologues and lengthy Inductions of the dramatists. The prologue toBeaumont and Fletcher's "Woman Hater, " 1607, begins: "Gentlemen, Inductions are out of date, and a prologue in verse is as stale as ablack velvet cloak and a bay garland; therefore you have it in plainprose, thus----. " But the alteration did not please, apparently; atany rate, upon a subsequent production of the play, the authorsfurnished it with a prologue in verse of the old-established pattern. 

The Elizabethan dramatists often took occasion in their prologues tolecture the audience upon their conduct in the theatre, exhorting themto more seemly manners, and especially informing them that nothing ofan indecorous nature would be presented upon the scene. The prologueto "The Woman Hater, " above mentioned, pronounces "to the utterdiscomfort of all twopenny gallery men, " that there is no improprietycontained in the play, and bids them depart, if they have been lookingfor anything of the kind. "Or if there be any lurking amongst you incorners, " it proceeds, "with table books who have some hope to findfit matter to feed his malice on, let them clasp them up and slinkaway, or stay and be converted. " Of the play, it states: "Some thingsin it you may meet with which are out of the common road: a duke thereis, and the scene lies in Italy, as those two things lightly we nevermiss. " The audience, however, are warned not to expect claptraps, orpersonal satire. "You shall not find in it the ordinary and overwornway of jesting at lords and courtiers and citizens, without taxationof any particular or new vice by them found out, but at the persons ofthem; such, he that made this, thinks vile, and for his own part vowsthat he never did think but that a lord, lord-born, might be a wiseman, and a courtier an honest man. " In the same way Shakespeare'sprologue to "Henry VIII. " welcomes those "that can pity, " and "such asgive their money out of hope, they may believe. " But they are plainlytold they will be deceived who have come to hear a merry gracelessplay--

 A noise of targets, or to see a fellow In a long motley coat guarded with yellow. 

The prologue to Ben Jonson's "Staple of News" entreats the audience toabstain from idle conversation, and to attend to his play, so thatthey may hear as well as see it. 

 He'd have you wise, Much rather by your ears than by your eyes; And prays you'll not prejudge his play for ill, Because you mark it not and sit not still, But have a longing to salute or talk. 

 * * * * *

 Alas! what is it to his scene to know How many coaches in Hyde Park did show Last spring? what fun to-day at Medley's was? If Dunstan or the Phoenix best wine has? &c. &c. 

In the Induction the prologue is interrupted by the entrance of fourgentlewomen, "lady-like attired, " representative of Mirth, Tattle, Expectation, and Censure or Curiosity. The last-named is charged withcoming to the theatre "to see who wears the new suit to-day; whoseclothes are best formed, whatever the part be; which actor has thebest leg and foot; what king plays without cuffs, and his queenwithout gloves; who rides post in stockings and dances in boots. " Itis to be noted, too, that at this time the audience occupying thehumbler places in the theatre are very harshly spoken of in theprologues. They are referred to as--

 The vulgar sort Of nutcrackers that only come for sport--

and as "grounds of your people that sit in the oblique caves andwedges of your house, your sinful sixpenny mechanicks, " &c. 

It is plain, however, that the rudeness of Ben Jonson's prologues hadgiven offence, for, indeed, he employed them not merely to lecture hisaudience, but also to lash and laugh to scorn rival playwrights. So to"The Magnetic Lady" no prologue was provided, but an Induction, in thecourse of which "a boy of the house" discourses with two gentlemenconcerning the play, and explains that the author will "not beentreated to give it a prologue. He has lost too much that wayalready, he says. He will not woo the Gentile ignoramus so much. Butcareless of all vulgar censure, as not depending on commonapprobation, he is confident it shall super-please judiciousspectators, and to them he leaves it to work with the rest by exampleor otherwise. " Further, the boy gives valuable advice upon the subjectof criticism, bidding the gentlemen take seats and "fly everything yousee to the mark, and censure it freely, so you interrupt not theseries or thread of the argument, to break or pucker it withunnecessary questions. For I must tell you that a good play is like askein of silk, which, if you take by the right end you may wind off atpleasure on the bottom or card of your discourse in a tale or so--howyou will; but if you light on the wrong end you will pull all into aknot or elf-lock, which nothing but the shears or a candle will undoor separate. "

After the Restoration prologues appear to have been held more thanever necessary to theatrical exhibitions. The writing of prologueseven became a kind of special and profitable vocation. Dryden'scustomary fee for a prologue was five guineas, which contented him, until in 1682 he demanded of Southerne ten guineas for a prologue to"The Loyal Brothers, " alleging that the players had hitherto had hisgoods too cheaply, and from that time forward ten guineas would be hischarge. Dryden is to be accounted the most famous and successful ofprologue writers, but it must be said that his productions of thisclass are deplorably disfigured by the profligacy of his time, andthat all their brilliancy of wit does not compensate for theiruncleanness. Dryden's prologues are also remarkable, for theirfrequent recognition of the critics as a class apart from the ordinaryaudience; not critics as we understand them exactly, attached tojournals and reviewing plays for the instruction of the public, butmen of fashion affecting judicial airs, and expressing their opinionsin clubs and coffee-houses, and authors charged with attending thetheatres in the hope of witnessing the demolition of a rival bard. Theprologue to "All for Love" opens with the lines--

 What flocks of critics hover here to-day, As vultures wait on armies for their prey, All gaping for the carcase of a play!

And presently occurs the familiar passage--

 Let those find fault whose wit's so very small, They've had to show that they can think at all. Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow; He who would search for pearls must dive below. Fops may have leave to level all they can, As pigmies would be glad to lop a man. Half wits are fleas, so little and so light, We scarce could know they live, but that they bite. 

Another prologue begins--

 They who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write, Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite; A playhouse gives them fame; and up then starts From a mean fifth-rate wit, a man of parts. 

The more important critics are described as--

 A jury of the wits who still stay late, And in their club decree the poor play's fate; Their verdict back is to the boxes brought, Thence all the town pronounces it their thought. 

"The little Hectors of the pit" are also spoken of, and there ismention of "Fop-corner, " the prototype of "Fop's-alley" of lateryears. Now, "a kind, hearty pit" is prayed for, and now, in a prologuedelivered before the University of Oxford, stress is laid upon theadvantages of "a learned pit. " It may be noted, too, that theprologues of Dryden, apart from their wit, and overlooking, if thatcan possibly be managed, their distressing grossness, are invaluablefor the accurate and minute pictures they present of English life, manners, costumes, and character in the reign of Charles II. 

In right of the many quotations it has supplied to literature andconversation, Dr. Johnson's prologue spoken by Garrick upon theopening of Drury Lane Theatre, in 1747, may claim to be considered themost famous production of its class. It is not, in truth, however, aprologue as prologues are ordinarily understood, but rather anaddress, written to suit special circumstances, and having noconnection with any particular play. Boswell describes it as"unrivalled for just and manly criticism on the whole range of theEnglish stage, as well as for poetic excellence, " and records that itwas during the season often called for by the audience. Johnson'sprologue to his friend Goldsmith's comedy of "The Good-natured Man"was certainly open to the charge brought against it of unduesolemnity. The first lines--

 Press'd with the load of life the weary mind Surveys the general toil of human kind--

when enunciated in the sepulchral tones of Bensley, the tragedian, were judged to have a depressing effect upon the audience--aconclusion which seems reasonable and probable enough, althoughBoswell suggested that "the dark ground might make Goldsmith's humourshine the more. " Goldsmith himself was chiefly disturbed at the linedescribing him as "our little bard, " which he thought likely todiminish his dignity, by calling attention to the lowness of hisstature. "Little bard" was therefore altered to "anxious bard. "Johnson also supplied a prologue to Kelly's posthumous comedy of "AWord to the Wise" (represented in 1770, for the benefit of theauthor's widow and children), although he spoke contemptuously of thedeparted dramatist as "a dead staymaker, " and confessed that he hatedto give away literary performances, or even to sell them too cheaply. "The next generation, " he said, "shall not accuse me of beating downthe price of literature; one hates, besides, to give what one isaccustomed to sell. Would not you, now"--and here he turned to hisbrewer friend, Mr. Thrale--"rather give away money than porter?" Tohis own tragedy of "Irene, " Johnson supplied a spirited prologue, which "awed" the house, as Boswell believed. In the concluding lineshe deprecated all effort to win applause by other than legitimatemeans:

 Be this at least his praise, be this his pride: To force applause no modern arts are tried; Should partial catcalls all his hopes confound, He bids no trumpet quell the fatal sound; Should welcome sleep relieve the weary wit, He rolls no thunders o'er the drowsy pit; No snares to captivate the judgment spreads, Nor bribes your eyes to prejudice your heads. Unmoved, though witlings sneer and rivals rail, Studious to please, yet not ashamed to fail. He scorns the meek address, the suppliant strain; With merit needless, and without it vain. In Reason, Nature, Truth he dares to trust: Ye fops be silent, and ye wits be just!

Of prologues generally, Johnson pronounced that Dryden's were superiorto any that David Garrick had written, but that Garrick had writtenmore good prologues than Dryden. "It is wonderful that he has beenable to write such a variety of them. " Garrick's prologues andepilogues are, indeed, quite innumerable, and are, almost invariably, sparkling, witty, and vivacious. They could scarcely fail to win thefavour of an audience; and then oftentimes they had the additionaladvantage of being delivered by himself. 

Prologues seem to have been a recognised vehicle of literary courtesy. Authors favoured each other with these addresses as a kind ofadvertisement of the good understanding that prevailed betweenthem--an evidence of respect, friendliness, and encouragement. ThusAddison's tragedy of "Cato" was provided with a prologue by Pope--theoriginal line, "Britons, arise! be worth like this approved, " being"liquidated" to "Britons attend!"--for the timid dramatist was alarmedlest he should be judged a promoter of insurrection. Addison in histurn furnished the prologue to Steele's "Tender Husband, " while Steelefavoured Vanbrugh with a prologue to his comedy of "The Mistake. "Johnson, as we have seen, now and then provided his friends withprologues. The prologue to Goldsmith's "She Stoops to Conquer" waswritten by Garrick, to be spoken by Woodward, the actor, "dressed inblack, and holding a handkerchief to his eyes;" the prologue to "TheSchool for Scandal" was also the work of Garrick. Sheridan, it may benoted, supplied a prologue to Savage's tragedy of "Sir ThomasOverbury, " on the occasion of its revival at Covent Garden, thirty-four years after the death of its author. Among the last of theprologues was one written by Mr. Charles Dickens to Dr. WestlandMarston's poetic drama, "The Patrician's Daughter. "

Prologues have now vanished, however, and are not likely to bereintroduced. It must be added that they showed symptoms of decline inworth long before they departed. Originally apologies for players anddramatists--at a time when the histrionic profession was very lightlyesteemed--they were retained by the conservatism of the stage asmatters of form, long after they had forfeited all genuine excuse fortheir existence. The name is still retained, however, and applied tothe introductory, or, to use Mr. Boucicault's word, "proloquial" actsof certain long and complicated plays, which seem to require for theirdue comprehension the exhibition to the audience of events antecedentto the real subject of the drama. But these "proloquial acts" arethings quite apart from the old-fashioned prologue. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE ART OF "MAKING-UP. "

When, to heighten the effect of their theatrical exhibitions, Thespisand his playfellows first daubed their faces with the lees of wine, they may be said to have initiated that art of "making-up" which hasbeen of such important service to the stage. Paint is to the actor'sface what costume is to his body--a means of decoration or disguise, as the case may require; an aid to his assuming this or thatcharacter, and concealing the while his own personal identity from thespectator. The mask of the classical theatre is only to be associatedwith a "make-up, " in that it substituted a fictitious facialexpression for the actor's own. Roscius is said to have always playedin a vizard, on account of a disfiguring obliquity of vision withwhich he was afflicted. It was an especial tribute to his histrionicmerits that the Romans, disregarding this defect, required him torelinquish his mask, that they might the better appreciate hisexquisite oratory and delight in the music of his voice. In much lateryears, however, "obliquity of vision" has been found to be no obstacleto success upon the stage. Talma squinted, and a dramatic critic, writing in 1825, noted it as a strange fact that "our three lightcomedians, Elliston, Jones, and Browne, " each suffered from "what iscalled a cast in the eye. "

To young and inexperienced players a make-up is precious, in that ithas a fortifying effect upon their courage, and relieves them in somedegree of consciousness of their own personality. They are the betterenabled to forget themselves, seeing their identity can hardly bepresent to the minds of others. Garrick made his first histrionicessay as Aboan, in the play of "Oroonoko, " "a part in which hisfeatures could not easily be discerned: under the disguise of a blackcountenance he hoped to escape being known, should it be hismisfortune not to please. " When Bottom the Weaver is allotted the partof Pyramus, intense anxiety touching his make-up is an early sentimentwith him. "What beard were I best to play it in?" he inquires. "I willdischarge it in either your straw-coloured beard, your orange-tawnybeard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow. " Clearly the beard was an important part of themake-up at this time. Farther on, Bottom counsels his brother clowns:"Get your apparel together, good strings to your beards, new ribbonsto your pumps;" and there are especial injunctions to the effect thatThisbe shall be provided with clean linen, that the lion shall parehis nails, and that there shall be abstinence from onions and garlicon the part of the company generally. 

Old John Downes, who was prompter at the theatre in Lincoln's InnFields from 1662 to 1706, and whose "Roscius Anglicanus" is a mostvaluable history of the stage of the Restoration, describes an actornamed Johnson as being especially "skilful in the art of painting, which is a great adjument very promovent to the art of elocution. " Mr. Waldron, who, in 1789, produced a new edition of the "RosciusAnglicanus, " with notes by Tom Davies, the biographer of Garrick, decides that Downes's mention of the "art of painting" has referenceto the art of "painting the face and marking it with dark lines toimitate the wrinkles of old age. " This, Waldron continues, "wasformerly carried to excess on the stage, though now a good dealdisused. I have seen actors, who were really older than the charactersthey were to represent, mark their faces with black lines of Indianink to such a degree that they appeared as if looking through a maskof wire. " And Mr. Waldron finds occasion to add that "Mr. Garrick'sskill in the necessary preparation of his face for the aged andvenerable Lear, and for Lusignan, was as remarkable as his performanceof those characters was admirable. "

In 1741 was published "An Historical and Critical Account of theTheatres in Europe, " a translation of a work by "the famous LewisRiccoboni, of the Italian Theatre at Paris. " The author had visitedEngland in 1727, apparently, when he had conversed with the great Mr. Congreve, finding in him "taste joined with great learning, " andstudied with some particularity the condition of the English stage. "As to the actors, " he writes, "if, after forty-five years' experienceI may be entitled to give my opinion, I dare advance that the bestactors in Italy and France come far short of those in England. " And hedevotes some space to a description of a performance he witnessed atthe theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, dwelling especially upon theskill of an actor who personated an old man. "He who acted the old manexecuted it to the nicest perfection which one could expect in noplayer who had not forty years' experience.... I made no manner ofdoubt of his being an old comedian, who, instructed by longexperience, and, at the same time, assisted by the weight of years, had performed it so naturally. But how great was my surprise when Ilearned that he was a young man of about twenty-six! I could notbelieve it; but I owned that it might be possible had he only used atrembling and broken voice, and had only an extreme weakness possessedhis body, because I conceived it possible for a young actor, by thehelp of art, to imitate that debility of nature to such a pitch ofexactness; but the wrinkles of his face, his sunken eyes, and hisloose and yellow cheeks, the most certain marks of a great old age, were incontestable proofs against what they said to me. Notwithstanding all this I was forced to submit to truth, because Iknow for certain that the actor, to fit himself for the part of theold man, spent an hour in dressing himself, and that, with theassistance of several pencils, he disguised his face so nicely andpainted so artificially a part of his eyebrows and eyelids, that, atthe distance of six paces, it was impossible not to be deceived. I wasdesirous to be a witness of this myself, but pride hindered me; so, knowing I must be ashamed, I was satisfied with a confirmation of itfrom other actors. Mademoiselle Sallé, among others, who then shoneupon that stage, confessed to me that the first time she saw himperform she durst not go into a passage where he was, fearing lest sheshould throw him down should she happen to touch him in passing by. "Assuredly a more successful make-up than this could not be desired. Inconclusion, Signor Riccoboni flatters himself that his reference tothis matter may not be thought altogether useless; "it may let us knowto what an exactness the English comedians carry the imitation ofnature, and may serve for a proof of all that I have advanced of theactors of the English theatre. "

Dogget, the old comedian of Queen Anne's time--to whom we owe anannual boat-race upon the Thames for a "coat and badge, " and, inferentially, the popular burletta of "The Waterman"--was remarkablyskilful, according to Colley Cibber, "in dressing a character to thegreatest exactness ... The least article of whatever habit he woreseemed to speak and mark the different humour he represented; anecessary care in a comedian, in which many have been too remiss orignorant. " This is confirmed by another critic, who states that Dogget"could with the greatest exactness paint his face so as to representthe ages of seventy, eighty, and ninety, distinctly, which occasionedSir Godfrey Kneller to tell him one day at Button's Coffee House, that'he excelled him in painting, for that he could only paint from theoriginals before him, but that he (Dogget) could vary them atpleasure, and yet keep a close likeness. '" In the character ofMoneytrap, the miser, in Vanbrugh's comedy of "The Confederacy, "Dogget is described as wearing "an old threadbare black coat, to whichhe had put new cuffs, pocket-lids, and buttons, on purpose to make itsrusticness more conspicuous. The neck was stuffed so as to make himappear round-shouldered, and give his head the greater prominency; hissquare-toed shoes were large enough to buckle over those he wore incommon, which made his legs appear much smaller than usual. "Altogether, Mr. Dogget's make-up appears to have been of a verythorough and artistic kind. 

Garrick's skill "in preparing his face" has been already referred to, upon the authority of Mr. Waldron. From the numerous pictures of thegreat actor, and the accounts of his histrionic method furnished byhis contemporaries, it would seem, however, as though he relied lessupon the application of paint than upon his extraordinary command offacial expression. At a moment's notice he completely varied hisaspect, "conveying into his face every possible kind of passion, blending one into another, and as it were shadowing them with aninfinite number of gradations.... In short, " says Dibdin, "his facewas what he obliged you to fancy it: age, youth, plenty, poverty, everything it assumed. " Certainly an engraved portrait of Garrick asLear, published in 1761, does not suggest his deriving much help fromthe arts of making-up or of costume. He wears a short robe of velvet, trimmed with ermine, his white wig is disordered and his shirt-frontis much crumpled; but otherwise his white silk hose, lace ruffles, high-heeled shoes and diamond buckles, are more appropriate to SirPeter Teazle than to King Lear. And as much may be said of hisclosely-shaven face, the smooth surface of which is not disturbed bythe least vestige of a beard. Yet the King Lears of later times havebeen all beard, or very nearly so. With regard to Garrick's appearancein the part of Lusignan, Davies relates how, two days before hisdeath, the suffering actor, very wan and sallow of countenance, slowand solemn of movement, was seen to wear a rich night-gown, like thatwhich he always wore in Lusignan, the venerable old king of Jerusalem;he presented himself to the imagination of his friend as if he wasjust ready to act that character. 

Charles Mathews, the elder, no doubt possessed much of Garrick's powerof changing at will his facial aspect. At the theatre of course heresorted to the usual methods of making-up for the part he played; butthe sudden transformations of which his "At Homes" largely consistedwere accomplished too rapidly to be much assisted by pencilling theface, as were indeed the feats he sometimes accomplished in privatecircles, for the entertainment of his friends. In the biography of herhusband, Mrs. Mathews relates how his advice was once sought by Godwinthe novelist, just before the publication of his story of "Cloudesly, "on a matter--the art of making-up--the actor was held to have madepeculiarly his own. Godwin wrote to him: "My dear Sir, --I am at thismoment engaged in writing a work of fiction, a part of the incidentsof which will consist in escapes in disguises. It has forcibly struckme that if I could be indulged in the pleasure of half-an-hour'sconversation with you on the subject, it would furnish me with somehints, which, beaten on the anvil of my brain, would be of eminentservice to me on the occasion, " &c. A meeting was appointed, and, atan early date the author dined at the actor's cottage. Godwin, anxiousnot to outrage probability in his story, sought information as to "thepower of destroying personal identity. " Mathews assumed severaldisguises, and fully satisfied his visitor upon the point in question. "Soon after, " writes Mrs. Mathews, "a gentleman, an eccentricneighbour of ours, broke in upon us as Mr. Godwin was expressing hiswonder at the variety of expression, character, and voice of which Mr. Mathews was capable. We were embarrassed, and Mr. Godwin evidentlyvexed at the intruder. However, there was no help for it; the servanthad admitted him, and he was introduced in form to Mr. Godwin. Themoment Mr. Jenkins (for such was his name) discovered thedistinguished person he had so luckily for him dropped in upon, he wasenthusiastically pleased at the event, talked to Mr. Godwin about allhis works, inquired about the forthcoming book--in fact, bored himthrough and through. At last the author turned to my husband forrefuge against this assault of admiration, and discovered that hishost had left the room. He therefore rose from his seat and approachedthe window leading to the lawn, Mr. Jenkins officiously following, andinsisting upon opening it for him; and while he was urging aprovokingly obstinate lock, the object of his devoted attention waitedbehind him for release. The casement at length flew open, and Mr. Godwin passing the gentleman with a courteous look of thanks, found tohis astonishment that Mr. Jenkins had disappeared, and that Mr. Mathews stood in his place!" Students of "Cloudesly" may discovertherein the result of Godwin's interview with Mathews, and theirdiscussion concerning the art of making-up and disguise. 

Some fifty years ago Mr. Leman Thomas Rede published "The Road to theStage, a Player's Vade-Mecum. " setting forth, among other matters, various details of the dressing-rooms behind the curtain. Complaintwas made at the time that the work destroyed "the romance of theprofession, " and laid bare the mysteries of the actor's life, such asthe world in general had small concern with. But Mr. Rede'srevelations do not tell very much; at any rate, the secrets he dealswith have come to be things of common knowledge. Nor are hisinstructions upon the art of making-up to be accounted highly in thesetimes. "Light-comedy calves, " he tells us, "are made of ragged silkenhose;" and what may be called "Othello's blacking, " is to be composedof "burnt cork, pulverised and mixed with porter. " Legs coming beforethe foot-lights must of course be improved by mechanical means, whennature has been unkind, or time has destroyed symmetry; but art hasprobably discovered a better method of concealing deficiencies thanconsists in the employment of "ragged silken hose. " The veteran lightcomedian, Lewis, who at a very advanced age appeared in juvenilecharacters, to the complete satisfaction of his audience, was famedfor his skill in costume and making-up. But one night, a roguishactress, while posted near him in the side-wings, employed herself inconverting one of his calves into a pincushion. As soon as hediscovered the trick, he affected to feel great pain, and drew up hisleg as though in an agony; but he had remained too long unconscious ofthe proceeding to persuade lookers-on of the genuineness of his limb'ssymmetry. With regard to Othello's complexion, there is what theCookery Books call "another way. " Chetwood, in his "History of theStage, " 1749, writes: "The composition for blackening the face are(_sic_) ivory-black and pomatum; which is with some pains cleaned withfresh butter. " The information is given in reference to a performanceof Othello by the great actor Barton Booth. It was hot weather, andhis complexion in the later scenes of the play had been so disturbed, that he had assumed "the appearance of a chimney-sweeper. " Theaudience, however, were so impressed by the art of his acting, thatthey disregarded this mischance, or applauded him the more on accountof it. On the repetition of the play he wore a crape mask, "with anopening proper for the mouth, and shaped in form for the nose. " But inthe first scene one part of the mask slipped so that he looked "like amagpie. " Thereupon he was compelled to resort again to lamp-black. Theearly Othellos, it may be noted, were of a jet-black hue, such as wenow find on the faces of Christy Minstrels; the Moors of later timeshave been content to paint themselves a dark olive or light mahoganycolour. But a liability to soil all they touch has always been themisfortune of Othellos. There was great laughter in the theatre onenight when Stephen Kemble, playing Othello for the first time withMiss Satchell as Desdemona, kissed her before smothering her, and leftan ugly patch of soot upon her cheek. However, as Miss Satchellsubsequently became Mrs. Stephen Kemble, it was held that sufficientamends had been made to her for the soiling she had undergone. 

Another misadventure, in regard to the complexion of Shakespeare'sMoor, has been related of an esteemed actor, for many years pastattached to the Haymarket Theatre. While but a tyro in his profession, he had undertaken to appear as Othello, for one night only, at theGravesend Theatre. But, not being acquainted with the accustomedmethod of blackening his skin, and being too nervous and timid to makeinquiry on the subject, he applied to his face a burnt cork, simply. At the conclusion of the performance, on seeking to resume his naturalhue, by the ordinary process of washing in soap and water, he found, to his great dismay, that the skin of his face was peeling off ratherthan the colour disappearing! The cork had been too hot by a greatdeal, and had injured his cuticle considerably. With the utmost haste, although announced to play Hamlet on the following evening, theactor--who then styled himself Mr. Hulsingham, a name he forthwithabandoned--hired a post-chaise and eloped from Gravesend. 

Making-up is in requisition when the performer desires to look eitheryounger or older than he or she really is. It is, of course, with thefirst-named portion of the art that actresses are chiefly concerned, although the beautiful Mrs. Woffington, accepting the character ofVeturia in Thomson's "Coriolanus, " did not hesitate to assume theaspect of age, and to paint lines and wrinkles upon her fair face. Butshe was a great artist, and her loveliness was a thing so beyond allquestion that she could afford to disguise it or to seem to slight itfor a few nights; possibly it shone the brighter afterwards for itsbrief eclipse. Otherwise, making-up pertains to an actor's "line ofbusiness, " and is not separable from it. Once young or once old he soremains, as a rule, until the close of his professional career. Thereis indeed a story told of a veteran actor who still flourished injuvenile characters, while his son, as a matter of choice, or ofnecessity, invariably impersonated the old gentlemen of the stage. Butwhen the two players met in a representation of "The Rivals, " and SirAnthony the son, had to address Captain Absolute the father, in thewords of the dramatist: "I'll disown you; I'll unget you; I'll nevercall you Jack again!" the humour of the situation appealed toostrongly to the audience, and more laughter than Sheridan had evercontemplated was stirred by the scene. 

The veterans who have been accused of superfluously lagging upon thestage, find an excuse for their presence in the skill of theirmake-up. For the age of the players is not to be counted, by thealmanack, but appraised in accordance with their looks. On the stageto seem young is to be young, though occasionally it must happen thatactors and audience are not quite in agreement upon this question ofaspect. There have been many youthful dramatic heroines very wellstricken in years; ingenues of advanced age, and columbines who mightalmost be crones; to say nothing of "young dogs" of light comedians, who in private life are well qualified to appear as grandsires, oreven as great-grandfathers. But ingenuity in painting the face andpadding the figure will probably long secure toleration forpatriarchal Romeos, and even for matriarchal Juliets. 

Recent discoveries have no doubt benefited the toilets of the players, which, indeed, stood in need of assistance, the fierce illumination ofthe modern stage being considered. In those palmy but dark days of thedrama, when gas and lime-lights were not, the disguising of themischief wrought by time must have been a comparatively easy task. 

However, supply, as usual, has followed demand, and there are nowtraders dealing specially in the materials for making-up, intheatrical cosmetics of the best possible kind at the lowest possibleprices: "Superfine rouge, rose for lips, blanc (liquid and in powder), pencils for eyebrows, creme de l'impératrice and fleur-de-riz forsoftening the skin, " &c. Further, there are the hairdressers, whoprovide theatrical wigs of all kinds, and advertise the merits oftheir "old men's bald pates, " which must seem a strange article ofsale to those unversed in the mysteries of stage dressing-rooms. Oneinventive person, it may be noted, loudly proclaims the merits of acertain "spirit gum" he has concocted, using which, as he alleges, "noactor need fear swallowing his moustache"--so runs the form of hisadvertisement. 

Of Mademoiselle Guirnard, the famous French opera-dancer, it isrelated that her portrait, painted in early youth, always rested uponher dressing-table. Every morning, during many years, she carefullymade up her face to bring her looks in as close accord as possiblewith the loveliness of her picture. For an incredible time her successis reported to have been something marvellous. But at last theconviction was forced upon her that her facial glories had departed. Yet her figure was still perfectly symmetrical, her grace and agilitywere as supreme as they had ever been. She was sixty-four, when, yielding to the urgent entreaties of her friends, she consented togive a "very last" exhibition of her art. The performance was of amost special kind. The curtain was so far lowered as to concealcompletely the head and shoulders of the dancer. "Il fût impossibleaux spectateurs, " writes a biographer of the lady, "de voir autre quele travail de ses jambes dont le temps avait respecté l'agilité et lesformes pures et délicates!"

By way of final word on the subject, it may be stated that making-upis but a small portion of the histrionic art; and not, as some wouldhave it, the very be-all and end-all of acting. It is impossible notto admire the ingenuity of modern face-painting upon the stage, andthe skill with which, in some cases, well-known personages have beenrepresented by actors of, in truth, totally different physical aspect;but still there seems a likelihood of efforts of this kind being urgedbeyond reasonable bounds. So, too, there appears to be an excessiveuse of cosmetics and colouring by youthful performers, who really needlittle aid of this kind, beyond that application of the hare's-footwhich can never be altogether dispensed with. Moreover, it has becomenecessary for players, who have resolved that their faces shall bepictures, to decide from what part of the theatre such works of artare to be viewed. At present many of these over-painted countenancesmay "fall into shape, " as artists say, when seen from the back benchesof the gallery, for instance; but judged from a nearer standpoint theyare really but pictorial efforts of a crude, uncomfortable, andmistaken kind. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

PAINT AND CANVAS. 

Vasari, the historian of painters, has much to say in praise of the"perspective views" or scenes executed by Baldassare Peruzzi, anartist and architect of great fame in his day, who was born in 1480 atFlorence, or Volterra, or Siena, it is not known which, each of thesenoble cities of Tuscany having claimed to be his birthplace. When theRoman people held high festival in honour of Giuliano de Medici, theyobtained various works of art from Baldassare, including a scenepainted for a theatre, so admirably ingenious and beautiful, that verygreat amazement is said to have been awakened in every beholder. At alater period, when the "Calandra, " written by the Cardinal diBibiena--"one of the first comedies seen or recited in the vulgartongue"--was performed before Pope Leo, the aid of Baldassare wassought again, to prepare the scenic adornments of the representation. His labours were successful beyond measure; two of his scenes, paintedupon this or upon some other occasion, Vasari pronounced to be"surprisingly beautiful, opening the way to those of a similar kindwhich have been made in our own day. " The artist was a fine colourist, well skilled in perspective, and in the management of light, insomuchthat his drawings did not look "like things feigned, but rather as theliving reality. " Vasari relates that he conducted Titian to seecertain works of Peruzzi, of which the illusion was most complete. Thegreater artist "could by no means be persuaded that they were simplypainted, and remained in astonishment, when, on changing his point ofview, he perceived that they were so. " Dying in 1536, Baldassare wasburied in the Rotondo, near the tomb of Raffaelo da Urbino, all thepainters, sculptors, and architects of Rome attending the interment. That he was an artist of the first rank was agreed on all hands. Andhe is further entitled to be remembered as one of the very earliest ofgreat scene-painters. 

In England, some six-and-thirty years later, there was born an artistand architect of even greater fame than Peruzzi: Inigo Jones, who, like Peruzzi, rendered important aid to the adornment of the stage. Inhis youth Inigo had studied landscape-painting in Italy. At Rome hebecame an architect; as Walpole expresses it, "he dropped the penciland conceived Whitehall. "

Meanwhile a taste, even a sort of passion, had arisen at the Englishcourt for masques and pageants of extraordinary magnificence. Poetry, painting, music, and architecture were combined in their production. Ben Jonson was the laureate; Inigo Jones the inventor and designer ofthe scenic decorations; Laniere, Lawes, and Ferabosco contributed themusical embellishments; the king, the queen, and the young nobilitydanced in the interludes. On these entertainments £3000 to £5000 wereoften expended, and on more public occasions £10, 000 and even £20, 000. "It seems, " says Isaac Disraeli, "that as no masque writer equalledJonson, so no 'machinist' rivalled Inigo Jones. " For the greatarchitect was wont to busy himself in devising mechanical changes ofscenery, such as distinguishes modern pantomime. Jonson, describinghis "Masque of Blackness, " performed before the court at Whitehall, onTwelfth Night, 1605, says: "For the scene was drawn a landscape, consisting of small woods, and here and there a void place, filledwith hangings; which falling, an artificial sea was seen to shootforth, as if it flowed to the land, raised with waves, which seemed tomove, and in some places the billows to break, as imitating thatorderly disorder which is common in nature. " Then follows a longaccount of the appearance, attire, and "sprightly movements of themasquers:" Oceanus, Oceaniæ, Niger and his daughters, with Tritons, mermaids, mermen, and sea-horses, "as big as the life. " "These thuspresented, " he continues, "the scene behind seemed a vast sea, andunited with this that flowed forth, from the termination or horizon ofwhich (being the head of the stage, which was placed in the upper endof the hall) was drawn by the lines of perspective, the whole workshooting downwards from the eye, which decorum made it moreconspicuous, and caught the eye afar off with a wondering beauty, towhich was added an obscure and cloudy night piece, that made the wholeset off. So much for the bodily part, which was of Master InigoJones's design and art. " Indeed, Inigo was not simply thescene-painter; he also devised the costumes, and contrived thenecessary machinery. In regard to many of these entertainments, he wasresponsible for "the invention, ornaments, scenes, and apparitions, with their descriptions;" for everything, in fact, but the music orthe words to be spoken or sung. 

These masques and court pageants gradually brought movable sceneryupon the stage, in place of the tapestries, "arras cloths, ""traverses, " or curtains drawn upon rods, which had previouslyfurnished the theatre. Still the masques were to be distinguished fromthe ordinary entertainments of the public playhouses. The courtperformances knew little of regular plot or story; ordinarily avoidedall reference to nature and real life; and were remarkable for theluxurious fancifulness and costly eccentricity they displayed. Theywere provided by the best writers of the time, and in many cases wererich in poetic merit. Still they were expressly designed to affordvaluable opportunities to the musical composer, to the ballet-dancers, mummers, posture-makers, and costumiers. The regular dramas, such asthe Elizabethan public supported, could boast few attractions of thiskind. It was altogether without movable scenery, although possessed ofa balcony or upper stage, used to represent, now the walls of a city, as in "King John, " now the top of a tower, as in "Henry VI. ", or"Antony and Cleopatra, " and now the window to an upper chamber. Mr. Payne Collier notes that in one of the oldest historical plays extant, "Selimus, Emperor of the Turks, " published in 1594, there is aremarkable stage direction demonstrating the complete absence ofscenery, by the appeal made to the simple good faith of the audience. The hero is represented conveying the body of his father in a solemnfuneral procession to the Temple of Mahomet. The stage direction runs:"Suppose the Temple of Mahomet"--a needless injunction, as Mr. Collierremarks, if there had existed the means of exhibiting the edifice inquestion to the eyes of the spectators. But the demands upon theaudience to abet the work of theatrical illusion, and with theirthoughts to piece out the imperfections of the dramatists, arefrequently to be met with in the old plays. Of the poverty of theearly stage, in the matter of scenic decorations, there is abundantevidence. Fleckno, in his "Short Discourse of the Stage, " 1664, bywhich time movable scenery had been introduced, writes: "Now for thedifference between our theatres and those of former times; they werebut plain and simple, with no other scenes nor decorations of thestages but only old tapestry, and the stage strewed with rushes. "

The simple expedient of writing up the names of the different places, where the scene was laid in the progress of a play, or affixing aplacard to that effect upon the tapestry at the back of the stage, sufficed to convey to the spectators the intentions of the author. "What child is there, " asks Sir Philip Sidney, "that, coming to a playand seeing Thebes written in great letters on an old door, dothbelieve that it is Thebes?" Oftentimes, too, opportunity was found inthe play itself, or in its prologue, to inform the audience of theplace in which the action of the story is supposed to be laid. "Ourscene is Rhodes, " says old Hieronymo in Kyd's "Spanish Tragedy, " 1588. And the title of the play was also exhibited in the same way, so thatthe audience did not lack instruction as to the purport of theentertainment set before them. 

The introduction of movable scenes upon the stage has been usuallyattributed to Sir William Davenant, who, in 1658, evading theordinance of 1647, by which the theatres were peremptorily closed, produced, at the Cockpit in Drury Lane, an entertainment rather than aplay, entitled "The Cruelty of the Spaniards in Peru, expressed byvocal and instrumental music, and by art of perspective in scenes:" anexhibition which Cromwell is generally supposed to have permitted, more from his hatred of the Spaniards than by reason of his toleranceof dramatic performances. The author of "Historia Histrionica, " atract written in 1699, also expressly states that "after theRestoration, the king's players acted publicly at the Red Bull forsome time, and then removed to a new-built playhouse in Vere Street, by Clare Market; there they continued for a year or two, and thenremoved to the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, where they first made useof scenes, which had been a little before introduced upon the publicstage by Sir William Davenant. " It is to be observed, however, thatinasmuch as the masques, such as the court of Charles I. Had sofavoured, were sometimes produced at the public theatres, and couldhardly have been presented there, shorn of the mechanical appliancesand changes which constituted a main portion of their attractiveness, movable scenery, or stage artifices that might fairly be so described, could not be entirely new to a large portion of the public. Thus themasque of "Love's Mistress, or the Queen's Masque, " by Thomas Heywood, 1640, was "three times presented before their Majesties at the Phoenixin Drury Lane;" Heywood expressly acknowledging his obligation toInigo Jones, who "changed the stage to every act, and almost to everyscene. "

It must not be supposed, however, that the introduction of scenery washailed unanimously as a vast improvement upon the former condition ofthe stage. There was, no doubt, abundance of applause; a sufficientnumber of spectators were well pleased to find that now their eyeswere to be addressed not less than their ears and their minds, andwere satisfied that exhibitions of the theatre would be presently muchmore intelligible to them than had hitherto been the case. Still thesages shook their heads, distrusting the change, and prophesying evilof it. Even Mr. Payne Collier has been moved by his conservativeregard for the Elizabethan stage and the early drama to date from theintroduction of scenery the beginning of the decline of our dramaticpoetry. He holds it a fortunate circumstance for the poetry of our oldplays, that "painted movable scenery" had not then been introduced. "The imagination only of the auditor was appealed to, and we owe tothe absence of painted canvas many of the finest descriptive passagesin Shakespeare, his contemporaries, and immediate followers. " Further, he states his opinion that our old dramatists "luxuriated in passagesdescriptive of natural or artificial scenery, because they knew theirauditors would have nothing before their eyes to contradict thepoetry; the hangings of the stage made little pretensions to anythingbut coverings for the walls, and the notion of the place representedwas taken from what was said by the poet, and not from what wasattempted by the painter. "

It need hardly be stated that the absence of scenes and scene-shiftinghad by no means confined the British drama to a classical form, although regard for "unity of place, " at any rate, might seem to bealmost logically involved in the immovable condition of thestage-fittings. Some two or three plays, affecting to follow theconstruction adopted by the Greek and Roman stage, are certainly to befound in the Elizabethan repertory, but they had been little favouredby the playgoers of the time, and may fairly be viewed as exceptionsproving the rule that our drama is essentially romantic. Indeed, ourold dramatists were induced by the absence of scenery to rely more andmore upon the imagination of their audience. As Mr. Collier observes:"If the old poets had been obliged to confine themselves merely to thechanges that could at that early date have been exhibited by theremoval of painted canvas or boarding, we should have lost much ofthat boundless diversity of situation and character allowed by thishappy absence of restraint. " At the same time, the liberty thesewriters permitted themselves did not escape criticism from the devoutadherents of the classical theatre. Sir Philip Sidney, in his "Apologyfor Poetry, " 1595, is severe upon the "defectious" nature of theEnglish drama, especially as to its disregard of the unities of timeand place. "Now, " he says, three ladies "walk to gather flowers, andthen we must believe the stage to be a garden; by-and-by we hear newsof shipwreck in the same place, and then we are to blame if we acceptit not for a rock; upon the back of that comes out a hideous monster, and then the miserable beholders are bound to take it for a cave;while in the meantime two armies fly in, represented with four swordsand bucklers, and then, what hard heart will not receive it for apitched field?" Dryden, it may be noted, in his "Essay of DramaticPoesie, " has a kindred passage as to the matters to be acted on thestage, and the things "supposed to be done behind the scenes. "

Of the scenery of his time, Mr. Pepys makes frequent mention, without, however, entering much into particulars on the subject. In August, 1661, he notes the reproduction of Davenant's comedy of "The Wits, ""never acted yet with scenes;" adding, "and, indeed, it is a mostexcellent play and admirable scenes. " A little later he records aperformance of "'Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, ' done with scenes verywell, but, above all, Betterton did the prince's part beyondimagination. " It is satisfactory to find that in this case, at anyrate, the actor held his ground against the scene-painter. Underanother date, he refers to a representation of "The FaithfulShepherdess" of Fletcher, "a most simple thing, and yet much throngedafter and often shown; but it is only for the scene's sake, which isvery fine. " A few years later he describes a visit "to the King'sPlayhouse all in dirt, they being altering of the stage, to make itwider. But my business, " he proceeds, "was to see the inside of thestage, and all the 'tiring-rooms and machines; and, indeed, it was asight worth seeing. But to see their clothes, and the various sorts, and what a mixture of things there was--here a wooden leg, there aruff, here a hobby-horse, there a crown, would make a man splithimself to see with laughing; and particularly Lacy's wardrobe andShotrell's. But then, again, to think how fine they show on the stageby candlelight, and how poor things they are to look at too near athand, is not pleasant at all. The machines are fine, and, " heconcludes, "the paintings very pretty. " In October, 1667, he recordsthat he sat in the boxes for the first time in his life, anddiscovered that from that point of view "the scenes do appear veryfine indeed, and much better than in the pit. "

The names of the artists whose works won Mr. Pepys's applause have notcome down to us. Of Robert Streeter, sergeant-painter to King CharlesII. , there is frequent mention made in the "Diary" of Evelyn, whohighly lauds the artist's "very glorious scenes and perspectives, "which adorned Dryden's play of "The Conquest of Granada, " on itsrepresentation at Whitehall. Evelyn, not caring much for suchentertainments, seems, nevertheless, to have frequently attended theplays and masques of the Court. In February, 1664, he saw acted "TheIndian Queen" of Sir Robert Howard and Dryden--"a tragedy wellwritten, so beautiful with rich scenes as the like had never been seenhere, or haply (except rarely) elsewhere on a mercenary theatre. " At alater date, one Robert Aggas, a painter of some fame, is known to haveexecuted scenes for the theatre in Dorset Garden. Among otherscene-painters of distinction, pertaining to a comparatively earlyperiod of the art, may be noted Nicholas Thomas Dall, a Danishlandscape-painter, who established himself in London in 1760, was longoccupied as scene-painter at Covent Garden Theatre, and became anAssociate of the Royal Academy in 1771; Hogarth, who is reported tohave painted a camp scene for the private theatre of Dr. Hoadley, Deanof Winchester; John Richards, a member of the Royal Academy, who, during many years, painted scenes for Covent Garden; Michael AngeloRooker, pupil of Paul Sandby, and one of the first Associates of theAcademy, who was scene-painter at the Haymarket; Novosielsky, thearchitect of the Opera House, Haymarket, who also supplied thatestablishment with many notable scenes, and, to pass over many minornames, De Loutherbourg, Garrick's scene-painter, and one of the mostrenowned artists of his period. 

It will be remembered that Mr. Puff, in "The Critic, " giving aspecimen of "the puff direct" in regard to a new play, says: "As tothe scenery, the miraculous powers of Mr. De Loutherbourg areuniversally acknowledged. In short, we are at a loss which to admiremost, the unrivalled genius of the author, the great attention andliberality of the managers, the wonderful abilities of the painter, orthe incredible exertions of all the performers. " Shortly after hisarrival in England, about 1770, De Loutherbourg became a contributorto the exhibition of the Royal Academy. In 1780 he was elected anAssociate; in the following year he obtained the full honours ofacademicianship. His easel-pictures were for the most part landscapes, effective and forcible after an unconventional fashion, and wholly atvariance with the "classically-composed" landscapes then in vogue. Turner, when, in 1808, he was appointed Professor of Perspective tothe Royal Academy, is said to have taken up his abode at Hammersmith, in order that he might be near De Loutherbourg, for whose works heprofessed cordial admiration. The old scene-painter's bold and strongeffects, his daring treatment of light and shade, his system ofcolour, bright even to gaudiness, probably arrested the attention ofthe younger artist, and were to him exciting influences. Upon DeLoutherbourg's landscapes, however, little store is now placed; but asa scene-painter he deserves to be remembered for the ingenious reformshe introduced. He found the scene a mere "flat" of strained canvasextending over the whole stage. He was the first to use "set scenes"and "raking pieces. " He also invented transparent scenes withrepresentations of moonlight, sunshine, firelight, volcanoes, &c. , andobtained new effects of colour by means of silken screens of varioushues placed before the foot and side lights. He discovered, too, thatingenious effects might be obtained by suspending gauzes between thescene and the spectators. These are now, of course, but commonplacecontrivances; they were, however, distinctly the inventions of DeLoutherbourg, and were calculated to impress the playgoers of his timevery signally. To Garrick De Loutherbourg rendered very importantassistance, for Garrick was much inclined for scenic decorations of ashowy character, although as a rule he restricted these embellishmentsto the after-pieces, and for the more legitimate entertainments of hisstage was content to employ old and stock scenery that had been ofservice in innumerable plays. Tate Wilkinson, writing in 1790, refersto a scene then in use which he remembered so far back as the year1747. "It has wings and a flat of Spanish figures at full length, andtwo folding-doors in the middle. I never see those wings slide on, butI feel as if seeing my old acquaintance unexpectedly. "

Of later scene-painters, such as Roberts and Stanfield, Grieve andTelbin, and to come down to the present time, Beverley and Calcott, Hawes Craven and O'Connor, there seems little occasion to speak; theachievements of these artists are matters of almost universalknowledge. It is sufficient to say that in their hands the art theypractise has been greatly advanced, even to the eclipse now and thenof the efforts of both actors and dramatists. 

Some few notes, however, may be worth making in relation to thetechnical methods adopted by the scene-painter. In the first place, herelies upon the help of the carpenter to stretch a canvas tightly overa frame, or to nail a wing into shape; and subsequently it is thecarpenter's duty, with a small sharp saw, to cut the edge of irregularwings, such as representations of foliage or rocks, an operation knownbehind the curtain as "marking the profile. " The painter's studio isusually high up above the rear of the stage--a spacious room, welllighted by means of skylights or a lantern in the roof. The canvas, which is of course of vast dimensions, can be raised to the ceiling, or lowered through the floor, to suit the convenience of the artist, by means of machinery of ingenious construction. The painter hasinvariably made a preliminary water-colour sketch of his scene, onpaper or cardboard. Oftentimes, with the help of a miniature stage, such as schoolboys delight in, he is enabled to form a fair estimateof the effect that may be expected of his design. The expansive canvashas been sized over, and an outline of the picture to be painted--alandscape, or an interior, as the case may be--has been boldly markedout by the artist. Then the assistants and pupils ply their brushes, and wash in the broad masses of colour, floods of light, and clouds ofdarkness. The dimensions of the canvas permit of many hands beingemployed upon it, and the work proceeds therefore with great rapidity. But the scene-painter is constant in his supervision of hissubordinates, and when their labours are terminated, he completes thedesign with numberless improving touches and masterly strokes. Ofnecessity, much of the work is of a mechanical kind; scroll-work, patterned walls, or cornices are accomplished by "stencilling" or"pouncing"--that is to say, the design is pricked upon a paper, which, being pressed upon the canvas, and smeared or dabbed with charcoal, leaves a faint trace of the desired outline. The straight lines in anarchitectural scene are traced by means of a cord, which is rubbedwith colour in powder, and, having been drawn tight, is allowed tostrike smartly against the canvas, and deposit a distinct mark uponits surface. Duty of this kind is readily accomplished by a boy, or alabourer of little skill. Scenes of a pantomime order, in whichglitter is required, are dabbed here and there by the artist with thinglue; upon these moist places, Dutch metal--gold or silver leaf--isthen fixed, with a result that large audiences have never failed tofind resplendent and beautiful. These are some, but, of course, a fewonly, of the methods and mysteries of the scene-painter's art. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE TIRING-ROOM. 

The information that has come down to us in relation to the wardrobedepartment of the Elizabethan theatre, and the kind of costumes wornby our early actors, is mainly derived from the diaries of PhilipHenslowe and his partner, Edward Alleyn, the founder of DulwichCollege. Henslowe became a theatrical manager some time before 1592, trading also as a pawnbroker, and dealing rather usuriously with theplayers and playwrights about him. Alleyn married the step-daughter ofHenslowe, and thereupon entered into partnership with him. Malone hasmade liberal extracts from Henslowe's inventories, which bear date1598-99, and were once safely possessed by Dulwich College, but havenow, for the most part, disappeared. Among the articles of dressenumerated appear "Longshanks' suit;" "Tamberlane's breeches ofcrimson velvet, " and the same hero's "coat with coper lace;" "Haryethe Fifth's velvet gown and satin doublet, laid with gold lace;"Dido's robe and Juno's frock; Robin Hood's hat and green coat; andMerlin's gown and cape. Then there are gowns and caps for senators, suits for torchbearers and janissaries, shepherds' coats, yellowleather doublets for clowns, robes of rich taffety and damask, suitsof russet and of frieze, fools' caps and bells, cloth of gold, Frenchhose, surplices, shirts, farthingales, jerkins, and white cottonstockings. From another document, the cost of theatrical apparel maybe fairly estimated. A list headed: "Note of all such goods as I havebought for the company of my Lord Admiral's men, since the 3rd April, 1598, " has the sum paid for each article plainly stated, and containssuch items as: "Bought a damask cassock, garded with velvet, eighteenshillings;" "bought a payer of paned rownd hose of cloth, whiped withsilk, drawn out with taffety, and one payer of long black woollenstockens, eight shillings;" "bought a robe for to go invisibell and agown for Nembia, three pounds ten shillings" (Malone conjecturing thatthe mysterious "robe for to go invisibell" pertained to some drama inwhich the wearer of the garment specified was supposed to be unseen bythe rest of the performers); "bought a doublet of white satten laydthick with gold lace, and a pair of rowne paned hose of cloth ofsilver, the panes layd with gold lace, seven pounds ten shillings, "and so on. 

Alleyn's inventory still exists, or did exist very recently, in hisown handwriting, at Dulwich College; it is without heading or date, and relates almost exclusively to the dresses worn by himself in hispersonation of various characters upon the stage. It is of interest, seeing that it demonstrates the assumption by Alleyn of various parts, if not in Shakespeare's plays, at any rate in the earlier dramas uponwhich the poet founded certain of his noblest works. Thus the actor'slist makes mention of "a scarlet cloke with two brode gould laces withgould down the same, for Leir"--meaning, doubtless, "King Lear;" "apurple satin cloke, welted with velvett and silver twist, Romeo's;""Hary the VIII. Gowne;" "blew damask cote for the Moor in Venis;" and"spangled hoes in Pericles. " Such entries as "Faustus jerkin andcloke, " "Priams hoes in Dido, " and "French hose for the Guises, "evidence that the actor took part in Marlowe's "Faustus" and "Massacreof Paris, " and the tragedy of "Dido, " by Marlowe and Nash. Then thereare cloaks and gowns, striped and trimmed with gold lace and ermine, suits of crimson, and orange-tawny velvet, cloth of gold and silver, jerkins and doublets of satin taffety and velvet, richly embroidered, and hose of various hues and patterns. The actor's wardrobe wasclearly most costly and complete, and affords sufficient proof thattheatrical costumes generally, even at that early date, were of aluxurious nature. In considering the prices mentioned in Henslowe'slist, the high value of money in his time should of course be borne inmind. 

It is plain, however, that splendour was much more considered thanappropriateness of dress. Some care might be taken to provide RobinHood with a suit of Lincoln green; to furnish hoods and frocks forfriars and royal robes for kings; but otherwise actors, dramatists, and audience demanded only that costly and handsome apparel shouldappear upon the scene. Indeed, the desire for correctness of dressupon the stage is of modern origin. Still, now and then may be found, even in very early days, some inclination towards carefulness in thisrespect; as when, in 1595, Thomas Nevile, Vice-Chancellor of theUniversity of Cambridge, applied to Lord Treasurer Burghley for theloan of the royal robes in the Tower, in order to perform, "for theexercise of young gentlemen and scholars in our college, " certaincomedies and one tragedy, in which "sondry personages of greatestestate were to be represented in ancient princely attire, which isnowhere to be had but within the office of the roabes of the Tower. "This request, it seems, had been granted before, and probably wasagain complied with on this occasion. Indeed, at a much later datethere was borrowing from the stores of the Tower for the decoration ofthe stage; as Pope writes:

 Back fly the scenes and enter foot and horse: Pageant on pageants in long order drawn, Peers, heralds, bishops, ermine, gold, and lawn; The champion, too! And to complete the jest, Old Edward's armour beams on Cibber's breast. 

By way of reflecting the glories of the coronation of George II. , "Henry VIII. , " with a grand spectacle of a coronation, had beenpresented at the theatres, the armour of one of the kings of Englandhaving been brought from the Tower for the due accoutrement of thechampion. And here we may note a curious gravitation of royal finerytowards the theatre. Downes, in his "Roscius Anglicanus, " describesSir William Davenant's play of "Love and Honour, " produced in 1662, as"richly cloathed, the king giving Mr. Betterton his coronation suit, in which he acted the part of Prince Alvaro; the Duke of York givingMr. Harris his, who did Prince Prospero; and my lord of Oxford gaveMr. Joseph Price his, who did Lionel, the Duke of Parma's son. "Presently we find the famous Mrs. Barry acting Queen Elizabeth in thecoronation robes of James II. 's queen, who had before presented theactress with her wedding suit. Mrs. Barry is said to have given heraudience a strong idea of Queen Elizabeth. Mrs. Bellamy playedCleopatra in a silver tissue "birthday" dress that had belonged to thePrincess of Wales; and a suit of straw-coloured satin, from thewardrobe of the same illustrious lady, was worn by the famous Mrs. Woffington, in her performance of Roxana. The robes worn by Elliston, when he personated George IV. , and represented the coronation of thatmonarch upon the stage of Drury Lane, were probably not the originals. These became subsequently the property of Madame Tussaud, and longremained among the treasures of her waxwork exhibition in BakerStreet. A tradition prevails that Elliston's robes were carried toAmerica by Lucius Junius Booth, the actor, who long continued toassume them in his personation of Richard III. , much to theastonishment of the more simple-minded of his audience, who naivelyinquired of each other whether the sovereigns of Great Britain werereally wont to parade the streets of London in such attire? Amongother royal robes that have likewise descended to the stage, mentionmay also be made of the coronation dress of the late Queen Adelaide, of which Mrs. Mowatt, the American actress, became the ultimatepossessor. 

Many noblemen and fine gentlemen also favoured the actors with giftsof their cast clothes, and especially of those "birthday suits"--Courtdresses of great splendour, worn for the first time at the birthdaylevees, or drawing-rooms of the sovereign. As Pope writes:

 Or when from Court a birthday suit bestowed, Sinks the lost actor in the tawdry load. 

Indeed, to some of the clothes worn by actors a complete history isattached. The wardrobe of Munden, the comedian, contained a blackGenoa velvet coat, which had once belonged to King George II. ; whileanother coat boasted also a distinguished pedigree, and could betraced to Francis, Duke of Bedford, who had worn it on the occasion ofthe Prince of Wales's marriage. It had originally cost £1000! But thenit had been fringed with precious stones, of which the sockets onlyremained when it fell into the hands of the dealers in second-handgarments; but, even in its dilapidated state, Munden had given £40 forit. Usually, however, fine clothes, such as "birthday suits, " becamethe property rather of the tragedians than the comedians. Cibberdescribes the division on the subject of dress, existing in the"Commonwealth" company, of which he formed a member, in 1696. "Thetragedians, " he writes, "seemed to think their rank as much above thecomedians as the characters they severally acted; when the first werein their finery, the latter were impatient at the expense, and lookedupon it as rather laid out upon the real than the fictitious person ofthe actor. Nay, I have known in our company this ridiculous sort ofregret carried so far that the tragedian has thought himself injuredwhen the comedian pretended to wear a fine coat. " Powel, thetragedian, surveying the dress worn by Cibber as Lord Foppington, fairly lost his temper, and complained, in rude terms, that he had notso good a suit in which to play Cæsar Borgia. Then, again, whenBetterton proposed to "mount" a tragedy, the comic actors were sure tomurmur at the cost of it. Dogget especially regarded with impatience"the costly trains and plumes of tragedy, in which, knowing himself tobe useless, he thought they were all a vain extravagance. " Tragedy, however, was certainly an expensive entertainment at this time. Dryden's "All for Love" had been revived at a cost of nearly £600 fordresses--"a sum unheard of for many years before on a like occasion. "It was, by-the-way, the production of this tragedy, in preference tohis "adaptation" of Shakespeare's "Coriolanus, " that so bitterlyangered Dennis, the critic, and brought about his fierce enmity toCibber. 

To the hero of tragedy a feathered headdress was indispensable; theheroine demanded a long train borne by one or two pages. Pope writes:

 Loud as the wolves on Orca's stormy steep Howl to the roarings of the northern deep, Such is the shout, the long-applauded note, At Quin's high plume, or Oldfield's petticoat. 

Hamlet speaks of a "forest of feathers" as part of an actor'sprofessional qualification. Addison, writing in "The Spectator" on themethods of aggrandising the persons in tragedy, denounces asridiculous the endeavour to raise terror and pity in the audience bythe dresses and decorations of the stage, and takes particularexception to the plumes of feathers worn by the conventional hero oftragedy, rising "so very high, that there is often a greater lengthfrom his chin to the top of his head than to the sole of his foot. Onewould believe that we thought a great man and a tall man the samething. " Then he describes the embarrassment of the actor, forced tohold his neck extremely stiff and steady all the time he speaks, when, "notwithstanding any anxieties which he pretends for his mistress, hiscountry, or his friends, one may see by his action that his greatestcare and concern is to keep the plume of feathers from falling off hishead. " The hero's "superfluous ornaments" having been discussed, themeans by which the heroine is invested with grandeur are nextconsidered: "The broad sweeping train that follows her in all hermotions, finds constant employment for a boy who stands behind her, toopen and spread it to advantage. I do not know how others are affectedat this sight, but I must confess my eyes are wholly taken up with thepage's part; and as for the queen, I am not so attentive to anythingshe speaks, as to the right adjusting of her train, lest it shouldchance to trip up her heels, or incommode her as she walks to and froupon the stage. It is, in my opinion, a very odd spectacle to see aqueen venting her passion in a disordered motion, and a little boytaking care all the while that they do not ruffle the tail of hergown. The parts that the two persons act on the stage at the same timeare very different; the princess is afraid that she should incur thedispleasure of the king, her father, or lose the hero, her lover, whilst her attendant is only concerned lest she should entangle herfeet in her petticoat. " In the same way Tate Wilkinson, writing in1790 of the customs of the stage, as he had known it forty yearsbefore, describes the ladies as wearing large hoops and velvetpetticoats, heavily embossed and extremely inconvenient andtroublesome, with "always a page behind to hear the lovers' secrets, and keep the train in graceful decorum. If two princesses, " hecontinues, "meet on the stage, with the frequent stage-crossings thenpractised, it would now seem truly entertaining to behold a pagedangling at the tail of each heroine. " The same writer, referring tothe wardrobe he possessed as manager of the York and Hull theatres, describes the dresses as broadly seamed with gold and silver lace, after a bygone fashion that earned for them the contempt of Londonperformers. "Yet, " he proceeds, "those despicable clothes had, atdifferent periods of time, bedecked real lords and dukes, " and were ofconsiderable value, if only to strip of their decorations and take topieces. He laments the general decline in splendour of dress, anddeclares that thirty years before not a Templar, or decently-dressedyoung man, but wore a rich gold-laced hat and scarlet waistcoat, witha broad gold lace, also laced frocks for morning dress. 

Monmouth Street, St. Giles's, is now known by another name; but formany years its dealers in cast clothes rendered important aid to theactors and managers. It was to Monmouth Street, as he confesses, thatTate Wilkinson hastened, when permitted to undertake the part of theFine Gentleman in Garrick's farce of "Lethe, " at Covent Garden. Fortwo guineas he obtained the loan, for one night only, of a heavyembroidered velvet spangled suit of clothes, "fit, " he says, "for theking in 'Hamlet. '" Repeating the character, he was constrained todepend upon the wardrobe of the theatre, and appeared in "a very shortold suit of clothes, with a black velvet ground and broad goldflowers, as dingy as the twenty-four letters on a piece of gildedgingerbread"--the dress, indeed, which Garrick had worn when playingLothario, in "The Fair Penitent, " ten years before. And it was toMonmouth Street that Austin repaired, when cast for a very inferiorpart--a mere attendant--in the same tragedy, in order to equip himselfas like to Garrick as he could--for Garrick was to reappear asLothario in a new suit of clothes. "Where did you get that coat from, Austin?" asked the great actor, surveying his subordinate. "Sir!"replied Austin boldly, "it is part of my country wardrobe. " Themanager paused, frowned, reflected. Soon he was satisfied that theeffect of Austin's dress would be injurious to his own, especially asAustin was of superior physical proportions. "Austin, " he said atlength, "why, perhaps you have some other engagement--besides, thepart is really beneath you. Altogether, I will not trouble you to goon with me. " And not to go on as an attendant upon Lothario wasprecisely what Austin desired. 

O'Keeffe, in his "Memoirs, " has related a curious instance of theprompt bestowal of an article of apparel upon an actor attached to theCrow Street Theatre, Dublin. Macklin's farce of "The True-bornIrishman" was in course of performance for the first time. During whatwas known as "the Drum Scene" ("a 'rout' in London is called a 'drum'in Dublin, " O'Keeffe explains), --when an actor, named Massink, hadentered as the representative of Pat FitzMongrel--a gentleman, whowith a large party occupied the stage-box, was seen to rise from hischair, with the view, as it seemed, of interrupting the performance. It should be stated that the gentleman was known to have recentlyinherited a large fortune, and had evinced a certain eccentricity ofdisposition. He was now of opinion that an attempt was being made topersonate him on the stage. "Why, that's me!" he cried aloud, pointingto the figure of Pat FitzMongrel. "But what sort of a rascally coat isthat they've dressed me in! Here, I'll dress you, my man!" So sayinghe stood up, divested himself of the rich gold-laced coat he wore, andflung it on to the stage. "Massink took it up smiling, stepped to thewing, threw off his own, and returned upon the stage in thegentleman's fine coat, which produced the greatest amount of applauseand pleasure among the audience. "

 To suit the dress demands the actor's art, Yet there are some who overdress the part. To some prescriptive right gives settled things-- Black wigs to murderers, feathered hats to kings. But Michael Cassio might be drunk enough, Though all his features were not grimed with snuff. Why should Poll Peachum shine in satin clothes? Why every devil dance in scarlet hose?

Thus, in regard to the conventionalism of stage costumes, wroteChurchill's friend, Robert Lloyd, in his poem of "The Actor, " 1762. And something he might have added touching the absurd old fashion ofrobing the queens of tragedy invariably in black, for it seemed agreedgenerally that "the sceptred pall of gorgeous tragedy" should be takenvery literally, and should "sweep by" in the funereal fashion of sablevelvet. "Empresses and queens, " writes Mrs. Bellamy, the actress, in1785, "always appeared in black velvet, with, upon extraordinaryoccasions, the additional finery of an embroidered or tissuepetticoat; the younger actresses in cast gowns of persons of quality, or altered habits rather soiled; whilst the male portion of the_dramatis personæ_ strutted in tarnished laced coats and waistcoats, full bottom or tie wigs, and black worsted stockings. " Yet the ladyonce ventured to appear as Lady Macbeth, and to wear the while a dressof white satin. This took place at Edinburgh, and the startlinginnovation was only to be accounted for by the fact that the wardrobesof the actresses and of the company she had joined had beenaccidentally consumed by fire. Some portion of the theatre had beenalso destroyed, but boards were hastily nailed down and covered withcarpets, so as to form a temporary stage until the damage could berepaired. Meantime appeal was made to the ladies of Edinburgh to lendclothes to the "burnt out" actress, who estimated the loss of hertheatrical finery at £900, there being among the ashes of her property"a complete set of garnets and pearls, from cap to stomacher. " Dressesof various kinds poured in, however. "Before six o'clock I foundmyself in possession of above forty, and some of these almost new, aswell as very rich. Nor did the ladies confine themselves to outwardgarments only. I received presents of all kinds and from every part ofthe adjacent country. " But inasmuch as "no black vestment of any kindhad been sent among the numerous ones of different colours which hadbeen showered upon me by the ladies, " the necessity arose for dressingLady Macbeth for the very first time in white satin. 

Mrs. Bellamy, according to her own account, had been wont to takegreat pains and to exercise much good taste in regard to the costumeshe assumed upon the stage. She claimed to have discarded hoopedskirts, while those unwieldy draperies were still greatly favoured byother actresses, and to have adopted a style of dress remarkable foran elegant simplicity then very new to the stage. Still, the lady hasfreely admitted that she could be very gorgeous upon occasions; andconcerning one of two grand tragedy dresses she had obtained fromParis, she has something of a history to narrate. The play was to bethe "Alexander" of Nat Lee; the rival actresses were to appear--Mrs. Bellamy as Statira, and the famous Mrs. Woffington as Roxana. Theladies did not love each other--rival actresses oftentimes do not loveeach other--and each possessed a temper. Moreover, each was a beauty:Mrs. Woffington, a grand brunette, dark browed, with flashing eyesand stately mien: Mrs. Bellamy, a blonde, blue-eyed andgolden-haired--an accomplished actress, if an affected one. Now, Mrs. Bellamy's grand dress of deep yellow satin, with a robe of rich purplevelvet, was found to have a most injurious effect upon the delicatestraw-coloured skirts of Mrs. Woffington; they seemed to be reduced toa dirty white hue. The ladies fairly quarrelled over their dresses. Atlength, if we may adopt Mrs. Bellamy's account of the proceeding, Mrs. Woffington's rage was so kindled "that it nearly bordered on madness. When, oh! dire to tell! she drove me off the carpet and gave me the_coup de grâce_ almost behind the scenes. The audience, who, Ibelieve, preferred hearing my last dying speech to seeing her beautyand fine attitude, could not avoid perceiving her violence, andtestified their displeasure at it. " Possibly the scene excited mirthin an equal degree. Foote forthwith prepared a burlesque, "TheGreen-room Squabble; or, A Battle Royal between the Queen of Babylonand the Daughter of Darius. " The same tragedy, it may be noted, had atan earlier date been productive of discord in the theatre. Mrs. Barry, as Roxana, had indeed stabbed her Statira, Mrs. Boutell, with suchviolence that the dagger, although the point was blunted, "made itsway through Mrs. Boutell's stays and entered about a quarter of aninch into the flesh. " It is not clear, however, that this contest, like the other, is to be attributed to antagonism in the matter ofdress. 

The characteristics of the "tiring-room" have always presentedthemselves in a ludicrous light to the ordinary observer. There isalways a jumble of incongruous articles, and a striking contrastbetween the ambitious pretensions of things and their realmeanness--between the facts and fictions of theatrical life. Mr. Collier quotes from Brome's comedy, "The Antipodes, " 1640, a curiousaccount of the contents of the "tiring-house" of that time. Byeplay, an actor, one of the characters, is speaking of the hero Peregrine, who is in some sort a reflection of Don Quixote:

 He has got into our tiring-house amongst us, And ta'en a strict survey of all our properties. 

 * * * * *

 Whether he thought 'twas some enchanted castle, Or temple hung and piled with monuments Of uncouth and of varied aspects, I dive not to his thoughts.... But on a sudden, with thrice knightly force, And thrice thrice puissant arm, he snatched down The sword and shield that I played Bevis with; Rusheth among the foresaid properties, Kills monster after monster, takes the puppets Prisoners, knocks down the Cyclops, tumbles all Our jigambobs and trinkets to the wall. Spying at last the crown and royal robes I' the upper wardrobe, next to which by chance, The devils vizors hung and their flame-painted Skin-coats, these he removed with greater fury, And (having cut the infernal ugly faces All into mammocks), with a reverend hand He takes the imperial diadem, and crowns Himself King of the Antipodes and believes He has justly gained the kingdom by his conquest. 

A later dealing with the same subject may be quoted from Dr. Reynardson's poem of "The Stage, " dedicated to Addison, and firstpublished in 1713:

 High o'er the stage there lies a rambling frame, Which men a garret vile, but players the tire-room name: Here all their stores (a merry medley) sleep Without distinction, huddled in a heap. Hung on the self-same peg, in union rest Young Tarquin's trousers and Lucretia's vest, Whilst, without pulling coifs, Roxana lays, Close by Statira's petticoat, her stays.... Near these sets up a dragon-drawn calash; There's a ghost's doublet, delicately slashed, Bleeds from the mangled breast and gapes a frightful gash.... Here Iris bends her various-painted arch, There artificial clouds in sullen order march; Here stands a crown upon a rack, and there A witch's broomstick, by great Hector's spear: Here stands a throne, and there the cynic's tub, Here Bullock's cudgel, and there Alcides' club. Beards, plumes, and spangles in confusion rise, Whilst rocks of Cornish diamonds reach the skies; Crests, corslets, all the pomp of battle join In one effulgence, one promiscuous shine. Hence all the drama's decorations rise, Hence gods descend majestic from the skies. Hence playhouse chiefs, to grace some antique tale, Buckle their coward limbs in warlike mail, &c. &c. 

Of the theatrical wardrobe department of to-day it is unnecessary tosay much. Something of the bewildering incongruity of the old"tiring-room" distinguishes it--yet with a difference. The system ofthe modern theatre has undergone changes. Wardrobes are now oftenhired complete from the costume and masquerade shops. The theatricalcostumier has become an independent functionary, boasting anestablishment of his own, detached from the theatre. Costume plays arenot much in vogue now, and in dramas dealing with life and society atthe present date, the actors are understood to provide their ownattire. Moreover, there is now little varying of the programme, and, in consequence, little demand upon the stock wardrobe of theplayhouse. Still, when in theatres of any pretension, entertainmentsin the nature of spectacles or pantomimes are in course ofpreparation, there is much stir in the wardrobe department. There arebales of cloth to be converted into apparel for the supernumeraries, yards and yards of gauze and muslin for the ballet; spangles, andbeads, and copper lace in great profusion; with high piles of whitesatin shoes. Numerous stitchers of both sexes are at work early andlate, while from time to time an artist supervises their labours. Hisaid has been sought in the designing of the costumes, so that they maybe of graceful and novel devices in fanciful or eccentric plays, orduly correct when an exhibition, depending at all upon the history ofthe past, is about to be presented by the manager. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

"HER FIRST APPEARANCE. "

From the south-western corner of Lincoln's Inn Fields a winding andconfined court leads to Vere Street, Clare Market. Midway or so in thepassage there formerly existed Gibbon's Tennis Court--an establishmentwhich after the Restoration, and for some three years, served as aplayhouse; altogether distinct, be it remembered, from the far morefamous Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre, situate close by in PortugalStreet, at the back of the College of Surgeons. Nevertheless, the VereStreet Theatre, as it was called, can boast something of a history; atany rate, one event of singular dramatic importance renders itmemorable. For on Saturday, the 8th of December, 1660, as historiansof the drama relate, it was the scene of the first appearance upon theEnglish stage of the first English actress. The lady played Desdemona;and a certain Mr. Thomas Jordan, an actor and the author of variouspoetical pieces, provided for delivery upon the occasion a "Prologueto introduce the first woman that came to act on the stage in thetragedy called 'The Moor of Venice. '"

So far the story is clear enough. But was this Desdemona really thefirst English actress? Had there not been earlier change in the oldcustom prescribing that the heroines of the British drama should bepersonated by boys? It is certain that French actresses had appearedhere so far back as 1629. Prynne, in his "Histriomastix, " published in1633, writes: "They have now their female players in Italy and otherforeign parts, and Michaelmas, 1629, they had French women-actors ina play personated at Blackfriars, to which there was great resort. "These ladies, however, it may be noted, met with a very unfavourablereception. Prynne's denunciation of them was a matter of course. Hehad undertaken to show that stage-plays of whatever kind were most"pernicious corruptions, " and that the profession of "play-poets" andstage-players, together with the penning, acting, and frequenting ofstage-plays, was unlawful, infamous, and misbecoming Christians. Hespeaks of the "women-actors" as "monsters, " and applies most severeepithets to their histrionic efforts: "impudent, " "shameful, ""unwomanish, " and such like. Another critic, one Thomas Brande, in aprivate letter discovered by Mr. Payne Collier in the library ofLambeth Palace, and probably addressed to Laud while Bishop of London, writes of the just offence to all virtuous and well-disposed personsin this town "given by the vagrant French players who had beenexpelled from their own country, " and adds: "Glad am I to say theywere hissed, hooted, and pippin-pelted" (pippin-pelted is a goodphrase) "from the stage, so as I do not think they will soon be readyto try the same again. " Mr. Brande was further of opinion that theMaster of the Revels should have been called to account for permittingsuch performances. Failing at Blackfriars, the French companysubsequently appeared at the Fortune and Red Bull Theatres, but with asimilar result, insomuch that the Master of the Revels, Sir HenryHerbert, who had duly sanctioned their performance, records in hisaccounts that, "in respect of their ill luck, " he had returned someportion of the fees they had paid him for permission to play. 

Whether these French "women-actors" failed because of their sex orbecause of their nationality, cannot now be shown. They were the firstactresses that had ever been seen in this country. But then they werenot of English origin, and they appeared, of course, in a foreigndrama. Still, of English actresses antecedent to the Desdemona of theVere Street Theatre, certain traces have been discovered. In Brome'scomedy of "The Court Beggar, " acted at the Cockpit Theatre, in 1632, one of the characters observed: "If you have a short speech or two, the boy's a pretty actor, and his mother can play her part;women-actors now grow in request. " Was this an allusion merely to theFrench actresses that had been seen in London some few years before, or were English actresses referred to? Had these really appeared, ifnot at the public theatres, why, then, at more private dramaticentertainments? Upon such points doubt must still prevail. It seemscertain, however, that a Mrs. Coleman had presented herself upon thestage in 1656, playing a part in Sir William Davenant's tragedy of"The Siege of Rhodes"--a work produced somehow in evasion of thePuritanical ordinance of 1647, which closed the theatres and forbadedramatic exhibitions of every kind; for "The Siege of Rhodes, "although it consisted in a great measure of songs with recitative, explained or illustrated by painted scenery, did not differ much froman ordinary play. Ianthe, the heroine, was personated by Mrs. Coleman, whose share in the performance was confined to the delivery ofrecitative. Ten years later the lady was entertained at his house byMr. Pepys, who speaks in high terms both of her musical abilities andof herself, pronouncing her voice "decayed as to strength, but mightysweet, though soft, and a pleasant jolly woman, and in mighty goodhumour. "

If this Mrs. Coleman may be classed rather as a singer than anactress, and if we may view Davenant's "Siege of Rhodes" more as amusical entertainment than as a regular play, then no doubt the claimof the Desdemona of Clare Market to be, as Mr. Thomas Jordan describedher, "the first woman that came to act on the stage, " is muchimproved. And here we may say something more relative to the VereStreet Theatre. It was first opened in the month of November, 1660;Thomas Killigrew, its manager, and one of the grooms of the king'sbedchamber, having received his patent in the previous August, when asimilar favour was accorded to Sir William Davenant, who, duringCharles I. 's reign, had been possessed of letters patent. King CharlesII. , taking it into his "princely consideration" that it was notnecessary to suppress the use of theatres, but that if the evil andscandal in the plays then acted were taken away, they might serve "asinnocent and harmless divertisement" for many of his subjects, andhaving experience of the art and skill of his trusty and well-belovedThomas Killigrew and William Davenant, granted them full power toelect two companies of players, and to purchase, build and erect, orhire, two houses or theatres, with all convenient rooms and othernecessaries thereunto appertaining, for the representation oftragedies, comedies, plays, operas, and all other entertainments ofthat nature. The managers were also authorised to fix such rates ofadmission as were customary or reasonable "in regard of the greatexpenses of scenes, music, and such new decorations as have not beenformerly used:" with full power "to make such allowances out of thatwhich they shall so receive to the actors and other persons employedin the same representations, in both houses respectively, as theyshall think fit. " For these patents other grants were afterwardssubstituted, Davenant receiving his new letters on January 15th, andKilligrew _his_ on April 25th, 1662. The new grants did not differmuch from the old ones, except that the powers vested in the patenteeswere more fully declared. No other companies but those of the twopatentees were to be permitted to perform within the cities of Londonand Westminster; all others were to be silenced and suppressed. Killigrew's actors were styled the "Company of his Majesty and hisRoyal Consort;" Davenant's the "Servants of his Majesty'sdearly-beloved brother, James, Duke of York. " The better to preserve"amity and correspondence" between the two theatres, no actor was tobe allowed to quit one company for the other without the consent ofhis manager being first obtained. And forasmuch as many plays formerlyacted contained objectionable matter, and the women's parts thereinbeing acted by men in the habits of women, gave offence to some, themanagers were further enjoined to act no plays "containing anypassages offensive to piety and good manners, until they had firstcorrected and purged the same;" and permission was given that all thewomen's parts to be acted by either of the companies for the time tocome might be performed by women, so that recreations which, by reasonof the abuses aforesaid, were scandalous and offensive, might by suchreformation be esteemed not only harmless delights, but useful andinstructive representations of human life to such of "our goodsubjects" as should resort to see the same. 

These patents proved a cause of numberless dissensions in futureyears. Practically they reduced the London theatres to two. Before theCivil War there had been six: the Blackfriars and the Globe, belongingto the same company, called the King's Servants; the Cockpit orPhoenix, in Drury Lane, the actors of which were called the Queen'sServants; a theatre in Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, occupied by thePrince's Servants; and the Fortune, in Golden Lane, and the Red Bullin St. John Street, Clerkenwell--establishments for the lower class, "mostly frequented by citizens and the meaner sort of people. " EarlierElizabethan theatres, the Swan, the Rose, and the Hope, seem to haveclosed their career some time in the reign of James I. 

The introduction of actresses upon the English stage has usually beencredited to Sir William Davenant, whose theatre, however, did not openuntil more than six months after the performance of "Othello, " with anactress in the part of Desdemona, at Killigrew's establishment in VereStreet. "Went to Sir William Davenant's opera, " records Pepys, on July2nd, 1661, "this being the fourth day it had begun, and the first thatI have seen it. " Although regular tragedies and comedies were actedthere, Pepys constantly speaks of Davenant's theatre as the _opera_, the manager having produced various musical pieces before theRestoration. Of the memorable performance of "Othello" in Vere Street, on December 10th, 1660, Pepys makes no mention. He duly chronicles, however, a visit to Killigrew's theatre on the following 3rd January, when he saw the comedy of "The Beggar's Bush" performed; "it beingvery well done, and was the first time that ever I saw women come uponthe stage. " He had seen the same play in the previous November, whenit was represented by male performers only. But even after theintroduction of actresses the heroines of the stage were stilloccasionally impersonated by men. Thus in January, 1661, Pepys sawKynaston appear in "The Silent Woman, " and pronounced the young actor"the prettiest woman in the whole house. " As Cibber states, the stage"could not be so suddenly supplied with women but that there was stilla necessity to put the handsomest young men into petticoats. "

Strange to say, the name of the actress who played Desdemona underKilligrew's management in 1660 has not been discovered. Who, then, wasthe first English actress, assuming that she was the Desdemona of theVere Street Theatre? She must be looked for in Killigrew's company. His "leading lady" was Mrs. Ann Marshall, of whom Pepys makesfrequent mention, who is known to have obtained distinction alike intragedy and in comedy, and to have personated such characters as theheroine of Beaumont and Fletcher's "Scornful Lady, " Roxana in"Alexander the Great, " Calphurnia in "Julius Cæsar, " Evadne in "TheMaid's Tragedy, " and so on; there is no record, however, of her havingappeared in the part of Desdemona. Indeed, this part is not invariablyassumed by "leading ladies;" it has occasionally devolved upon the_seconda donna_ of the company. And in a representation of "Othello"on February 6th, 1669, at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane (to whichestablishment Killigrew and his troop had removed from Vere Street inApril, 1663), it is certain, on the evidence of Downes's "RosciusAnglicanus, " that a Mrs. Hughes played the part of Desdemona to theOthello of Burt, the Iago of Mohun, and the Cassio of Hart. Now, wasthis Mrs. Hughes, who had been a member of Killigrew's company fromthe first, the Desdemona on whose behalf, nine years before, Mr. Thomas Jordan wrote his apologetic prologue? It seems not unlikely. Atthe same time it must be stated that there are other claimants to thedistinction. Tradition long pointed to Mrs. Betterton, the wife of thefamous tragedian, as the first woman who ever appeared on the Englishstage. She was originally known as Mrs. Saunderson--the title ofMistress being applied alike to maidens and matrons at the time of theRestoration--and married her illustrious husband about the year 1663. She was one of four principal actresses whom Sir William Davenantlodged at his own house, and she appeared with great success as Iantheupon the opening of his theatre with "The Siege of Rhodes. " Pepys, indeed, repeatedly refers to her by her dramatic name of Ianthe. Hasthe belief that she was the first actress arisen from confusing herassumption of Ianthe with the performance of the same part by Mrs. Coleman in 1656, a fact of which mention has already been made?Otherwise it is hardly creditable that she, one of Davenant'sactresses, had been previously attached to Killigrew's company, andhad in such wise chanced to play Desdemona in Vere Street. There is noevidence of this whatever, nor can it be discovered that she appearedas Desdemona at any period of her career. The Vere Street Desdemona, we repeat, must be looked for in Killigrew's company, which commencedoperations more than half a year before the rival theatre. It is truethat some time before the opening of this theatre Davenant had beenthe responsible manager in regard to certain performances at theBlackfriars Theatre and elsewhere; but there is no reason to supposethat actresses took part in these entertainments; it is known, indeed, that the feminine characters in the plays exhibited were sustained bythe young actors of the company--Kynaston, James Nokes, Angel, andWilliam Betterton. Altogether, Mrs. Betterton's title to honour as thefirst English actress seems defective; and as much may be said of thepretensions of another actress, Mrs. Norris, although she has met withsupport from Tom Davies in his "Dramatic Miscellanies, " and from Curlin his "History of the Stage, " a very unworthy production. Mrs. Norriswas an actress of small note attached to Davenant's company; she wasthe mother of Henry Norris, a popular comedian, surnamed "JubileeDicky, " from his performance of the part of Dicky in Farquhar's"Constant Couple. " Chetwood correctly describes her as "ONE of thefirst women that came on the stage as an actress. " To her, as to Mrs. Betterton, the objection applies that she was a member of Davenant'scompany--not of Killigrew's--and therefore could not have appeared inVere Street. Moreover, she never attained such a position in herprofession as would have entitled her to assume a part of theimportance of Desdemona. 

On the whole, the case of Mrs. Hughes seems to have the support ofmore probabilities than any other. But even if it is to be accepted asa fact that she was in truth the first actress, there the matterremains. Very little is known of the lady. She lived in a world whichkept scarcely any count of its proceedings--which left no recordbehind to be used as evidence, either for or against it. She was inher time the subject of talk enough, very likely; was admired for herbeauty, possibly for her talents too; but hardly a written scrapconcerning her has come down to us. The ordinary historian of thetime, impressed with a sense of the dignity of his task, did notconcern himself with the players, and rated as insignificant andunworthy of his notice such matters as the pursuits, pastimes, tastes, manners, and customs of the people. We know more of the manner of lifein Charles II. 's time from the diarist Pepys than from all the writersof history put together. Unfortunately, concerning Mrs. Hughes, evenPepys is silent. It is known that in addition to the character ofDesdemona, which she certainly sustained in February, 1669, at anyrate, she also appeared as Panura, in Fletcher's "Island Princess, "and as Theodosia, in Dryden's comedy of "An Evening's Love, or, TheMock Astrologer, " to the Jacyntha of Nell Gwynne; there is scarcely arecord of her assumption of any other part, unless she be the sameMrs. Hughes who impersonated Mrs. Monylove, in a comedy called "TomEssence, " produced at the Dorset Garden Theatre in 1676. But it isbelieved that she quitted or was taken from her profession--was "ereptthe stage, " to employ old Downes's phrase--at an earlier date. Thefamous Prince Rupert of the Rhine was her lover. He bought for her, ata cost of £20, 000, the once magnificent seat of Sir Nicholas Crispe, near Hammersmith, which afterwards became the residence of theMargrave of Brandenburg; and at a later date the retreat of QueenCaroline, the wife of George IV. Ruperta, the daughter of Mrs. Hughes, was married to Lieutenant-General Howe, and, surviving her husbandmany years, died at Somerset House about 1740. In the "Memoirs" ofCount Grammont mention is found of Prince Rupert's passion for theactress. She is stated to have "brought down and greatly subdued hisnatural fierceness. " She is described as an impertinent gipsy, andaccused of pride, in that she conducted herself, all thingsconsidered, unselfishly, and even with some dignity. The King is saidto have been "greatly pleased with this event"--he was probably amusedat it; Charles II. Was very willing at all times to be amused--"forwhich great rejoicings" (why rejoicings?) "were made at Tunbridge; butnobody was bold enough to make it the subject of satire, though thesame constraint was not observed with other ridiculous personages. "Upon the Prince the effect of his love seems to have been markedenough. "From this time adieu alembics, crucibles, furnaces, and allthe black furniture of the forges; a complete farewell to allmathematical instruments and chemical speculations; sweet powder andessences were now the only ingredients that occupied any share of hisattention. " Further of Mrs. Hughes there is nothing to relate, withthe exception of the use made of her name by the unseemly andunsavoury Tom Brown in his "Letters from the Dead to the Living. " Mrs. Hughes and Nell Gwynne are supposed to address letters to each other, exchanging reproaches in regard to the impropriety of their manner oflife. Nell Gwynne accuses her correspondent of squandering her moneyand of gaming. "I am ashamed to think that a woman who had wit enoughto tickle a Prince out of so fine an estate should at last prove sucha fool as to be bubbled of it by a little spotted ivory and paintedpaper. " "Peg Hughes, " as she is called, replies, congratulatingherself upon her generosity, treating the loss of her estate as "theonly piece of carelessness I ever committed worth my boast, " andcharging "Madam Gwynne" with vulgar avarice and the love of "lucre ofbase coin. " We can glean nothing more of the story of Mrs. Hughes. 

It is uncertain indeed in what degree the advent of the first actressaffected her audience; whether the novelty of the proceeding gratifiedor shocked them the more. It was really a startling innovation--awonderful improvement as it seems to us; yet assuredly there werenumerous conservative playgoers who held fast to the old ways of thetheatre, and approved "boy-actresses"--not needing such aids toillusion as the personation of women by women, but rather objectingthereto, for the same reason that they deprecated the introduction ofscenery, because of appeal and stimulus to the imagination of theaudience becoming in such wise greatly and perilously reduced. Then ofcourse there were staid and sober folk who judged the profession ofthe stage to be most ill-suited for women. And certainly this view ofthe matter was much confirmed by the conduct of our earlier actresses, which was indeed open to the gravest reproach. From Mr. Jordan'sprologue may be gathered some notion of the situation of thespectators on the night, or rather the afternoon, of December 8th, 1660. The theatre was probably but a poor-looking structure, hastilyput together in the Tennis-court to serve the purpose of the managerfor a time merely. Seven years later, Tom Killigrew, talking to Mr. Pepys, boasted that the stage had become "by his pains a thousandtimes better and more glorious than ever before. " There had beenimprovement in the candles; the audience was more civilised; theorchestra had been increased; the rushes had been swept from thestage; everything that had been mean was now "all otherwise. " Themanager possibly had in his mind during this retrospect the conditionof the Vere Street Theatre while under his management. The audiencepossessed an unruly element. 'Prentices and servants filled thegallery; there were citizens and tradesmen in the pit, with yet acontingent of spruce gallants and scented fops, who combed their wigsduring the pauses in the performance, took snuff, ogled the ladies inthe boxes, and bantered the orange-girls. The prologue begins:

 I come, unknown to any of the rest, To tell the news: I saw the lady drest-- The woman plays to-day; mistake me not, No man in gown or page in petticoat. 

 * * * * *

 'Tis possible a virtuous woman may Abhor all sorts of looseness and yet play; Play on the stage--where all eyes are upon her: Shall we count that a crime France counts an honour? In other kingdoms husbands safely trust 'em. The difference lies only in the custom. 

The gentlemen sitting in that "Star Chamber of the house, the pit, "were then besought to think respectfully and modestly of the actress, and not to run "to give her visits when the play is done. " We have, then, a picture of the male performers of female characters:

 But to the point: in this reforming age We have intent to civilise the stage. Our women are defective, and so sized You'd think they were some of the guard disguised; For, to speak truth, men act, that are between Forty and fifty, wenches of fifteen; With bone so large and nerve so incompliant. When you call Desdemona, _enter giant_. 

The prologue concludes with a promise, which certainly was not kept, that the drama should be purged of all offensive matter:

 And when we've put all things in this fair way, Barebones himself may come to see a play. 

In the epilogue the spectators were asked: "How do you likeher?"--especial appeal being made to those among the audience of thegentler sex:

 But, ladies, what think _you_? For if you tax Her freedom with dishonour to your sex, She means to act no more, and this shall be No other play but her own tragedy. She will submit to none but your commands, And take commission only from your hands. 

The ladies, no doubt, applauded sufficiently, and "women-actors" fromthat time forward became more and more secure of their position in thetheatre. At the same time it would seem that there lingered in theminds of many a certain prejudice against them, and that someapprehension concerning the reception they might obtain from theaudience often occupied the managers. A prologue to the second part ofDavenant's "Siege of Rhodes, " acted in April, 1662, demonstrates thatthe matter had still to be dealt with cautiously. Indulgence isbesought for the bashful fears of the actresses, and their shrinkingfrom the judgment and observation of the wits and critics is muchdwelt upon. 

It is worthy of note that the leading actors who took part in therepresentation of "Othello" at the Vere Street Theatre had all inearly life been apprentices to older players, and accustomed topersonate the heroines of the stage. Thus Burt, the Othello of thecast, had served as a boy under the actors Shanke and Beeston at theBlackfriars and Cockpit Theatres respectively. Mohun, the Iago, hadbeen his playfellow at this time; so that when Burt appeared asClariana in Shirley's tragedy of "Love's Cruelty, " Mohun representedBellamonte in the same work. During the Civil War Mohun had drawn hissword for the king, acquiring the rank of major, and acquittinghimself as a soldier with much distinction. He was celebrated by LordRochester as the Æsopus of the stage; Nat Lee delighted in his acting, exclaiming: "O Mohun, Mohun, thou little man of mettle, if I shouldwrite a hundred plays, I'd write one for thy mouth!" And King Charlesventured to pun upon his name as badly as even a king might when hesaid of some representation: "Mohun (pronounce _Moon_) shone like asun; Hart like the moon!" Charles Hart, the Cassio of the Vere StreetTheatre, could boast descent from Shakespeare's sister Joan, anddescribed himself as the poet's great-nephew. He, too, fought for theking in the great Civil War, serving as a lieutenant of horse underSir Thomas Dallison in Prince Rupert's regiment. He had beenapprenticed to Robinson the actor, and had played women's parts at theBlackfriars Theatre, winning special renown by his performance of theDuchess in Shirley's tragedy of "The Cardinal. " As an actor Hart wonextraordinary admiration; he soon took the lead of Burt, and from hisphysical gifts and graces was enabled even to surpass Mohun inpopularity. He introduced Nell Gwynne to the stage, and became one ofthe sharers in the management and profits of the theatrical company towhich he was attached. 

There was soon an ample supply of actresses, and a decline altogetherin the demand for boy-performers of female characters. There was anabsolute end, indeed, of that industry; the established actors had nomore apprentices, now to serve as their footboys and pages, and now asheroines of tragedy and comedy. A modern playgoer may well have adifficulty in believing that these had ever any real existence, sharing Lamb's amazement at a boy-Juliet, a boy-Desdemona, aboy-Ophelia. There must have been much skill among the players; muchsimple good faith, contentment, and willingness to connive attheatrical illusion on the part of the audience. It must have beenhard to tolerate a heroine with too obvious a beard, or of veryperceptible masculine breadth of shoulders, length of limb, andfreedom of gait. Let us note in conclusion that there is clearly a"boy-actress" among the players welcomed by Hamlet to Elsinore, although the modern stage has rarely taken note of the fact. Theplayer-queen, when not robed for performance in the tragedy of "TheMousetrap, " should wear a boy's dress. "What, my young lady andmistress!" says Hamlet jestingly to the youthful apprentice; and headds allusion to the boy's increase of stature: "By'r lady, yourladyship is nearer to heaven than when I saw you last by the altitudeof a _chopine!_"--in other words: "How the boy has grown!"--a chopinebeing a shoe with a heel of inordinate height. And then comesreference to that change of voice from alto to bass which attendsadvance from boyhood to adolescence. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

STAGE WHISPERS. 

When the consummate villain of melodrama mysteriously approaches thefoot-lights, and, with a scowl at the front row of the pit, remarks:"I must dissemble, " or something to that effect, it is certain that heis perfectly audible in all parts of the theatre in which he performs;and yet it is required of the personages nearest to him on thestage--let us say, the rival lover he has resolved to despatch and thebeauteous heroine he has planned to betray--that they should pretendto be absolutely deaf to his observation, the manifest gravity of itsbearing upon their interests and future happiness notwithstanding. Moreover, we who are among the spectators are bound to credit thiscurious auricular infirmity on the part of the lover and the lady. Wecan of course hear perfectly well the speech of their playfellow, andare thoroughly aware that from their position they must of necessityhear it at least as distinctly as we do. Yet it is incumbent upon usto ignore our convictions and perceptions on this head. For, indeed, the drama depends for its due existence and conduct upon a system ofconnivance and conspiracy, in which the audience, no less than theactors, are comprehended. The makeshifts and artifices of the theatrehave to be met half-way, and indulgently accepted. 

The stage could not live without its whispers, which, after all, areonly whispers in a non-natural sense. For that can hardly be in trutha whisper, which is designed to reach the ears of some hundreds ofpersons. But the "asides" of the theatre are a convenient andindispensable method of revealing to the audience the state of mind ofthe speaker, and of admitting them to his confidence. The novelist canstop his story, and indulge in analytical descriptions of hischaracters, their emotions, moods, intentions, and opinions; but thedramatist can only make his creatures intelligible by means of thespeeches he puts into their mouths. So, for the information of theaudience and the carrying on of the business of the scene, we havesoliloquies and asides, the artful delivery of which, duly to secureattention and enlist sympathy, evokes the best abilities of theplayer, bound to invest with an air of nature and truth-seeming purelyfictitious and unreasonable proceedings. 

But there are other than these recognised and established whispers ofthe stage. Voices are occasionally audible in the theatre whichobviously were never intended to reach the public ear. The existenceof such a functionary as the prompter may be one of those things whichare "generally known;" but the knowledge should not come, to those whosit in front of the curtain, from any exercise of their organs ofsight or of sound. To do the prompter justice, he is rarely visible;but his tones, however still and small they may pretend to be, sometimes travel to those whom they do not really concern. One of thefirst scraps of information acquired by the theatrical student relatesto the meaning of the letters P. S. And O. P. Otherwise he might, perhaps, have some difficulty in comprehending the apparently magneticattraction which one particular side of the proscenium has for so manyof our players. We say _our_ players advisedly, for the position ofthe prompter is different on the foreign stage. Abroad, and, indeed, during alien and lyrical performances in this country, he is hidden ina sort of gipsy-tent in front of the desk of the conductor. Theaccommodation provided for him is limited enough; little more than hishead can be permitted to emerge from the hole cut for him in thestage. But his situation has its advantages. He cannot possibly beseen by the audience; he can conveniently instruct the performerswithout requiring them "to look off" appealingly, or to rushdesperately to the wing to be reminded of their parts; while thesloping roof of his temporary abode has the effect of directing hiswhispers on to the stage, and away from the spectators. It seemsstrange that this system of posting the prompter in the van insteadof on the flank of the actors has never been permanently adopted inthis country. But a change of the kind indicated would certainly beenergetically denounced by a number of very respectable and sensiblepeople as "un-English, " an objection that is generally regarded asquite final and convincing, although it is conceivable, at any rate, that a thing may be of fair value and yet of foreign origin. "Gad, sir, if a few very sensible persons had been attended to we shouldstill have been champing acorns!" observed Luttrell the witty, whencertain enlightened folk strenuously opposed the building of WaterlooBridge on the plea that it would spoil the river!

It is certain, however, that with the first introduction here ofoperatic performances came the gipsy-tent, or hut, of the prompter. The singers voted it quite indispensable. It was much ridiculed, ofcourse, by the general public. It was even made the special subject ofburlesque on a rival stage. A century ago the imbecility was indulgedin of playing "The Beggar's Opera" with "the characters reversed, " asit was called; that is to say, the female characters were assumed bythe actors, the male by the actresses. This was at the HaymarketTheatre, under George Colman's management. The foolish proceeding wonprodigious applause. A prologue or preliminary act in three scenes waswritten for the occasion. The fun of this introduction seems now grossand flat enough. Towards the conclusion of it, we read, astage-carpenter raised his head through a trap in the centre of thestage. He was greeted with a roar of laughter from the gallery. Theprompter appears on the scene and demands of the carpenter what hemeans by opening the trap? The carpenter explains that he designs toprompt the performers after the fashion of the Opera House on theother side of the Haymarket. "Psha!" cries the prompter, "none of yourItalian tricks with me! Shut up the trap again! I shall prompt in myold place; for we won't do all they do on the other side of the waytill they can do all we do on ours. " So soundly English a speech isreceived with great cheering--the foreigners and their new-fangledways are laughed to scorn, and the performance is a very completesuccess. 

To singers, the convenient position of the prompter is a matter ofreal importance. Their memories are severely tried, for, in additionto the words, they have to bear in mind the music of their parts. While delivering their scenas they are compelled to remain almoststationary, well in front of the stage, so that their voices may bethrown towards their audience and not lose effect by escaping into theflies. Meanwhile their hasty movement towards a prompter in the wings, upon any sudden forgetfulness of the words of their songs, would bemost awkward and unseemly. It is very necessary that their prompterand their conductor should be their near neighbours, able to renderthem assistance and support upon the shortest notice. But thisproximity of the prompter has, perhaps, induced them to rely too muchupon his help, and to burden their memories too little. The majorityof singers are but indifferently acquainted with the words they arerequired to utter. They gather these as they want them, from thehidden friend in his hutch at their feet. The occupants of theproscenium boxes at the opera-houses must be familiarly acquaintedwith the tones of the prompter's voice, as he delivers to the singers, line by line, the matter of their parts; and occasionally these stagewhispers are audible at a greater distance from the foot-lights. Inoperatic performances, however, the words are of very inferiorimportance to the music; the composer quite eclipses the author. Amusician has been known to call a libretto the "verbiage" of hisopera. The term was not perhaps altogether inappropriate. Even actorsare apt to underrate the importance of the speeches they are calledupon to deliver, laying the greater stress upon the "business" theypropose to originate, or the scenic effects that are to be introducedinto the play. They sometimes describe the words of their parts as"cackle. " But perhaps this term also may be accepted as applying, fitly enough, to much of the dialogue of the modern drama. 

It is a popular notion that, although all persons may not be endowedwith histrionic gifts, it is open to everybody to perform the dutiesof a prompter without preparation or study. Still the office requiressome exercise of care and judgment. "Here's a nice mess you've got meinto, " said once a tragedian, imperfect in his text, to aninexperienced or incautious prompter. "What am I to do now? Thanks toyou, I've been and spoken all the next act!" And the prompter has atask of serious difficulty before him when the actors are butdistantly acquainted with their parts, or "shy of the syls, " that is, syllables, as they prefer to describe their condition. "Where havethey got to now?" he has sometimes to ask himself, when he finds themmaking havoc of their speeches, missing their cues, and leading him asort of steeple-chase through the book of the play. It is the goldenrule of the player who is "stuck"--at a loss for words--to "come toHecuba, " or pass to some portion of his duty which he happens to bearin recollection. "What's the use of bothering about a handful ofwords?" demanded a veteran stroller. "I never stick. I always saysomething and get on, and no one has hissed me yet!" It was probablythis performer, who, during his impersonation of Macbeth, findinghimself at a loss as to the text soon after the commencement of hissecond scene with Lady Macbeth, coolly observed: "Let us retire, dearest chuck, and con this matter over in a more sequestered spot, far from the busy haunts of men. Here the walls and doors are spies, and our every word is echoed far and near. Come, then, let's away!False heart must hide, you know, what false heart dare not show. " Aprompter could be of little service to a gentleman so fertile inresources. He may be left to pair off with that provincial Montano whomodernised his speech in reference to Cassio:

 And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor Should hazard such a place as his own second With one of an ingraft infirmity. It were an honest action to say So to the Moor--

into "It's a pity, don't you think, that Othello should place such aman in such an office. Hadn't we better tell him so, sir?"

In small provincial or strolling companies it often becomes expedientto press every member of the establishment into the service of thestage. We read of a useful property-man and scene-shifter who wasoccasionally required to fill small parts in the performance, such, for instance, as "the cream-faced loon" in "Macbeth, " and who thusexplained his system of representation, admitting that from his otheroccupations he could rarely commit perfectly to memory the words hewas required to utter. "I tell you how I manage. I inwariablycontrives to get a reg'lar knowledge of the natur' of the_char_-ac-ter, and ginnerally gives the haudience words as near likethe truth as need be. I seldom or never puts any of you out, and takesas much pains as anybody can expect for two-and-six a week extra, which is all I gets for doing such-like parts as mine. I findsShakespeare's parts worse to get into my head nor any other; he goesin and out so to tell a thing. I should like to know how I was to sayall that rigmarole about the wood coming; and I'm sure my tellingMacbeth as Birnam Wood was a-walking three miles off the castle, didvery well. But some gentlemen is sadly pertickler, and never considerscircumstances!"

Such players as this provoke the despair of prompters, who must oftenbe tempted to close their books altogether. It would almost seem thatthere are some performers whom it is quite vain to prompt: it is saferto let them alone, doing what they list, lest bad should be madeworse. Something of this kind happened once in the case of a certainMarcellus. Hamlet demands of Horatio concerning the ghost of "buriedDenmark:" "Stayed it long?" Horatio answers: "While one with moderatehaste might tell a hundred. " Marcellus should add: "Longer, longer. "But the Marcellus of this special occasion was mute. "Longer, longer, "whispered the prompter. Then out spoke Marcellus, to the consternationof his associates: "Well, say two hundred!" So prosaic a Marcellus isonly to be matched by that literal Guildenstern who, when besought byHamlet to "Play upon this pipe, " was so moved by the urgent manner ofthe tragedian, that he actually made the attempt, seizing theinstrument, and evoking from it most eccentric sounds. 

It is curious how many of the incidents and details of representationescape the notice of the audience. And here we are referring less tomerits than to mischances. Good acting may not always obtain duerecognition; but then how often bad acting and accidental deficienciesremain undetected! "We were all terribly out, but the audience did notsee it, " actors will often candidly admit. Although we in frontsometimes see and hear things we should not, some peculiarity of ourposition blinds and deafens us too much. Our eyes are beguiled intoaccepting age for youth, shabbiness for finery, tinsel for splendour. Garrick frankly owned that he had once appeared upon the stage soinebriated as to be scarcely able to articulate, but "his friendsendeavoured to stifle or cover this trespass with loud applause, " andthe majority of the audience did not perceive that anythingextraordinary was the matter. What happened to Garrick on thatoccasion has happened to others of his profession. And our ears do notcatch much of what is uttered on the stage. Young, the actor, used torelate that on one occasion, when playing the hero of "The Gamester"to the Mrs. Beverley of Sarah Siddons, he was so overcome by thepassion of her acting as to be quite unable to proceed with his part. There was a long pause, during which the prompter several timesrepeated the words which Beverley should speak. Then "Mrs. Siddonscoming up to her fellow-actor, put the tips of her fingers upon hisshoulders, and said, in a low voice, 'Mr. Young, recollect yourself. '"Yet probably from the front of the house nothing was seen or heard ofthis. In the same way the players will sometimes prompt each otherthrough whole scenes, interchange remarks as to necessary adjustmentsof dress, or instructions as to "business" to be gone through, withoutexciting the attention of the audience. Kean's pathetic whisper, "I amdying, speak to them for me, " when, playing for the last time, he sankinto the arms of his son, was probably not heard across the orchestra. 

Mrs. Fanny Kemble, in her "Journal" of her Tour in America, gives anamusing account of a performance of the last scene of "Romeo andJuliet, " not as it seemed to the spectators, but as it really was, with the whispered communications of the actors. Romeo, at the words"Quick, let me snatch thee to thy Romeo's arms, " pounced upon hisplayfellow, plucked her up in his arms "like an uncomfortable bundle, "and staggered down the stage with her. Juliet whispers; "Oh, you'vegot me up horridly! That'll never do; let me down! Pray let me down!"But Romeo proceeds, from the acting version of the play, be itunderstood:

 There, breathe a vital spirit on thy lips, And call thee back, my soul, to life and love!

Juliet continues to whisper: "Pray put me down; you'll certainly throwme down if you don't set me on the ground directly. " "In the midst of'cruel, cursed fate, ' his dagger fell out of his dress. I, embracinghim tenderly, crammed it back again, because I knew I should want itat the end. " The performance thus went on:

 ROMEO. Tear not my heart-strings thus! They break! they crack! Juliet! Juliet! [_Dies. _

 JULIET (_to corpse_). Am I smothering you?

 CORPSE. Not at all. But could you, do you think, be so kind as to put my wig on again for me? It has fallen off. 

 JULIET (_to corpse_). I'm afraid I can't, but I'll throw my muslin veil over it. You've broken the phial, haven't you? (_Corpse nodded_). 

 JULIET (_to corpse_). Where's your dagger?

 CORPSE (_to Juliet_). 'Pon my soul I don't know. 

The same vivacious writer supplies a corresponding account of therepresentation of "Venice Preserved, " in which, of course, sheappeared as Belvidera. "When I went on, I was near tumbling down atthe sight of my Jaffier, who looked like the apothecary in 'Romeo andJuliet, ' with the addition of some devilish red slashes along histhighs and arms. The first scene passed off well, but, oh! the next, and the next to that! Whenever he was not glued to my side (and thatwas seldom), he stood three yards behind me; he did nothing but seizemy hand and grapple it so hard that, unless I had knocked him down(which I felt much inclined to try), I could not disengage myself. Inthe senate scene, when I was entreating for mercy, and struggling, asOtway has it, for my life, he was prancing round the stage in everydirection, flourishing his dagger in the air. I wish to heaven I hadgot up and run away: it would have been natural, and have served himextremely right. In the parting scene--oh, what a scene itwas!--instead of going away from me when he said, 'Farewell for ever!'he stuck to my skirts, though in the same breath that I adjured him, in the words of my part, not to leave me, I added, aside, 'Get awayfrom me, oh do!' When I exclaimed, 'Not one kiss at parting!' he keptembracing and kissing me like mad, and when I ought to have beenpursuing him, and calling after him, 'Leave thy dagger with me!' hehung himself up against the wing, and remained dangling there for fiveminutes. I was half crazy. I prompted him constantly, and once, afterstruggling in vain to free myself from him, was obliged, in the middleof my part, to exclaim, 'You hurt me dreadfully, Mr. ----. ' He clung tome, cramped me, crumpled me--dreadful! I never experienced anythinglike this before, and made up my mind that I never would again. "

Yet the ludicrous imperfections of this performance passed unnoticedby the audience. The applause seems to have been unbounded, and theJaffier of the night was even honoured by a special call before thecurtain!

There is hardly necessity for further record of the curiosities ofstage whispers; but here is a story of a _sotto voce_ communicationwhich must have gravely troubled its recipient. A famous Lady Macbeth, "starring" in America, had been accidentally detained on her journeyto a remote theatre. She arrived in time only to change her dressrapidly and hurry on the scene. The performers were all strangers toher. At the conclusion of her first soliloquy, a messenger shouldenter to announce the coming of King Duncan. But what was heramazement to hear, in answer to her demand, "What is your tidings?"not the usual reply, "The king comes here to-night, " but the whisper, spoken from behind a Scotch bonnet, upheld to prevent the wordsreaching the ears of the audience, "Hush! I'm Macbeth. We've cut themessenger out--go on, please!"

Another disconcerted performer must have been the provincial RichardIII. , to whom the Ratcliffe of the theatre--who ordinarily playedharlequin, and could not enter without something of that tripping andtwirling gait peculiar to pantomime--brought the information, longbefore it was due, that "the Duke of Buckingham is taken!" "Not yet, you fool, " whispered Richard. "Beg pardon; thought he was, " criedHarlequin Ratcliffe, as, carried away by his feelings or the force ofhabit, he threw what tumblers call "a Catherine wheel, " and made arapid exit. 

We conclude with noting a stage whisper of an old-established and yetmost mysterious kind. In a book of recent date dealing with theatricallife, we read that the words "John Orderly" uttered by the proprietorof a strolling theatre, behind the scenes, or in the wings of hisestablishment, constitute a hint to the players to curtail theperformances and allow the curtain to fall as soon as may be. Who was"John Orderly, " and how comes his name to be thus used as a watchword?The Life of Edwin the actor, written by (to quote Macaulay) "thatfilthy and malignant baboon, John Williams, who called himselfAnthony Pasquin, " and published late in the last century, contains thefollowing passage: "When theatric performers intend to abridge an actor play, they are accustomed to say, we will 'John Audley' it. Itoriginated thus: In the year 1749, Shuter was master of a booth atBartholomew Fair in West Smithfield, and it was his mode to lengthenthe exhibition until a sufficient number of persons were gathered atthe door to fill the house. This event was signified by a fellowpopping his head in at the gallery door and bellowing out 'JohnAudley!' as if in the act of inquiry, though the intention was to letShuter know that a fresh audience were in high expectation below. Theconsequence of this notification was that the entertainments wereinstantly concluded, and the gates of the booth thrown open for a newauditory. " That "John Audley" should be in time corrupted into "JohnOrderly, " is intelligible enough. We don't look to the showman or thestrolling manager for nicety or correctness of pronunciation. Butwhether such a person as John Audley ever existed, who he was, andwhat he did, that his name should be handed down in this way, fromgeneration to generation, we are still left inquiring. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

STAGE GHOSTS. 

The ghost, as a vehicle of terror, a solvent of dramatic difficulties, and a source of pleasurable excitement to theatrical audiences, seemsto have become quite an extinct creature. As Bob Acres said of"damns, " ghosts "have had their day;" or perhaps it would be morecorrect to say, their night. It may be some consolation to them, however, in their present fallen state, to reflect that they were atone time in the enjoyment of an almost boundless prosperity andpopularity. For long years they were accounted among the most preciouspossessions of the stage. Addison writes in "The Spectator": "Amongthe several artifices which are put in practice by the poets, to fillthe minds of the audience with terror, the first place is due tothunder and lightning, which are often made use of at the descendingof a god, at the vanishing of a devil, or at the death of a tyrant. Ihave known a bell introduced into several tragedies with good effect, and have seen the whole assembly in very great alarm all the while ithas been ringing. But there is nothing which delights and terrifiesour English theatre so much as a ghost, especially when he appears ina bloody shirt. A spectre has very often saved a play, though he hasdone nothing but stalked solemnly across the stage, or rose through acleft in it and sunk again without speaking one word. There may be aproper season for these several terrors, and when they only come in asaids and assistances to the poet, they are not only to be excused butto be applauded. "

The reader may be reminded that Shakespeare has evinced a verydecided partiality for ghosts. In "The Second Part of King Henry VI. , "Bolingbroke, the conjurer, raises up a spirit. In "Julius Cæsar, "Brutus is visited in his tent by the ghost of the murdered Cæsar. In"Hamlet, " we have, of course, the ghost of the late king. In "Macbeth"the ghost of Banquo takes his seat at the banquet, and in the caldronscene we are shown apparitions of "an armed head, " "a bloody child, ""a child crowned, with a tree in his hand, " and "eight kings" who passacross the stage, "the last with a glass in his hand. " In "RichardIII. " quite a large army of ghosts present and address themselvesalternately to Richard and to Richmond. The ghosts of Prince Edward, Henry VI. , Clarence, Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan, Hastings, the twoyoung Princes, Queen Anne, and Buckingham invoke curses upon thetyrant and blessings upon his opponent. It would be hard to find inthe annals of the drama another instance of such an assembly ofapparitions present upon the stage at the same time. 

In Otway's tragedy of "Venice Preserved, " the ghosts of Jaffier andPierre, which confronted the distracted Belvidera in the last scene, were for a long time very popular apparitions, although in laterperformances of the play it was thought proper to omit them, and toallow the audience to imagine their presence, or to conclude thatBelvidera only fancied that she saw them. Here, however, is theextract from the original play:

 BELVIDERA. Ha! look there! [_The Ghosts of Jaffier and Pierre rise together, both bloody. _ My husband bloody, and his friend too! Murder! Who has done this? Speak to me, thou sad vision! [_Ghosts sink. _ On these poor trembling knees, I beg it. Vanished! Here they went down. Oh! I'll dig, dig the den up. You shan't delude me thus. Ho! Jaffier, Jaffier, Peep up and give me but a look. I have him! I've got him, father! Oh, now I'll smuggle him! My love! my dear! my blessing! help me! help me! They have hold on me, and drag me to the bottom. Nay, now they pull so hard. Farewell. [_She dies. _

 MAID. She's dead. Breathless and dead. 

This may seem very sad stuff, but it would be unfair to judge Otway'splays by this one extract. "Venice Preserved" is now shelved as anacting drama, but it was formerly received with extraordinary favour, and is by no means deficient in poetic merit. Campbell, the poet, speaks of it, in his life of Mrs. Siddons, as "a tragedy which soconstantly commands the tears of audiences that it would be a work ofsupererogation for me to extol its tenderness. There may be dramaswhere human character is depicted with subtler skill--though Belvideramight rank among Shakespeare's creations; and 'Venice Preserved' maynot contain, like 'Macbeth' and 'Lear, ' certain high conceptions whichexceed even the power of stage representation--but it is as full as atragedy can be of all the pathos that is transfusable into action. "Belvidera was one of Mrs. Siddons's greatest characters. Campbellnotes that "until the middle of the last century the ghosts of Jaffierand Pierre used to come in upon the stage, haunting Belvidera in herlast agonies, which certainly require no aggravation from spectralagency. " The play was much condensed for presentment on the stage; butit would not appear that Belvidera's dying speech, quoted above, wasinterfered with. Boaden, in his memoir of the actress, expresslycommends Mrs. Siddons's delivery of the passage, "I'll dig, dig theden up!" and the action which accompanied the words. 

For the time ghosts had been only incidental to a performance;by-and-by they were to become the main features and attractions ofstage representation. Still they had not escaped ridicule andcaricature. Fielding, in his burlesque tragedy of "Tom Thumb, "introduced the audience to a scene between King Arthur and the ghostof Gaffer Thumb. The king threatens to kill the ghost, and prepares toexecute his threat, when the apparition kindly explains to him, "I ama ghost and am already dead. " "Ye stars!" exclaims King Arthur, "'tiswell. "

In his humorous notes to the published play, Fielding states, withmock gravity: "Of all the particulars in which the modern stage fallsshort of the ancient, there is none so much to be lamented as thegreat scarcity of ghosts. Whence this proceeds I will not presume todetermine. Some are of opinion that the moderns are unequal to thatsublime sort of language which a ghost ought to speak. One saysludicrously that ghosts are out of fashion; another that they areproperer for comedy; forgetting, I suppose, that Aristotle hath toldus that a ghost is the soul of tragedy, " &c. &c. But when, towards thecommencement of the present century, melodrama was first brought uponthe boards, the novels of Mrs. Radcliffe were being dramatised, andsuch pieces as "The Tale of Mystery, " "The Bleeding Nun, " and "TheCastle Spectre, " were obtaining public favour, it was clear that roomwas being made for the stage ghost; the way was cleared for it tobecome the be-all and the end-all of the performance, the prominentattraction of the evening. 

Here is an extract from Lewis's "Castle Spectre, " including certainstage directions, by no means the least important part of the play. 

 _Enter_ HASSAN, _hastily_. 

 HASSAN. My lord, all is lost! Percy has surprised the castle, and speeds this way!

 OSMOND. Confusion! Then I must be sudden! Aid me, Hassan!

 HASSAN _and_ OSMOND _force_ ANGELA _from her father, who suddenly disengages himself from_ MULEY _and_ ALARIC. OSMOND, _drawing his sword, rushes upon_ REGINALD, _who is disarmed, and beaten upon his knees; when at the moment that_ OSMOND _lifts his arm to stab him, _ EVELINA'S _ghost throws herself between them_. OSMOND _starts back and drops his sword. _

 OSMOND. Horror! What form is this?

 ANGELA. Die!

 _Disengages herself from_ HASSAN, _who springs suddenly forward, and plunges her dagger in_ OSMOND'S _bosom, who falls with a loud groan and faints. The ghost vanishes. _ ANGELA _and_ REGINALD _rush into each other's arms. _

"The Castle Spectre" enjoyed great success. It was supported by thewhole strength of the Drury Lane company, John Kemble appearing asEarl Percy, and Mrs. Jordan as the heroine, and was repeated somefifty nights during its first season. 

It may be worth recording that in the course of the play, the greatJohn Kemble was required to execute, not exactly what is now known asa "sensation header, " but still a gymnastic feat of some difficultyand danger. Earl Percy has something of the agility of a harlequinabout him, and when he obtains admission into his enemy's castle torescue Angela, he is required to climb from a sofa up to a gothicwindow high above him, and then, alarmed by the approach of his negrosentinels, to fall from the height flat again at full length upon hissofa, and to pretend to be asleep as his guards had previously lefthim. Kemble is said to have done this "as boldly and suddenly as ifhe had been shot. " When people complimented him upon his unsuspectedagility, he would answer: "Nay, gentlemen, Mr. Boaden has exceeded allcompliment upon this feat of mine, for he counselled me from Macbethto 'jump the life to come. '" "It was melancholy, " comments Mr. Boaden, recording the success of the play, "to see the abuse of such talents;"and then he adds the remarkable opinion: "It is only in a barn thatthe Cato of a company should be allowed to risk his neck!"

Against "The Castle Spectre" the critics, of course, raised theirvoices. Its popularity was viewed with much bitterness and jealousy. "The great run the piece had, " writes the reverend author of "TheHistory of the Stage, " "is a striking proof that success is a veryuncertain criterion of merit. The plot is rendered contemptible by theintroduction of the ghost. " "I hope it will not be hereafterbelieved, " cried Cooke the actor, "that 'The Castle Spectre' couldattract crowded houses when the most sublime productions of theimmortal Shakespeare could be played to empty benches. " A disputearising in the green-room of the theatre between Lewis and Sheridan, Lewis offered to bet all the money which the play had brought that hewas in the right. "No, " said Sheridan, "I can't afford to bet so muchas that; but I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll bet you all it's worth. "Still, there was no cavilling down the play. The stage ghost wastriumphant. He had attained his apogee. "The Castle Spectre" remaineda stock piece for years, and has even appeared upon the stage in quiterecent times. 

Formerly the public had been satisfied with a very prosaic ghost. Asubstantial figure, with a whitened face, and a streak of red paint onhis brow, was thrust through a trap-door, and it was held that all hadbeen done that was necessary in the way of stage illusion. The ghostof Hamlet's father was frequently attired in a suit of real armourborrowed from the Tower. There is a story of a ghost thus heavilyaccoutred, who, overcome by the weight of his harness, fell down onthe stage and rolled towards the foot-lights, the pit raising an alarmlest the poor apparition should indeed be burnt by the fires of thelamps. Barton Booth, the great actor in the time of Queen Anne andGeorge I. , is said to have been the first representative of the ghostin "Hamlet" who wore list shoes to deaden the noise of his footstepsas he moved across the stage. In the poem of "The Actor, " by RobertLloyd, the friend of Churchill, published in 1757, we have an explicitdescription of the treatment of ghosts then in vogue upon the stage, with special reference to the ghost of "our dear friend" Banquo:

 But in stage customs what offends me most Is the slip-door, and slowly rising ghost. Tell me--nor count the question too severe-- Why need the dismal powdered forms appear? When chilling horrors shake the affrighted king, And guilt torments him with her scorpion sting, When keenest feelings at his bosom pull, And fancy tells him that the seat is full; Why need the ghost usurp the monarch's place, To frighten children with his mealy face? The king alone should form the phantom there, And talk and tremble at the vacant chair. 

Farther on the poet discourses of the ghosts in "Venice Preserved, " ofwhich mention has already been made:

 If Belvidera her loved lost deplore, Why for twin spectres burst the yawning floor? When, with disordered starts and horrid cries, She paints the murdered forms before her eyes, And still pursues them with a frantic stare, 'Tis pregnant madness brings the visions there. More instant horror would enforce the scene If all her shudderings were at shapes unseen. 

It may have been due to Lloyd's poem, and to the opinions it expressedand obtained favour for, that when Drury Lane Theatre opened in 1794with a performance of "Macbeth, " the experiment was tried of omittingthe appearance of Banquo's ghost, and leaving its presence to beimagined by the spectators. The alteration, however, was not found tobe agreeable to the audience. While granting that Mr. Kemble's fineacting was almost enough to make them believe they really did see theghost, they preferred that there should be no mistake about thematter, and that Banquo's shade should come on bodily--be distinctlyvisible. Further, they were able to point to Shakespeare's stagedirection: "Enter the ghost of Banquo, and sits in Macbeth's place. "Surely there could be no mistake, they argued, as to what thedramatist himself intended. In subsequent performances the old systemwas restored, and in all modern representations of the tragedy thephantom has not failed to be visible to the spectators. NeverthelessBanquo's ghost remains the _crux_ of stage managers. How to get himon? How to get him off? How to make him look anything like aghost--respectable, if not awful? How to avoid that distressing tittergenerally audible among those of the spectators who cannot suppresstheir sense of the ludicrous even in one of Shakespeare's grandestscenes? Upon a darkened stage a ghost, skilfully attired in vaporousdraperies, may be made sufficiently impressive, as in "Hamlet, " forinstance. The shade of the departed king, if tolerably treated, seldomprovokes a smile, even from the most hardened and jocose ofspectators. But in "Macbeth" the scene must be well lighted, for thenobles, courtiers, and guests are at high banquet; and the ghost mustappear towards the front of the stage, otherwise Macbeth will becompelled to turn his back upon the public, and his simulated horrorwill be absolutely thrown away; if the actor's face cannot be seen, his acting, of necessity, goes for little or nothing. Even in our owndays of triumphant stage illusion, it must be owned that thepresentment of Banquo's ghost still remains incomplete andunsatisfactory; but where such adroit managers as Mr. Macready, Mr. Charles Kean, and Mr. Phelps (to name no more) have failed, it seemsvain to hope for success. Pictorially, Banquo's ghost has faredbetter, as all who are acquainted with Mr. Maclise's "Macbeth" willreadily acknowledge. 

A curious fact in connection with the Banquo of Betterton's time mayhere be noted. Banquo was represented by an actor named Smith; theghost, however, was personated by another actor--Sandford. Why thisdivision of the part between two performers? Smith was possessed of ahandsome face and form, whereas Sandford was of "a low and crookedfigure. " He was the stage villain of his time, and was famed for hisuncomely and malignant aspect; "the Spagnolet of the stage, " Cibbercalls him; but it is certainly strange that he should therefore haveenjoyed a prescriptive right to impersonate ghosts. 

The attempted omission of Banquo's ghost, however, made it clear thatthe old substantial shade emerging from a trap-door in the stage hadceased to satisfy the town. Something more was required. The publicwere becoming critical about their ghosts. Credit could not be givento the spirits of the theatre if they exceeded a certain consistency. There was a demand for something vaporous and unearthly, gliding, transparent, mysterious. Scenic illusion was acquiring an artisticquality. The old homely simple processes of the theatre were exploded. The audience would only be deceived upon certain terms. Mr. Boaden, adapting Ann Radcliffe's "Romance of the Forest" to the stage ofCovent Garden Theatre, records the anxiety he felt about the properpresentment of its supernatural incidents. The contrivance he hit uponhas since become one of the commonplaces of theatrical illusion. Itwas arranged that the spectre should be seen through a bluish-graygauze, so as to remove the too corporeal effect of a live actor, andconvert the moving substance into a gliding essence. 

The plan, however, was not carried into effect without considerabledifficulty. Mr. Harris, the manager, ordered a night rehearsal of theplay, so that the author might judge of the success of the effectsintroduced. The spectre was to be personated by one Thompson, a portlyjovial actor, whose views as to the treatment of the supernatural uponthe stage were of a very primitive kind. He appeared upon the sceneclad in the conventional solid armour of the theatre, with over all agray gauze veil, as stiff as buckram, thrown about him. Mr. Boadendescribes his horror and astonishment at the misconception. It hadbeen intended that the gauze, stretched on a frame, should cover aportal of the scene, and that the figure of the spectre should be seendimly through it. But even then the contour of Thompson was found veryinappropriate to a phantom. It was necessary to select for the part anactor of a slighter and taller form. At length a representative of theghost was found in the person of Follet, the clown, "celebrated forhis eating of carrots in the pantomimes. " Follet readily accepted thepart: his height was heroic, he was a skilled posture-maker, he waswell versed in the duties of a mime. Still there was a furtherdifficulty. The ghost had to speak--only two words, it is true--he hadto utter the words "Perished here!" and, as the clown very franklyadmitted: "'Perished here' will be exactly the fate of the author ifI'm left to say it. " The gallery would recognise the clown's voice, and all seriousness would be over for the evening. It was like the assin the lion's skin--he would bray, and all would be betrayed. At lastit was determined that the part should be divided; Follet shouldperform the actions of the ghost, while Thompson, in the wings, out ofthe sight of the audience, should pronounce the important words. Thesuccess of the experiment was signal. Follet, in a closely-fittingsuit of dark-gray stuff, made in the shape of armour, faintly visiblethrough the sheet of gauze, flitted across the stage like a shadow, amidst the breathless silence of the house, to be followed presently, on the falling of the curtain, by peal after peal of excited applause. 

A humorous story of a stage ghost is told in Raymond's "Life ofElliston, " aided by an illustration from the etching-needle of GeorgeCruikshank, executed in quite his happiest manner. Dowton the actor, performing a ghost part--to judge from the illustration, it must havebeen the ghost in "Hamlet, " but the teller of the story does not sayformally that such was the fact--had, of course, to be lowered in theold-fashioned way through a trap-door in the stage, his face beingturned towards the audience. Elliston and De Camp, concealed beneaththe stage, had provided themselves with small ratan canes, and astheir brother-actor slowly and solemnly descended, they applied theirsticks sharply and rapidly to the calves of his legs, unprotected bythe plate armour that graced his shins. Poor Dowton with difficultypreserved his gravity of countenance, or refrained from the utteranceof a yell of agony while in the presence of the audience. His lowerlimbs, beneath the surface of the stage, frisked and curvetted about"like a horse in Ducrow's arena. " His passage below was maliciouslymade as deliberate as possible. At length, wholly let down, andcompletely out of the sight of the audience, he looked round theobscure regions beneath the stage to discover the base perpetrators ofthe outrage. He was speechless with rage and burning for revenge. Elliston and his companion had of course vanished. Unfortunately, atthat moment, Charles Holland, another member of the company, splendidly dressed, appeared in sight. The enraged Dowton, mistakinghis man, and believing that Holland's imperturbability of manner wasassumed and an evidence of his guilt, seized a mop at that moment athand immersed in very dirty water, and thrusting it in his face, utterly ruined wig, ruffles, point-lace, and every particular of hiselaborate attire. In vain Holland protested his innocence andimplored for mercy; his cries only stimulated the avenger's exertions, and again and again the saturated mop did desperate execution over theunhappy victim's finery. 

Somewhat appeased at last, Dowton stayed his hand; but in the meantimeHolland was summoned to appear upon the stage. The play wasproceeding--what was to be done! All was confusion. It was notpossible for Holland to present himself before the audience in such aplight as he had been reduced to. An apology was made "for the suddenindisposition of Mr. Holland, " and the public were informed that "Mr. De Camp had kindly undertaken to go on for the part. " Whether Dowtonever discovered his real persecutors is not stated. The story, indeed, may not be true, or it may be much rouged and burnt-corked, as are somany theatrical anecdotes, to conceal its natural poverty and weaknessof constitution. But it is an amusing legend in any case. 

The melodrama of "The Corsican Brothers, " first produced in England atthe Princess's Theatre in 1852, and splendidly revived at the Lyceumby Mr. Irving in 1880, reawakened the public interest in the ghosts ofthe theatre; and the spectre that rose from the stage as from acellar, and crossing it, gained his full stature gradually as heproceeded, was for some time a great popular favourite, thoughburlesque dogged his course, and a certain ridicule always attendedhis exertions. The fidgety musical accompaniment brought from Paris, and known as "The Ghost Melody, " by M. Varney, excited muchadmiration, while the intricate stage machinery involved in theproduction of the apparition of Louis dei Franchi gave additionalinterest to the performance. Of late years the modern drama has madescarcely any addition to our stock of stage ghosts. The ingeniousinvention known as the Spectral Illusion of Messrs. Dircks and Pepperobtained great favour at one time, and awakened some interest upon thesubject of theatrical phantoms. But it soon became clear that thepublic cared for the Illusion, and not for the Spectre. They wereconcerned about the mechanism of the contrivance, not awed by thesupernatural appearances it brought before them. When once you beginto inquire by what process a ghost is produced, it is clear you arenot moved by its character as a spectre merely. Puppets lose theirpower to please when the spectators are bent upon detecting the wiresby which they are made to move. 

The old melodramatic stage ghost--the spectre of "The Castle Spectre"school of plays--the phantom in a white sheet with a dab of red paintupon its breast, that rose from behind a tomb when a blow was struckupon a gong and a teaspoonful of blue fire was lighted in the wings, probably found its last home in the travelling theatre long known as"Richardson's. " Expelled from the regular theatre, it became awanderer upon the face of the earth, appearing at country fairs, andbringing to bear upon remote agricultural populations those terrorsthat had long since lost all value in the eyes of the townsfolk. Itlived to become a thing of scorn. "Richardson's Ghost" became a bywordfor a bankrupt phantom--a preposterous apparition, that was, in fact, only too thoroughly seen through: not to apply the words tooliterally. Whether there is still a show calling itself "Richardson's"(the original Richardson died a quarter of a century ago, and hisimmediate followers settled in a permanent London theatre long yearsback), and whether there is yet a phantom perambulating the countryand calling itself "Richardson's Ghost, " may be left to the verycurious to inquire into and determine. The travelling theatre nowadayshas lost its occupation. When the audiences began to travel, the stagecould afford to be stationary. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE BOOK OF THE PLAY. 

Mr. Thackeray has described a memorable performance at the TheatreRoyal, Chatteries. Arthur Pendennis and his young friend Harry Fokerwere among the audience; Lieutenants Rodgers and Podgers, and CornetTidmus, of the Dragoons, occupied a private box. The play was "TheStranger. " Bingley, the manager, appeared as the hero of the sombrework; Mrs. Haller was impersonated by Miss Fotheringay. "I think ye'lllike Miss Fotheringay in Mrs. Haller, or me name's not Jack Costigan, "observed the father of the actress. Bingley, we are told, was great inthe character of the Stranger, and wore the tight pantaloons andHessian boots which stage tradition has duly prescribed as the costumeof that doleful personage. "Can't stand you in tights and Hessians, Bingley, " young Mr. Foker had previously remarked. He had the stagejewellery on too, selecting "the largest and most shining rings forhimself, " and allowing his little finger to quiver out of his cloak, with a sham diamond ring covering the first joint of the finger, andtwiddling it in the faces of the pit. It is told of him that he madeit a favour to the young men of his company to go on in light-comedyparts with that ring. They flattered him by asking its history. "Ithad belonged to George Frederick Cooke, who had had it from Mr. Quin, who may have bought it for a shilling. " But Bingley fancied the worldwas fascinated by its glitter. 

And he read out of that stage-book--the genuine and old-established"book of the play"--that wonderful volume, "which is not bound likeany other book in the world, but is rouged and tawdry like the hero orheroine who holds it; and who holds it as people never do hold books:and points with his finger to a passage, and wags his head ominouslyat the audience, and then lifts up eyes and finger to the ceiling, professing to derive some intense consolation from the work betweenwhich and heaven there is a strong affinity. Any one, " proceeds theauthor of "Pendennis, " "who has ever seen one of our great lightcomedians X. , in a chintz dressing-gown, such as nobody ever wore, andrepresenting himself as a young nobleman in his apartments, andwhiling away the time with light literature, until his friend SirHarry shall arrive, or his father shall come down to breakfast--anybody, I say, who has seen the great X. Over a sham book, has indeed hada great pleasure, and an abiding matter for thought. "

The Stranger reads from morning to night, as his servant Francisreports of him. When he bestows a purse upon the aged Tobias, that hemay be enabled to purchase his only son's discharge from the army, hefirst sends away Francis with the stage-book, that there may be nowitness of the benevolent deed. "Here, take this book, and lay it onmy desk, " says the Stranger; and the stage direction runs: "Francisgoes into the lodge with the book. " Bingley, it is stated, marked thepage carefully, so that he might continue the perusal of the volumeoff the stage if he liked. Two acts later, and the Stranger is againto be beheld, "on a seat, reading. " But after that he has to put fromhim his precious book, for the incidents of the drama demand his veryserious attention. 

Dismissed from the Stranger, however, the stage-book probablyreappears in the afterpiece. In how many dramatic works figures thisuseful property--the "book of the play"? Shakespeare has by no meansdisdained its use. Imogen is discovered reading in her bed in thesecond act of "Cymbeline. " She inquires the hour of the lady inattendance:

 Almost midnight, madam. 

 IMOGEN. I have read three hours, then; mine eyes are weak. Fold down the leaf where I have left! To bed!

By-and-by, when Iachimo steals from his trunk to "note the chamber, "he observes the book, examines it, and proclaims its nature:

 She hath been reading late The tale of Tereus! here's the leaf turned down Where Philomel gave up. 

Brutus reads within his tent:

 Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turned down Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. How ill this taper burns! Ha! Who comes here?

And thereupon enters the ghost of Cæsar, and appoints a meeting atPhilippi. 

In the third act of "The Third Part of King Henry VI. , " that monarchenters, "disguised, with a prayer-book. " Farther on, when a prisonerin the Tower, he is "discovered sitting with a book in his hand, theLieutenant attending;" when Gloucester enters, abruptly dismisses theLieutenant, and forthwith proceeds to the assassination of the king. 

But Gloucester himself is by-and-by to have dealings with the "book ofthe play. " In the seventh scene of the third act of "King RichardIII. , " a stage direction runs: "Enter Gloucester in a gallery above, between two bishops. " Whereupon the Lord Mayor, who has come withdivers aldermen and citizens to beseech the duke to accept the crownof England, observes:

 See where his grace stands 'tween two clergymen!

Says Buckingham:

 Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, To stay him from the fall of vanity; And, see, a book of prayer in his hand; True ornaments to know a holy man. 

The mayor and citizens departing, Gloucester, in Cibber's actingversion of the tragedy, was wont wildly to toss his prayer-book in theair. Here is an apposite note from John Taylor's "Records of my Life, "relative to Garrick's method of accomplishing this piece of stagebusiness: "My father, who saw him perform King Richard on the firstnight of his appearance at Goodman's Fields, told me that the audiencewere particularly struck with his manner of throwing away the bookwhen the lord mayor and aldermen had retired, as it manifested aspirit totally different from the solemn dignity which characterisedthe former old school, and which his natural acting whollyoverturned. "

A certain antiquary, when Kemble first assumed the part of Richard, took objection to the prayer-book he affected to read in this scene. "This book, " writes Boaden, "for aught I know the 'Secret History ofthe Green Room, ' which Kemble took from the property-man before hewent on, our exact friend said should have been some illuminatedmissal. This was somewhat inconsistent, because one would suppose theheart of the antiquary must have grieved to see the actor skirr awayso precious a relic of the dark ages, as if, like Careless, in 'TheSchool for Scandal, ' he would willingly 'knock down the mayor andaldermen. '" It was at this time, probably, that antiquarianism firststirred itself on the subject of scenic decorations. The solitarybanner unfurled by Kemble, as Richard, bore a white rose embroideredupon it. "What!" cried the antiquaries, "a king of England battlingwith invaders and yet not displaying his royal banner!" And remark wasmade upon the frequent mention of armour that occurs in the laterscenes of the play. We have "locked up in steel;" "What! is my beavereasier than it was?" "And all my armour laid into my tent;" "Thearmourers accomplishing the knights;" "With clink of hammers closingrivets up;" "Your friends up and buckle on their armour. " Yet, asBoaden relates, it was no less strange than true, that, in Kemble'stime, "excepting the breastplate and thigh-pieces on Richmond, not oneof the _dramatis personæ_ had the smallest particle of armour upon himin either army. "

There is a stage-book in "King Henry VIII. " The Duke of Norfolk, inthe second act, "opens a folding-door; the king is discovered sittingand reading pensively. " The book of Prospero is spoken of, but notseen. In "Hamlet" the stage-book plays an important part. SaysPolonius to Ophelia, when he and Claudius would be "lawful espials" ofher meeting with Hamlet:

 Read on this book, That show of such an exercise may colour Your loneliness. 

The book is now usually a missal which the lady employs at herorisons. But it is oftentimes--for so stage-management will haveit--the identical volume with which Hamlet had entered reading in anearlier act, and which he describes, upon being interrogated byPolonius, as containing, "words, words, words!" and "slanders, sir!"It was John Kemble's way, we are told, to tear out a leaf from thebook at this period of the performance, by way of conveying the"stronger impression of Hamlet's wildness. " The actor's method ofrendering this scene has not been adopted by later representatives ofthe character. Indeed, a long run of the tragedy, such as happens inthese times, would involve serious outlay for stage-books, if sodestructive a system were persisted in. Moreover, there is no sort ofwarrant in the text for tearing a leaf out of the "satirical rogue's"work. 

The "book of the play" frequently figures in theatrical anecdote. Wilkinson relates, that when Reddish made his first essay upon thestage, he inserted a paragraph in the newspaper, informing the publicthat he was "a gentleman of easy fortune. " He appeared as Sir JohnDorilant, in "The School for Lovers, " and in the course of hisperformance threw from him an elegantly-bound book, which he wassupposed to have been studying. Observing this, a gentleman in the pitinquired of Macklin, who happened to be present: "Pray, sir, do youthink such conduct natural?" "Why, no, sir, " Macklin replied gravely, "not in a Sir John Dorilant, but strictly natural as Mr. Reddish; for, as you know, he has advertised himself as a gentleman of easyfortune. " It has been pointed out, however, that the inaccuracy, fatalto so many anecdotes, affects even this one. The book is thrown awayin strict accordance with the stage directions of the play; and it isso treated, not by Sir John Dorilant, but by another character namedBelmont. 

Macklin administered a similar rebuke, while his comedy of "TheTrue-born Irishman" was in rehearsal, to an actor personating one ofthe characters, and acquitting himself very indifferently. Upon hismispronouncing the name of Lady Kennegad, Macklin stepped up to himand demanded angrily, "What trade he was of?" The player replied thathe was a gentleman. Macklin rejoined: "Stick to that, sir! stick tothat; for you will never be an actor. "

In Farquhar's comedy of "The Inconstant, " when Bisarre is firstaddressed by Mirabel and Duretête, Miss Farren, playing Bisarre, helda book in her hand, which she affected to have been reading before shespoke. Mrs. Jordan, we are told, who afterwards assumed the character, declined to make use of the stage-book, and dispensed with italtogether. She sat perfectly still, affecting to be lost in thought. Then, before speaking, she took a pinch of snuff! Half a century ago aheroine who indulged in snuff was deemed no more objectionable than isone of our modern heroes of the stage, who cannot forego cigars orcigarettes. 

There is a stage-book to be seen in "The School for Scandal. " JosephSurface affects to pore over its pages immediately after he hassecreted Lady Teazle behind the screen, and while Sir Peter is on thestairs. "Ever improving himself, " notes Sir Peter, and then taps thereader on the shoulder. Joseph starts. "I have been dozing over astupid book, " he says; and the stage direction bids him "gape, andthrow down the book. " And many volumes are needed in "The Rivals. "Miss Languish's maid Lucy returns after having traversed half thetown, and visited all the circulating libraries in Bath. She hasfailed to obtain "The Reward of Constancy;" "The Fatal Connexion;""The Mistakes of the Heart;" "The Delicate Mistress, or the Memoirs ofLady Woodford. " But she has secured, as she says, "taking the booksfrom under her cloak, and from her pockets, 'The Gordian Knot' and'Peregrine Pickle. ' Here are 'The Tears of Sensibility' and 'HumphryClinker. ' This, 'The Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, ' written byherself; and here the second volume of 'The Sentimental Journey. '"

 LYDIA. Heigh-ho! What are those books by the glass?

 LUCY. The great one is only "The Whole Duty of Man, " where I press a few blonds, ma'am. 

 LYDIA. Very well; give me the sal volatile. 

 LUCY. Is it in a blue cover, ma'am?

 LYDIA. My smelling-bottle, you simpleton!

 LUCY. Oh, the drops! Here, ma'am. 

Presently the approach of Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute isannounced. Cries Lydia: "Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, quick. Fling 'Peregrine Pickle' under the toilet; throw 'RoderickRandom' into the closet; put 'The Innocent Adultery' into 'The WholeDuty of Man;' thrust 'Lord Aimworth' under the sofa; cram 'Ovid'behind the bolster; there, put 'The Man of Feeling' into yourpocket--so, so--now lay 'Mrs. Chapone' in sight, and leave 'Fordyce'sSermons' open on the table. "

 LUCY. O, burn it, ma'am. The hairdresser has torn away as far as "Proper Pride. "

 LYDIA. Never mind; open at "Sobriety. " Fling me "Lord Chesterfield's Letters. " Now for 'em!

It will be perceived that the property-master of the theatre is hererequired to produce quite a library of stage-books. Does he buy themby the dozen, from the nearest book-stall--out of that trunk full ofmiscellaneous volumes, boldly labelled, "All these at fourpence"? Anddoes he then recover them with the bright blue or scarlet that is sodear to him, daubing them here and there with his indispensable Dutchmetal? Of course their contents can matter little. Like all the otherthings of the theatre, they are not what they pretend to be, nor whatthey would have the audience think them. The "book of the play" issomething of a mystery. Let us take for granted, however, that it israrely interesting to the reader, that it is not one of those volumeswhich, when once taken up, cannot again be laid down--which thrill, enchain, and absorb. For otherwise what might happen? When somenecessary question of the play had to be considered, the actor, over-occupied with the volume in his hand, fairly tied and bound byits chain of interest, might forget his part--the book might ruin theplay. Of course such an accident could not be permitted. Thestage-book is bound to be a dull book, however much it may seem toentertain Brutus and Henry, the Stranger and Bisarre, Hamlet andJoseph Surface, Imogen and Lydia Languish. It is in truth, a book forall stage-readers. Now it is a prayer-book--as in the case of RichardIII. ; and now, in "The Hunchback, " it is "Ovid's Art of Love. "According to the prompt-book of the play, Modus is to enter "with aneatly-bound book. "

 HELEN. What is the book?

 MODUS. Tis "Ovid's Art of Love. "

 HELEN. That Ovid was a fool. 

 MODUS. In what?

 HELEN. In that. To call that thing an art which art is none. 

She strikes the book from his hand, and reproves him for reading inthe presence of a lady. 

 MODUS. Right you say, And well you served me, cousin, so to strike The volume from my hand. I own my fault: So please you--may I pick it up again? I'll put it in my pocket. 

It is the misfortune of the "book of the play" to be much maltreatedby the _dramatis personæ_. It is now flung away, now torn, now struckto earth; the property-master, it may be, watching its fate from theside-wings--anxious not so much because of its contents or intrinsicvalue, as on account of the gaudy cover his art has supplied it with, and the pains he must take to repair any injuries it may receive inthe course of the performance. 

CHAPTER XX. 

"HALF-PRICE AT NINE O'CLOCK. "

The plan of admitting the public to the theatres at "half-price, "after the conclusion of a certain portion of the entertainments of theevening, has, of late years, gone out of fashion. Half-price was aninstitution of old date, however, and by no means without advantage tothe playgoer. 

Formerly, the prices of admission to the theatres were not fixed sodefinitely as at present. In Colley Cibber's time it was held to bereasonable that the prices should be raised whenever a new play wasproduced, on account of which any great expense in the way of scenery, dresses, and decorations had been incurred, or when pantomimes werebrought out, involving an outlay of a thousand pounds or so. After thebloom had a little worn off these novelties, the prices fell again totheir old standard; consisting for some years of four shillings, twoshillings and sixpence, eighteenpence, and one shilling. 

In November, 1744, when Mr. Fleetwood was manager of Drury Lane, hewas charged by the public with raising his charges too capriciously, without the excuse of having presented his patrons with a new or acostly entertainment. Thereupon ensued a disturbance in the theatre, and Mr. Fleetwood was required by the audience to give an immediateexplanation of his conduct. The manager pleaded that not being anactor he was exempt from the necessity of appearing on the stagepublicly before the audience; but he gave notice, through one of hisplayers, that he was willing to confer with any persons might bedeputed to meet him in his own room. A deputation accordingly wentfrom the pit to confer with the manager, and the house waitedpatiently their return. The result of the consultation was stated in anote to the playbill of the following day (Saturday):

"Whenever a pantomime or farce shall be advertised, the advancedprices shall be returned to those who do not choose to stay; and, onThursday next, will be published the manager's reasons for his conductin the present dispute. "

This arrangement was very far from giving satisfaction, however, andthe disturbance was renewed the next night. A country gentleman, whohad distinguished himself by the warmth and violence of hisexpressions of disapproval, was forcibly removed by the constablesfrom the upper boxes and carried before a magistrate, who, however, itwould seem, declined to entertain the charge against the offender. Thetheatre was closed for two or three nights, and a notice appeared inthe playbills: "The great damage occasioned by the disturbances makesit impossible to perform. " The manager published an address to thepublic in _The General Advertiser_, setting forth a statement of thecase and justifying his conduct. 

He reminded the public that the extraordinary disturbances which hadlately occurred greatly affected their diversions as well as hisproperty. He apprehended that the reasons of complaint assigned were, "the exhibition of pantomimes, advanced prices, and insults on theaudience. " As to the first charge, he submitted that, howeverdistasteful pantomimes might be to the delicacy of some judgments, yetthey were suited to the taste of many others; and as the playhousemight be considered as the general mart of pleasure, it was only fromthe variety of entertainment the different desires of the public couldbe supplied. He urged that the receipts of the house were sufficientevidence that without the occasional performance of pantomimes hecould not afford to produce plays of a higher class. With regard tothe advance in prices, he hoped he should be thought justified in thatmeasure, when the great increase in his expenses was considered. Further, he conceived he should be no longer the subject of thedispleasure of the public, since he had complied with the demand thatthe advanced prices should be returned to those who quitted thetheatre after the first piece, without waiting to see the pantomime. He denied that he had ever had any intention to insult the audience. The arrest of the gentleman in the upper boxes was not in consequenceof his orders, nor was he in anyway acquainted with the fact untilafter the discharge of the prisoner. There had been a quarrel in thetheatre and much confusion consequent upon some persons flinging thecandles and sconces on the stage. He denied that he had employed"bruisers" to coerce the audience. The peace-officers, carpenters, andscenemen (which last, on account of the pantomime, were verynumerous), and other servants of the theatre, had not appeared untilthe tumult was at its height. The benches were being torn up, andthere were threats of storming the stage and demolishing the scenes. If any "bruisers" were in the pit, the manager presumed that they musthave entered the house with the multitude who came in after thedoorkeepers had been driven from their posts. Finally, he appealed tothe public to pronounce whether, after the concession he had made, andthe injury he had sustained, to the extent of several hundred pounds, they would persist in a course which would only deprive them of theirdiversions, the players of subsistence, and compel him to resign hisproperty. 

This appeal had its effect: the disturbance ceased: although there wassome discontent that an arrangement so profitable to the manager hadbeen agreed to. It was found that in practice, when people were oncecomfortably seated, "very few ever went out to demand their advancedmoney; and those few very soon grew tired of doing so; until at lastit settled in the quiet payment of the advanced prices. " Mr. Fleetwood, however, did not long continue in the management. 

In the year 1763 there occurred another disturbance. An adaptation ofShakespeare's "Two Gentlemen of Verona, " by Mr. Benjamin Victor, hadbeen produced at Drury Lane Theatre. It was played five nights withsuccess, but, on the sixth, when, according to the old theatricalcustom, the receipts went to the author of the adaptation, theperformance was interrupted. "A set of young men, " writes Mr. Victor, "who called themselves 'The Town, ' had consulted together anddetermined to compel the manager to admit them at the end of the thirdact at half-price to every performance except in the run of a newpantomime; and they chose to make that demand on the sixth night of'The Two Gentlemen of Verona, ' though it was printed on the playbills'for the benefit of the author of the alterations. '" The performanceof the play was actually forbidden. One Mr. Fitzpatrick, who was theavowed ringleader of the reformers, harangued the audience from theboxes, and set forth in very warm language the impositions of themanagers, vehemently pleading the right of the public to fix the priceof their bill of fare. Garrick came forward to address the house, butwas received with a storm of disapprobation, and refused a hearing. The uproar continued; the benches were torn up, and the lustres andgirandoles broken. Ultimately, the money taken at the doors wasreturned to the audience, and the theatre cleared. 

On the following night, Mr. Mallet's tragedy of "Elvira" was playedfor the first time. The disturbance was renewed, and Mr. Garrick wascalled for. He was asked peremptorily: "Will you or will you not giveadmittance for half-price after the third act of a play, except duringthe first winter a pantomime is performed?" The manager, dreading arepetition of the riot of the preceding evening, replied in theaffirmative. A demand was then made for an apology from Moody theactor, who had interfered to prevent the theatre being fired. Moodyappeared, and, after an Irish fashion, expressed regret that he haddispleased the audience "by saving their lives in putting out thefire. " This pleasantry was very ill received. Mr. Fitzpatrick's partyinsisted that the actor should go down on his knees and implore theirpardon. Moody refused with an oath, and abruptly quitted the stage. Hewas received with open arms by Garrick in the wings, who assured himhe should not suffer for his spirited conduct. But the tumult in thetheatre became so great, that the manager was compelled to promisethat Moody should not appear on the stage while he was under thedispleasure of the public. A reconciliation was some time afterwardsbrought about between the actor and his audience. It may be noted thatin 1763, according to a manuscript memorandum in his own hand(discovered by Mr. Parkes), Sir Phillip Francis, the supposed"Junius, " commenced to write anonymously for the Press, the occasionbeing "a row in a theatre, to help Fitzpatrick out of the scrape. "

Mr. Fitzpatrick's plan of reform was supposed to be chiefly levelledat Mr. Garrick, yet it became evident that the management of the rivaltheatre must be made to accept the regulations that had been imposedon Drury Lane. With this view the rioters paid a visit to CoventGarden, where the opera of "Artaxerxes" was being represented. Mr. Fitzpatrick delivered his inflammatory speech from the boxes, andinsisted upon immediate compliance with the demands of his party. Mr. Beard, the manager, replied with great firmness. He stated that operashad never been performed at such low prices as at his theatre; thathis expenses were very great; and, he urged, that the public shouldnot grudge the full price of admission, seeing that no expense in theway of actors, dresses, scenery, music, and decorations of all kinds, had been spared for their entertainment. Finally, he declined toaccept the tariff of admission proposed by Mr. Fitzpatrick. A riotthen ensued, and so much damage was done that the carpenters wereemployed for four or five days in repairing the theatre. Mr. Beard, however, by means of a chief justice's warrant, brought two or threeof the rioters before Lord Mansfield. His lordship solemnly cautionedMr. Fitzpatrick that if any loss of life were to occur in consequenceof the breach of the peace he had instigated, the law would hold himaccountable for the disaster. This somewhat checked the violence ofthe rioters, who contented themselves thenceforward with laughing andhissing, and forbore to inflict injury upon the furniture and fittingsof the theatre. Mr. Beard, at last, finding it impossible to keep openthe doors of his theatre to any purpose, submitted to the terms of thedictators; peace was restored, and half-price established. 

The exception made in favour of new pantomimes was much remarked uponat the time. It was declared that the effect of the arrangement wouldbe to exalt a worthless class of entertainment at the expense oftragedy and comedy; in order to obtain full prices the managers wouldbe encouraged to produce a succession of pantomimes, to the neglect ofworks of real dramatic worth. Further, it was declared that theproceedings of Mr. Fitzpatrick, though professedly in the interests ofthe public, were, in truth, due to motives of private resentment andmalice. According to Davies, in his "Life of Garrick, " there wouldseem to be much reason for this charge. Mr. Fitzpatrick was agentleman of moderate fortune, constantly attending the theatres, frequenting the coffee-houses about Covent Garden, and dabbling indramatic criticism. He had been introduced to Garrick, had beenreceived with much favour by the great actor, and placed on the freelist of Drury Lane. His success somewhat turned his brain. He began toconceive himself a person of great importance. He assumed severelycritical airs, and published letters in "The Craftsman, " dealing withthe players, and especially with Garrick, after a very arrogant andacrimonious fashion. Garrick took up his pen to reply, and in his poem"The Fribbleriad"--the hero of which is named Fizgigg--he ratherseverely satirised his critic. Churchill, following suit, to theeighth edition of his "Rosciad" added fifty lines, scourging Mr. Fitzpatrick savagely enough. The "half-price" disturbance was themethod of replying to these attacks of the actor and his friend, whichMr. Fitzpatrick found to be the most suitable and convenient. ArthurMurphy, however, says for Mr. Fitzpatrick, that he was admired for histalents and amiable manners, and that Churchill caricatured him in the"Rosciad" to gratify the resentment of Garrick. In any case, however, it would be hard to justify the riot of which Fitzpatrick wascertainly the instigator. 

In 1817, the experiment was tried at the English Opera House, orLyceum Theatre, of giving two distinct performances in the evening, inlieu of taking half-price at nine o'clock. The management alleged thatobjection had been taken to the length of theatrical performances, which were often made to extend over five hours; that the half-pricesystem did not remedy the evil complained of by those whose habits oflife or avocations would not permit their early attendance at thetheatre. "Many persons who would be desirous to witness the early partof a performance, are indisposed to pay the price of a whole evening'sentertainment, for that portion of it only which they can enjoy; andit may reasonably be supposed that thousands who might wish to enterthe theatre at a later hour (as at the usual time for second price), are wholly excluded by the certainty of finding the best seatsoccupied. Thus numberless persons, from the one or the other cause, are deterred from frequenting the amusements of the stage. " In order, therefore, to accommodate the patrons who required the performancesto commence at an early hour, and to gratify those who demanded thatthe entertainments should be continued until late, it was proposed todivide every evening's entertainment into two distinct parts orperformances. Each performance was to consist of a full three-actopera; or of a short opera with a ballet or musical entertainment. Thefirst performance was to begin at six o'clock, and to last till aboutnine; and the second performance was to begin at half-past nine, andto conclude at twelve; the prices to either performance beingconsiderably reduced. "We are fully aware, " said the public address ofthe management, "that we shall have to encounter many professionaljokes on this occasion, but we are prepared to smile at thegood-humoured raillery of our friends, and the hostile attempts of ourenemies, who may both, perhaps, be inclined to call this a'Bartholomew Fair scheme. ' Let them call it what they will, we knowthat our sole aim is to exist by your favour, and by devising allmeans for your entertainment, till we ultimately receive an honestreward for our labours. "

The new plan was not found to work very well, however. A very thinaudience attended the first performance, and a few hisses were heardin opposition to the project; the friends of the management applaudinglustily. At the conclusion of the first entertainment, certainobstinate persons refused to resign their seats and make way for theirsuccessors, though the stage lamps were extinguished and they werethreatened with total darkness. The manager then came forward, andformally announced that the first performance had concluded. One ortwo then threw their money on the stage, as the price of theiradmission to the second performance, and finding that the malcontentswere resolved to keep their seats, the manager submitted and retired. The plan was only continued for ten nights, when the theatre wasclosed for the season. In a farewell address, the manager stated thatthe experiment, so far as he could judge, had succeeded; during theten nights, compared with the ten nights preceding, an addition ofone-third having been made to the number of persons visiting thetheatre. Still, he did not feel justified in pledging himself tocontinue the arrangement in future seasons. There was indeed nofurther trial of the double-performance system in lieu of half-price. 

It is rather curious to find the plan of half-price having any sortof effect upon dramatic literature, yet we find, in the "Autobiographyof Thomas Dibdin, " 1827, the following advice, given him by Lewis, thestage-manager at Covent Garden, in regard to writing for the stage, and apropos of Mr. Dibdin's comedy, called "Liberal Opinions":

"MY DEAR TOM, --This will be your first five-act production, and don'tbe offended if an old practitioner ventures to offer (from the respecthe bears you) the fruits of his long experience. Half-price is a veryproper privilege for those whose time or pockets do not afford them anopportunity of visiting the theatre earlier; but it is often the baneof an author on the first night of a five-act play. The new-comersknow nothing of the foregone part of the drama; and having no contextwith which to connect allusions in the fourth and fifth acts, are aptto damn without consideration that which they are no judges of--

 And what they cannot comprehend deny. 

"To be fore-armed against this contingency, contrive to make somecharacter (either in the heat of passion, or in any way you please)briefly run over all the foregoing parts of the story, so as to puteveryone in possession of what they otherwise would have lost byabsence; and, take my word, you will reap the benefit of it. "

Mr. Dibdin expresses so much gratitude for Mr. Lewis's counsel, andrecommends it so earnestly to the consideration of all youngdramatists, that we cannot doubt that some effect upon subsequentwritings for the stage must in this indirect way have resulted fromthe half-price system, and in avoidance of its disadvantages, as setforth by the stage-manager of Covent Garden Theatre. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE DRAMA UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 

For such a triumph as fanaticism enjoyed over the fine arts in Englandduring and for some time after the great Civil War, no parallel can befound in the history of any other nation. And it was not, be itremembered, the work of a capricious and cruel despot; it was thetyranny of a solemn legislative assembly. Hypocrisy had some share inthe proceeding, very likely; but in the main the Puritanism of thetime was sincere even to its frenzies of intolerance. Good men andtrue held that they were doing only what was sound, and wise, andright, when they made ruthless war upon poetry, and painting, and allthe refinements and graces of life, denouncing them as scandals andsins, ungodly devices, pernicious wiles of the author of all evil;when they peremptorily closed the doors of the theatres, and dismissedactors, authors, managers, and all concerned, to absolute starvation. 

In the England of that time, no doubt, Puritanism obtained supportersout of respect for superior power; just as in France, at a later date, Republicanism gained converts by means of terror. The prudent, whenconflict and tumult are at hand, will usually side with the strongercombatant. Thus it was with little resistance that there passedthrough both Houses of Parliament, in 1647, the ordinance by virtue ofwhich the theatres were to be dismantled and suppressed; all actors ofplays to be publicly whipped; and all spectators and playgoers, forevery offence, condemned to forfeit five shillings. This was the_coup de grâce;_ for the stage had already undergone many and severeassaults. The player's tenure of his art had become more and moreprecarious, until acting seemed to be as a service of danger. Theordinance of 1647 closed the theatres for nearly fourteen years; butfor some sixteen years before the stage had been in a more or lessdepressed condition. Scarcely any new dramatists of distinction hadappeared after 1630. The theatres were considerably reduced in numberby the time 1636 was arrived at. Then came the arbitrary closing ofthe playhouses--professedly but for a season. Thus in 1636 they wereclosed for ten months; in 1642 for eighteen months. In truthPuritanism carried on its victorious campaign against the drama forsomething like thirty years; while even at an earlier date there hadbeen certain skirmishing attacks upon the stage. With the firstPuritan began the quarrel with the players. As Isaac Disraeli hasobserved, "we must go back to the reign of Elizabeth to comprehend anevent which occurred in that of Charles I. " A sanctimonious sect urgedextravagant reforms--at first, perhaps, in all simplicity--foundingtheir opinions upon cramped and literal interpretations of divineprecepts, and forming views of human nature "more practicable in adesert than a city, and rather suited to a monastic order than to apolished people. " Still, these fanatics could scarcely have dreamedthat power would ever be given them to carry their peculiar theoriesinto practice, and to govern a nation as though it were composedentirely of precisians and bigots. For two generations--from theReformation to the Civil War--the Puritans had been the butt of thesatirical, the jest of the wits--ridiculed and laughed at on allsides. Then came a time, "when, " in the words of Macaulay, "thelaughers began to look grave in their turn. The rigid ungainly zealots... Rose up in arms, conquered, ruled, and, grimly smiling, trod downunder their feet the whole crowd of mockers. "

Yet from the first the Puritans had not neglected the pen as a weaponof offence. In 1579 Stephen Gosson published his curious pamphletbearing the lengthy title of "The Schoole of Abuse, containing apleasant Invective against Poets, Pipers, Jesters, and such likeCatterpillars of a Commonwealth; setting up the Flag of Defiance totheir mischievous exercise, and overthrowing their Bulwarks, byProfane Writers, natural reason, and common experience: A Discourseas pleasant for gentlemen that favour learning as profitable for allthat will follow virtue. " Gosson expresses himself with much quaintforce, but he is not absolutely intolerant. He was a student of OxfordUniversity, had in his youth written poems and plays, and evenappeared upon the scene as an actor. Although he had repented of thesefollies, he still viewed them without acrimony. To his pamphlet we areindebted for certain interesting details in regard to the manners andcustoms of the Elizabethan playgoers. A further attack upon thetheatre was led by Dr. Reynolds, of Queen's College, who was greatlytroubled by the performance of a play at Christchurch, and whopublished, in 1593, "The Overthrow of Stage Plays, " described byDisraeli as "a tedious invective, foaming at the mouth of its textwith quotations and authorities. " Reynolds was especially severe upon"the sin of boys wearing the dress and affecting the airs of women;"and thus unconsciously helped on a change he would have regarded asstill more deplorable--the appearance of actresses upon the stage. Buta fiercer far than Reynolds was to arise. In 1633 Prynne produced his"Histriomastix; or, The Player's Scourge, " a monstrous work of morethan a thousand closely-printed quarto pages, devoted to the mostsearching indictment of the stage and its votaries. The author hasbeen described as a man of great learning, but little judgment; ofsour and austere principles, but wholly deficient in candour. His bookwas judged libellous, for he had unwittingly aspersed the Queen in hisattack upon the masques performed at Court. He was cited in the StarChamber, and sentenced to stand in the pillory, to lose both ears, topay a heavy fine, and to undergo imprisonment for life. This severepunishment probably stimulated the Puritans, when opportunity came tothem, to deal mercilessly with the actors by way of avenging Prynne'swrongs, or of expressing sympathy with his sufferings. 

And it is to be noted that early legislation in regard to the playershad been far from lenient. For such actors as had obtained thecountenance of "any Baron of this Realme, " or "any other honourablepersonage of greater degree, " exception was to be made; otherwise, allcommon players in interludes, all fencers, bearwards, and minstrels, were declared by an Act passed in the 14th year of Elizabeth to berogues and vagabonds, and, whether male or female, liable on a firstconviction "to be grievously whipped and burned through the gristle ofthe right ear with an hot iron of the compass of an inch about, manifesting his or her roguish kind of life;" a second offence wasadjudged to be felony; a third entailed death without benefit ofclergy or privilege of sanctuary. Meanwhile, the regular companies ofplayers to whom this harsh Act did not apply, were not leftunmolested. The Court might encourage them, but the City would havenone of them. They had long been accustomed to perform in the yards ofthe City inns, but an order of the Common Council, dated December, 1575, expelled the players from the City. Thereupon public playhouseswere erected outside the "liberties" or boundaries of the City. Thefirst was probably the theatre in Shoreditch; the second, opened inits immediate neighbourhood, was known as the Curtain; the third, built by John Burbadge and other of the Earl of Leicester's company ofplayers, was the famous Blackfriars Theatre. These were all erectedabout 1576, and other playhouses were opened soon afterwards. Probablyto avoid the penalties of the Act of Elizabeth, all strolling andunattached players made haste to join regular companies, or to shelterthemselves under noble patronage. And now the Church raised its voice, and a controversy which still possesses some vitality touching themorality or immorality of playhouses, plays and players, was fairlyand formally entered upon. A sermon preached at Paul's Cross, November, 1577, "in the time of the plague, " by the Rev. T. Wilcocks, denounced in strong language the "common plays" in London, and themultitude that flocked to them and followed them, and described "thesumptuous theatre houses" as a continual monument of London'sprodigality and folly. Performances, it seems, had for a while beenforbidden because of the plague. "I like the policy well if it holdstill, " said the preacher; "for a disease is but bodged and patched upthat is not cured in the cause, and the cause of plague is sin, if youlook to it well; and the cause of sin are playes; therefore, the causeof plagues are playes. " It is clear, too, that the clergy had becomeaffected by a certain jealousy of the players, the sound of whosetrumpet attracted more attention than the ringing of the church-bells, and brought together a larger audience. John Stockwood, schoolmasterof Tunbridge, who preached at Paul's Cross on St. Bartholomew's Day, 1578, demanded, "will not a filthy play, with the blast of a trumpet, sooner call thither a thousand than an hour's tolling bring to thesermon a hundred?" It was, moreover, an especial grievance to thedevout at this period that plays were represented on a Sunday, thechurch and the theatre being thus brought into positive rivalry andantagonism. The clergy saw with dismay that their own congregationswere thin and listless, while crowded and excited audiences rewardedthe exertions of the players. Mr. Stockwood, declining to discusswhether plays were or not wholly unlawful, yet protested with goodreason that in a Christian commonwealth they were intolerable on theseventh day, and exclaimed against the "horrible profanity" and"devilish inventions" of the lords of misrule, morrice, and May-daydancers, whom he accused of tripping about the church, even during thehours of service, and of figuring in costumes which, by their textureand scantiness, outraged ordinary notions of decency. 

But notwithstanding this old-established opposition to the theatres onthe part of both Churchmen and Puritans, and the severe oppression ofthe players by the authorities, it is yet indisputable that theEnglish were essentially a playgoing people; proud, as well they mightbe, of the fact that they possessed the finest drama and the bestactors in the world. And, allowing for the licence and grossness whichthe times permitted if they did not encourage, and a certain libertyof speech and action allowed time out of mind to the clowns of thestage, the drama suppressed by the Puritans was of sound and wholesomeconstitution, rich in poetry of the noblest class. It is sufficient tosay, indeed, that it was the drama of Shakespeare and hiscontemporaries. To a very large class, therefore, the persecution ofthe players and the suppression of the stage must have been gravemisfortune and real privation. To many the theatre still supplied notmerely recreation but education and enlightenment as well. That therewas any rising of the public on behalf of the players does not appear. Puritanism was too strong for opposition; and besides, the playgoer, by the nature of his favourite pursuit, almost avows himself a man ofpeace and obedient to the law. The public had to submit, as best itcould, to the tyranny of fanaticism. But that bitter mortification wasfelt by very many may be taken for granted. 

The authors were deprived of occupation so far as concerned the stage;they sought other employment for their pens; printing a play, however, now and then, by way of keeping their hands in as dramatists. Themanagers, left with nothing to manage, perhaps turned to trade inquest of outlet for their energies--the manager has been alwayssomething of the trader. But for the actors, forbidden to act, whatwere they to do? They had been constituted Malignants or Royalistsalmost by Act of Parliament. The younger players promptly joined thearmy of King Charles. Mohun acquired the rank of captain, and at theclose of the war, served in Flanders, receiving the pay of a major. Hart became a lieutenant of horse, under Sir Thomas Dallison, in theregiment of Prince Rupert. In the same troop served Burt as cornet, and Shatterel as quartermaster. Allen, of the Cockpit, was a major andquartermaster-general at Oxford. Robinson, serving on the side of theKing, was long reputed to have lost his life at the taking of BasingHouse. The story went that the Cromwellian General Harrison had, withhis own hands, slain the actor, crying, as he struck him down: "Cursedis he that doeth the work of the Lord negligently. " Chalmersmaintains, however, that an entry in the parish register of St. Anne's, Blackfriars, of the death and burial of "Richard Robinson, aplayer, " in March, 1647, negatives this account of the actor's fate. Possibly there were two actors bearing the not uncommon name ofRobinson. These were all players of note, who had acquitted themselveswith applause in the best plays of the time. Of certain older actors, unable to bear arms for the king, Lowin turned innkeeper, and died, atan advanced age, landlord of the Three Pigeons at Brentford. He hadbeen an actor of eminence in the reign of James I. ; "and his povertywas as great as his age, " says one account of him. Taylor, who wasreputed to have been taught by Shakespeare himself the correct methodof interpreting the part of Hamlet, died and was buried at Richmond. These two actors, as did others probably, sought to pick up a littlemoney by publishing copies of plays that had obtained favour inperformance, but had not before been printed. Thus, in 1652, Beaumontand Fletcher's "Wild Goose Chase" was printed in folio, "for thepublic use of all the ingenious, and the private benefit of John Lowinand Joseph Taylor, servants to his late Majesty, and by them dedicatedto the honoured few lovers of dramatic poesy: wherein they modestlyintimate their wants, and that with sufficient cause, for whateverthey were before the wars, they were afterwards reduced to anecessitous condition. " Pollard, possessed of some means, withdrew tohis relatives in the country, and there ended his days peacefully. Perkins and Sumner lodged humbly together in Clerkenwell, and wereinterred in that parish. None of these unfortunate old actors lived tosee the re-opening of the theatres or the restoration of the monarchy. 

But one actor is known to have sided with the Parliament and againstthe King. He renounced the stage and took up the trade of a jewellerin Aldermanbury. This was Swanston who had played Othello, and hadbeen described as "a brave roaring fellow, who would make the houseshake again. " "One wretched actor only, " Mr. Gifford writes, in theintroduction to his edition of Massinger, "deserted his sovereign. "But it may be questioned whether Swanston really merited thisreprehension. He was a Presbyterian, it seems, and remained true tohis political opinions, even though these now involved the abandonmentof his profession. If his brother-players fought for the King, theyfought no less for themselves, and for the theatre the Puritans hadsuppressed. Nor is the contrast Mr. Gifford draws, between the conductof our actors at the time of the Civil War, and the proceedings of theFrench players during the first French Revolution, altogether fair. AsIsaac Disraeli has pointed out, there was no question of suppressingthe stage in France--it was rather employed as an instrument in aid ofthe Revolution. The actors may have sympathised sincerely with theroyal family in their afflicted state, but it was hardly to beexpected that men would abandon, on that account, the profession oftheir choice, in which they had won real distinction, and which seemedto flourish the more owing to the excited condition of France. TheFrench Revolution, in truth, brought to the stage great increase ofnational patronage. 

The Civil War concluded, and the cause of King Charles wholly lost, the actors were at their wits' end to earn bread. Certain of themresolved to defy the law, and to give theatrical performances in spiteof the Parliament. Out of the wreck of the companies of the differenttheatres they made up a tolerable troop, and ventured to present somefew plays, with as much caution and privacy as possible, at theCockpit, in Drury Lane. This was in the winter of 1648. Doubtlessthere were many to whom the stage was dear, who were willing enough toencourage the poor players. Playgoing had now become as a vice or amisdemeanour, to be prosecuted in secret--like dram-drinking. TheCockpit representations lasted but a few days. During a performance ofFletcher's tragedy of "Rollo, Duke of Normandy, " in which suchexcellent actors as Lowin, Taylor, Pollard, Burt, and Hart wereconcerned, a party of troopers beset the house, broke in about themiddle of the play, and carried off the players, accoutred as theywere in their stage dresses, to Hatton House, then a prison, where, after being detained some time, they were plundered of their clothesand dismissed. "Afterwards, in Oliver's time, " as an old chronicler ofdramatic events has left upon record, "they used to act privately, three or four miles or more out of town, now here, now there, sometimes in noblemen's houses--in particular Holland House, atKensington--where the nobility and gentry who met (but in no greatnumbers) used to make a sum for them, each giving a broad-piece or thelike. " The widow of the Earl of Holland who was beheaded in March, 1649, occupied Holland House at this time. She was the granddaughterof Sir Walter Cope, and a stout-hearted lady, who doubtless took pridein encouraging the entertainments her late lord's foes had tried sohard to suppress. Alexander Goffe, "the woman-actor at Blackfriars, "acted as "Jackal" on the occasion of these furtive performances. Hehad made himself known to the persons of quality who patronised plays, and gave them notice of the time when and the place where the nextrepresentation would "come off. " A stage-play, indeed, in those dayswas much what a prize-fight has been in later times--absolutelyillegal, and yet assured of many persistent supporters. Goffe wasprobably a slim, innocent-looking youth, who was enabled to baffle thevigilance of the Puritan functionaries, and to pass freely andunsuspected between the players and their patrons. At Christmas-timeand during the few days devoted to Bartholomew Fair, the actors, bydint of bribing the officer in command of the guard at Whitehall, andsecuring in such wise his connivance, were enabled to presentperformances at the Red Bull in St. John Street. Sometimes the Puritantroopers were mean enough to accept the hard-earned money of thesepoor players, and, nevertheless, to interrupt their performance, carrying them off to be imprisoned and punished for their breach ofthe law. But their great trouble arose from the frequent seizure oftheir wardrobe by the covetous soldiers. The clothes worn by theplayers upon the stage were of superior quality--fine dresses were ofespecial value in times prior to the introduction of scenery--and theloss was hard to bear. The public, it was feared, would be loath tobelieve in the merits of an actor who was no better attired thanthemselves. But at length it became too hazardous, as Kirkman relates, in the preface to "The Wits, or Sport upon Sport, " 1672, "to actanything that required any good cloaths; instead of which paintedcloath many times served the turn to represent rich habits. " Kirkman'sbook is a collection of certain "scenes or parts of plays ... Thefittest for the actors to represent at this period, there being littlecost in the cloaths, which often then were in great danger to beseized by the soldiers. " These "select pieces of drollery, digestedinto scenes by way of dialogue, together with variety of humours ofseveral nations, fitted for the pleasure and content of all persons, either in court, city, county, or camp, " were first printed in 1662, by H. Marsh, and were originally contrived by Robert Cox, a comicgenius in his way, who exhibited great ingenuity in evading theordinances of Parliament, and in carrying on dramatic performances inspite of the Puritans. He presented at the Red Bull what wereprofessedly entertainments of rope-dancing, gymnastic feats, and suchcoarse practical fun as may even now be seen in the circus ofstrolling equestrian companies; but with these he cunninglyintermingled select scenes from the comedies of the best Englishdramatists. From Kirkman's book, which is now highly prized from itsrarity, it appears that the "drollery" entitled "The Bouncing Knight, or the Robbers Robbed, " is, in truth, a famous adventure of Sir JohnFalstaff's, set forth in close accordance with the original text;while the comedy of "Rule a Wife and have a Wife" is reduced to abrief entertainment called "The Equal Match. " Other popular plays aresimilarly dealt with. But Cox, it seems, invented not less than heborrowed. Upon the foundation of certain old-established farces, heraised up entertainments something of the nature of the extemporarycomedy of Italy: characters being devised or developed expressly witha view to his own performance of them. "All we could divert ourselveswith, " writes Kirkman, "were these humours and pieces of plays, which, passing under the name of a merry conceited fellow called Bottom theWeaver, Simpleton the Smith, John Swabber, or some such title, wereonly allowed us, and that by stealth too ... And these small thingswere as profitable and as great get-pennies to the actors as any ofour late famed plays. " He relates, moreover, that these performancesattracted "a great confluence of auditors, " insomuch that the RedBull, a playhouse of large size, was often so full, that "as many wentback for want of room as had entered;" and that meanly as these"drolls" might be thought of in later times, they were acted by thebest comedians "then and now in being. " Especially he applauds theactor, author, and contriver of the majority of the farces--"theincomparable Robert Cox. " Isaac Disraeli gives him credit forpreserving alive, as it were by stealth, the suppressed spirit of thedrama. That he was a very natural actor, or what would now be called"realistic, " may be judged from the story told of his performance of acomic blacksmith, and his securing thereby an invitation to work atthe forge of a master smith, who had been present among the audience. "Although your father speaks so ill of you, " said the employer oflabour, "if you will come and work with me, I will give youtwelvepence a-week more than I give any other journeyman. " As Kirkmanadds: "Thus was he taken for a smith bred, that was, indeed, as muchof any trade. "

It seems certain that for some few years prior to the Restorationthere had been far less stringent treatment of the players than in theearlier days of the triumph of Puritanism. Cromwell, perhaps, ratherdespised the stage than condemned it seriously on religious grounds;the while he did not object to indulge in buffoonery and horseplay, even in the gallery of Whitehall. Some love of music he has beencredited with, and this, perhaps, induced him to tolerate the operaticdramas of Sir William Davenant, which obtained representation duringthe Commonwealth: such as "The History of Sir Francis Drake, ""represented by instrumental and vocal music, and by art ofPerspective in Scenes, " and "The Cruelty of the Spaniards in Peru. "According to Langbaine, the two plays called "The Siege of Rhodes"were likewise acted _"in stilo recitativo"_ during the time of theCivil Wars, and upon the Restoration were rewritten and enlarged forregular performance at the Duke of York's Theatre, in Lincoln's InnFields. It seems to have been held that a play was no longer a play ifits words were sung instead of spoken--or these representations ofDavenant's works may have been altogether stealthy, and without thecognisance of the legal authorities of the time. Isaac Disraeli, however, has pointed out that in some verses, published in 1653, andprefixed to the plays of Richard Brome, there is evident a tone ofexultation at the passing away of power from the hands of those whohad oppressed the actors. The poet, in a moralising vein, alludes tothe fate of the players as it was affected by the dissolution of theLong Parliament:

 See the strange twirl of times! When such poor things Outlive the dates of parliaments or kings! This revolution makes exploded wit Now see the fall of those that ruined it; And the condemned stage hath now obtained To see her executioners arraigned. There's nothing permanent; those high great men That rose from dust to dust may fall again; And fate so orders things that the same hour Sees the same man both in contempt and power!

For complete emancipation, however, the stage had to wait some years;until, indeed, it pleased Monk, acting in accordance with the desireof the nation, to march his army to London, and to restore themonarchy. Encamped in Hyde Park, Monk was visited by one Rhodes, abookseller, who had been formerly occupied as wardrobe-keeper to KingCharles I. 's company of comedians in Blackfriars, and who now appliedto the general for permission to reopen the Cockpit in Drury Lane as aplayhouse. Monk, it seems, held histrionic art in some esteem; at anyrate the City companies, when with his council of state he dined intheir halls, were wont to entertain him with performances of atheatrical kind: satirical farces, dancing and singing, "many shapesand ghosts, and the like; and all to please His Excellency the LordGeneral, " say the newspapers of the time. Rhodes obtained the boon hesought, and, promptly engaging a troop of actors, reopened theCockpit. His chief actor was his apprentice, Thomas Betterton, the sonof Charles I. 's cook. For some fifty years the great Mr. Bettertonheld his place upon the stage, and upon his death was interred withsomething like royal honours in Westminster Abbey. 

Of the fate of Rhodes nothing further is recorded. He was the first togive back to Londoners a theatre they might visit legally and safely;and that done, he is heard of no more. Killigrew and Davenant weresoon invested with patent rights, and entitled to a monopoly oftheatrical management in London; probably they prospered by displacingRhodes--but so much cannot be positively asserted. 

The drama was now out of its difficulties. Yet the influence andeffect of these did not soon abate. Upon them followed indeed a sortof after-crop of troubles, seriously injurious to the stage. TheCavaliers engendered a drama that was other than the drama thePuritans had destroyed. The theatre was restored, it is true, but withan altered constitution. It was not only that the old race of poetsand dramatists had died out, and that writing for the stage was as anew profession, almost as a lost art. Taste had altered. As Evelynregretfully notes in 1662, after witnessing a performance ofHamlet--to which, perhaps, the audience paid little heed, although theincomparable Betterton appeared in the tragedy--"but now the old playsbegin to disgust this refined age, since his Majesty's being so longabroad. " Shakespeare and his brother-bards were out of fashion. Therewas a demand for tragedies of the French school--with rhyming linesand artificial sentiment--for comedies of intrigue and equivoque, after a foreign pattern, in lieu of our old English plays of wit, humour, and character. Plagiarism, translation, and adaptation took upa secure position on the stage. The leading playwrights of theRestoration--Dryden, Shadwell, Durfey, Wycherley--all borrowed freelyfrom the French. Dryden frankly apologised--he was required to produceso many plays all could not be of his own inventing. The Kingencouraged appropriation of foreign works. He drew Sir Samuel Tuke'sattention to an admired Spanish comedy, advising its adaptation tothe English stage: the result was "The Adventures of Five Hours, " awork very highly esteemed by Mr. Pepys. The introduction of scenerywas due in a great measure to French example, although "paintings inperspective" had already been seen in an English theatre. But nowscenery was imperatively necessary to a dramatic performance, and asort of passion arose for mechanical devices and decorative appliancesof a novel kind. Dryden was no reformer--in truth, to suit his ownpurposes, he pandered laboriously to the follies and caprices of hispatrons; nevertheless, he was fully sensible of the errors of thetime, and often chronicles these in his prologues and epilogues. Hewrites:

 True wit has run its best days long ago, It ne'er looked up since we were lost in show, When sense in doggrel rhymes and clouds was lost, And dulness nourished at the actor's cost. Nor stopped it here; when tragedy was done, Satire and humour the same fate have run, And comedy is sunk to trick and pun. 

 * * * * *

 Let them who the rebellion first began To wit, restore the monarch if they can; Our author dares not be the first bold man. 

And upon another occasion:

 But when all failed to strike the stage quite dumb, Those wicked engines, called machines, are come. Thunder and lightning now for wit are played, And shortly scenes in Lapland will be laid. 

 * * * * *

 Fletcher's despised, your Jonson out of fashion. And wit the only drug in all the nation. 

Actresses, too, were introduced upon the stage in pursuance ofcontinental example. But for these there was really great necessity. The boys who, prior to the Civil War, had personated the heroines ofthe drama, were now too mature, both in years and aspect, for such anoccupation. 

 Doubting we should never play agen, We have played all our women into men!

says the prologue, introducing the first actress. Hart and Mohun, Clun, Shatterel and Burt, who were now leading actors, had beenboy-actresses before the closing of the theatres. And even after theRestoration, Mohun whose military title of major was always awardedhim in the playbills, still appeared as Bellamante, one of theheroines of Shirley's tragedy of "Love's Cruelty. " But this must havebeen rather too absurd. At the time of the Restoration Mohun couldhardly have been less than thirty-five years of age. It is to benoted, however, that Kynaston, a very distinguished boy-actress, who, with Betterton, was a pupil of Rhodes, arose after the Restoration. Ofthe earlier boy-actresses, their methods and artifices of performance, Kynaston could have known nothing. He was undoubtedly a great artist, winning extraordinary favour both in male and female characters, thelast and perhaps the best of all the epicene stage-players of thepast. 

But if the stage, after the Restoration, differed greatly from what ithad been previously, it yet prospered and gained strength more andmore. It was most fortunate in its actors and actresses, who lent itinvaluable support. It never attained again the poetic heights towhich it had once soared; but it surrendered gradually much of itsgrossness and its baser qualities, in deference to the improvingtastes of its patrons, and in alarm at the sound strictures of menlike Jeremy Collier. The plagiarist, the adapter, and the translatordid not relax their hold upon it; but eventually it obtained the aidof numerous dramatists of enduring distinction. The fact that it againunderwent decline is traceable to various causes--among them, themonopoly enjoyed by privileged persons under the patents granted byCharles II. ; the bungling intervention of court officials investedwith supreme power over the dramatic literature of the nation; anddefective copyright laws, that rendered justice neither to the nativenor to the foreign writer for the theatre. And something, too, thestage of later years has been affected by a change in public taste, which has subordinated the play to the novel or poem, and convertedplaygoers into the supporters of circulating libraries. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

STAGE BANQUETS. 

A veteran actor of inferior fame once expressed his extreme dislike towhat he was pleased to term "the sham wine-parties" of Macbeth andothers. He was aweary of the Barmecide banquets of the stage, ofaffecting to quaff with gusto imaginary wine out of empty pasteboardgoblets, and of making believe to have an appetite for wooden applesand "property" comestibles. He was in every sense a poor player, andhad often been a very hungry one. He took especial pleasure inremembering the entertainments of the theatre in which the necessitiesof performance, or regard for rooted tradition, involved the settingof real edible food before the actors. At the same time he greatlylamented the limited number of dramas in which these preciousopportunities occurred. 

He had grateful memories of the rather obsolete Scottish melodrama of"Cramond Brig;" for in this work old custom demanded the introductionof a real sheep's head with accompanying "trotters. " He told of aNorth British manager who was wont--especially when the salaries hewas supposed to pay were somewhat in arrear, and he desired to keephis company in good humour and, may be, alive--to produce this play onSaturday nights. For some days before the performance the daintiesthat were destined to grace it underwent exhibition in the green-room. A label bore the inscription: "This sheep's head will appear in theplay of 'Cramond Brig' on next Saturday night. God save the King!" "Itafforded us all two famous dinners, " reveals our veteran. "We had alarge pot of broth made with the head and feet; these we ate onSaturday night; the broth we had on Sunday. " So in another Scottishplay, "The Gentle Shepherd" of Allan Ramsay, it was long the custom onstages north of the Tweed to present a real haggis, although niggardmanagers were often tempted to substitute for the genuine dish a farless savoury if more wholesome mess of oatmeal. But a play more famousstill for the reality of its victuals, and better known to moderntimes, was Prince Hoare's musical farce, "No Song no Supper. " Asteaming-hot boiled leg of lamb and turnips may be described as quitethe leading character in this entertainment. Without this appetisingaddition the play has never been represented. There is a story, however, which one can only hope is incorrect, of an _impresario_ oforiental origin, who supplying the necessary meal, yet subsequentlyfined his company all round, on the ground that they had "combined todestroy certain of the properties of the theatre. "

There are many other plays in the course of which genuine food isconsumed on the stage. But some excuse for the generally fictitiousnature of theatrical repasts is to be found in the fact that eatingduring performance is often a very difficult matter for the actors toaccomplish. Michael Kelly, in his "Memoirs, " relates that he wasrequired to eat part of a fowl in the supper scene of a bygoneoperatic play called, "A House to be Sold. " Bannister at rehearsal hadinformed him that it was very difficult to swallow food on the stage. Kelly was incredulous however. "But strange as it may appear, " hewrites, "I found it a fact that I could not get down a morsel. Myembarrassment was a great source of fun to Bannister and Suett, whowere both gifted with the accommodating talent of stage feeding. Whoever saw poor Suett as the lawyer in 'No Song no Supper, ' tuckingin his boiled leg of lamb, or in 'The Siege of Belgrade, ' will belittle disposed to question my testimony to the fact. " From thisaccount, however, it is manifest that the difficulty of "stagefeeding, " as Kelly calls it, is not invariably felt by all actorsalike. And probably, although the appetites of the superior playersmay often fail them, the supernumerary or the representative of minorcharacters could generally contrive to make a respectable meal if thecircumstances of the case supplied the opportunity. 

The difficulty that attends eating on the stage does not, it wouldseem, extend to drinking, and sometimes the introduction of real andpotent liquors during the performance has led to unfortunate results. Thus Whincop, to whose tragedy called "Scanderbeg, " published in 1747, added "a List of all the Dramatic Authors, with some Account of theirLives, " &c. , describes a curious occurrence at the Theatre Royal in1693. A comedy entitled "The Wary Widow, or Sir Noisy Parrot, " writtenby one Higden, and now a very scarce book, had been produced; but onthe first representation, "the author had contrived so much drinkingof punch in the play that the actors almost all got drunk, and wereunable to get through with it, so that the audience were dismissed atthe end of the third act. " Upon subsequent performances of the comedyno doubt the management reduced the strength of the punch, orsubstituted some harmless beverage, toast-and-water perhaps, imitativeof that ardent compound so far as mere colour is concerned. There havebeen actors, however, who have refused to accept the innocentsemblance of vinous liquor supplied by the management, and especiallywhen, as part of their performance, they were required to simulateintoxication. A certain representative of Cassio was wont to carry tothe theatre a bottle of claret from his own cellar, whenever he wascalled upon to sustain that character. It took possession of him toothoroughly, he said, with a plausible air, to allow of his affectinginebriety after holding an empty goblet to his lips, or swallowingmere toast-and-water or small beer. Still his precaution had itsdisadvantages. The real claret he consumed might make his intemperancesomewhat too genuine and accurate; and his portrayal of Cassio'sspeedy return to sobriety might be in such wise very difficult ofaccomplishment. So there have been players of dainty taste, who, required to eat in the presence of the audience, have elected to bringtheir own provisions, from some suspicion of the quality of the foodprovided by the management. We have heard of a clown who, entering thetheatre nightly to undertake the duties of his part, was observed tocarry with him always a neat little paper parcel. What did it contain?bystanders inquired of each other. Well, in the comic scenes ofpantomime it is not unusual to see a very small child, dressed perhapsas a charity-boy, crossing the stage, bearing in his hands a slice ofbread-and-butter. The clown steals this article of food and devoursit; whereupon the child, crying aloud, pursues him hither and thitherabout the stage. The incident always excites much amusement; for inpantomimes the world is turned upside-down, and moral principles haveno existence; cruelty is only comical, and outrageous crime the bestof jokes. The paper parcel borne to the theatre by the clown undermention enclosed the bread-and-butter that was to figure in theharlequinade. "You see I'm a particular feeder, " the performerexplained. "I can't eat bread-and-butter of anyone's cutting. Besides, I've tried it, and they only afford salt butter. I can't stand that. So as I've got to eat it and no mistake, with all the house looking atme, I cut a slice when I'm having my own tea, at home, and bring itdown with me. "

Rather among the refreshments of the side-wings than of the stage mustbe counted that reeking tumbler of "very brown, very hot, and verystrong brandy-and-water, " which, as Dr. Doran relates, was preparedfor poor Edmund Kean, as, towards the close of his career, he was wontto stagger from before the foot-lights, and, overcome by his exertionsand infirmities, to sink, "a helpless, speechless, fainting, bent-upmass, " into the chair placed in readiness to receive the shattered, ruined actor. With Kean's prototype in acting and in excess, GeorgeFrederick Cooke, it was less a question of stage or side-wingrefreshments than of the measure of preliminary potation he hadindulged in. In what state would he come down to the theatre? Upon theanswer to that inquiry the entertainments of the night greatlydepended. "I was drunk the night before last, " Cooke said on oneoccasion; "still I acted, and they hissed me. Last night I was drunkagain, and I didn't act; they hissed all the same. There's no knowinghow to please the public. " A fine actor, Cooke was also a genuinehumorist, and it must be said for him, although a like excuse has beenperhaps too often pleaded for such failings as his, that his sensesgave way, and his brain became affected after very slight indulgence. From this, however, he could not be persuaded to abstain, and so madehavoc of his genius, and terminated, prematurely and ignobly enough, his professional career. 

Many stories are extant as to performances being interrupted by theentry of innocent messengers bringing to the players, in the presenceof the audience, refreshments they had designed to consume behind thescenes, or sheltered from observation between the wings. Thus it istold of one Walls, who was the prompter in a Scottish theatre, andoccasionally appeared in minor parts, that he once directed amaid-of-all-work, employed in the wardrobe department of the theatre, to bring him a gill of whisky. The night was wet, so the girl, notcaring to go out, intrusted the commission to a little boy whohappened to be standing by. The play was "Othello, " and Walls playedthe Duke. The scene of the senate was in course of representation. Brabantio had just stated:

 My particular grief Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature, That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself--

and the Duke, obedient to his cue, had inquired:

 Why, what's the matter?

when the little boy appeared upon the stage, bearing a pewter measure, and explained: "It's just the whisky, Mr. Walls; and I couldna git onyat fourpence, so yer awn the landlord a penny: and he says it's timeyou was payin' what's doon i' the book. " The senate broke up amidstthe uproarious laughter of the audience. 

Upon our early stage a kind of biscuit--a "marchpane"--was consumed bythe players when they required to eat upon the stage. In "Romeo andJuliet" one of the servants says: "Good thou, save me a piece ofmarchpane. " In Marston's "What you Will" occurs the passage:

 Now work the cooks, the pastry sweats with slaves, The marchpanes glitter. 

And in Brome's "City Wit" Mrs. Pyannet tells Toby Sneakup: "You haveyour kickshaws, your players' marchpanes--all show and no meat. "

Real macaroni in "Masaniello, " and real champagne in "Don Giovanni, "in order that Leporello may have opportunities for "comic business" inthe supper scene, are demanded by the customs of the operatic stage. Realism generally, indeed, is greatly affected in the modern theatre. The audiences of to-day require not merely that real water shall beseen to flow from a pump, or to form a cataract, but that real wineshall proceed from real bottles, and be fairly swallowed by theperformers. In Paris, a complaint was recently made that, in a scenerepresenting an entertainment in modern fashionable society, thechampagne supplied was only of a second-rate quality. Through powerfulopera-glasses the bottle labels could be read, and the management'ssacrifice of truthfulness to economy was severely criticised. Theaudience resented the introduction of the cheaper liquor as thoughthey had themselves been constrained to drink it. 

As part also of the modern regard for realism may be noted the"cooking scenes" which have frequently figured in recent plays. Theold conjuring trick of making a pudding in a hat never won moreadmiration than is now obtained by such simple expedients as fryingbacon or sausages, or broiling chops or steaks, upon the stage insight of the audience. The manufacture of paste for puddings or piesby one of the _dramatis personæ_ has also been very favourablyreceived, and the first glimpse of the real rolling-pin and the realflour to be thus employed has always been attended with applause. In alate production, the opening of a soda-water bottle by one of thecharacters was generally regarded as quite the most impressive effectof the representation. 

At Christmas-time, when the shops are so copiously supplied witharticles of food as to suggest a notion that the world is content tolive upon half-rations at other seasons of the year, there isextraordinary storing of provisions at certain of the theatres. Theseare not edible, however; they are due to the art of theproperty-maker, and are designed for what are known as the "spill andpelt" scenes of the pantomime. They represent juicy legs of mutton, brightly streaked with red and white, quartern loaves, trussed fowls, turnips, carrots, and cabbages, strings of sausages, fish of allkinds, sizes, and colours; they are to be stolen and pocketed by theclown, recaptured by the policeman, and afterwards wildly whirled inall directions in a general "rally" of all the characters in theharlequinade. They are but adroitly painted canvas stuffed with strawor sawdust. No doubt the property-maker sometimes views from the wingswith considerable dismay the severe usage to which his works of artare subjected. "He's an excellent clown, sir, " one such was once heardto say, regarding from his own standpoint the performance of thejester in question; "he don't destroy the properties as some do. "Perhaps now and then, too, a minor actor or a supernumerary, who hasderided "the sham wine-parties of Macbeth and others, " may lament thescandalous waste of seeming good victuals in a pantomime. But, as arule, these performers are not fanciful on this, or, indeed, on anyother subject. They are not to be deceived by the illusions of thestage; they are themselves too much a part of its shams and artifices. Property legs of mutton are to them not even food for reflection butsimply "properties, " and nothing more. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

STAGE WIGS. 

Wigs have claims to be considered amongst the most essentialappliances of the actors; means at once of their disguise and theirdecoration. Without false hair the fictions of the stage couldscarcely be set forth. How could the old look young, or the young lookold, how could scanty locks be augmented, or baldness concealed, ifthe _coiffeur_ did not lend his aid to the costumier? Nay, oftentimescalvity has to be simulated, and fictitious foreheads of canvasassumed. Hence the quaint advertisements of the theatrical hairdresserin professional organs, that he is prepared to vend "old men's baldpates" at a remarkably cheap rate. King Lear has been known to appearwithout his beard--Mr. Garrick, as his portrait reveals, played thepart with a clean-shaven face, and John Kemble followed his example;but could the ghost of Hamlet's father ever have defied the poet'sportraiture of him, and walked the platform of Elsinore Castle withouta "sable-silvered" chin? Has an audience ever viewed tolerantly a baldRomeo, or a Juliet grown gray in learning how to impersonate thatheroine to perfection? It is clear that at a very early date theplayers must have acquired the simple arts of altering and amendingtheir personal appearance in these respects. 

The accounts still extant of the revels at court during the reigns ofElizabeth and James contain many charges for wigs and beards. Thus acertain John Ogle is paid "for four yeallowe heares for head-attiresfor women, twenty-six shillings and eightpence;" and "for a pound ofheare twelvepence. " Probably the auburn tresses of Elizabeth had madeblonde wigs fashionable. John Owgle, who is no doubt the same trader, receives thirteen shillings and fourpence for "eight long white berdsat twenty pence the peece. " He has charges also on account of "a blackfyzician's berde, " "berds white and black, " "heares for palmers, ""berds for fyshers, " &c. It would seem, however, that these adornmentswere really made of silk. There is an entry: "John Ogle for curling ofheare made of black silk for Discord's heade (being sixty ounces), price of his woorkmanshipp thereon only is seven shillings andeightpence;" and mention is made of a delivery to Mrs. Swegoo thesilk-woman, of "Spanish silke of sundry cullers, weighing four ouncesand three quarters, at two shillings and sixpence the ounce, togarnishe nine heads and nine scarfes for the nine muses; heads ofheare drest and trimmed at twenty-three shillings and fourpence thepeece, in all nine, ten pounds ten shillings. "

The diary or account-book of Philip Henslowe, the manager, suppliesmuch information concerning the usual appointments of a theatre priorto the year 1600. In his inventory of dresses and properties, bearingdate 1598, is included a record of "six head tiers, " or attires. Anearly and entertaining account of the contents of a theatrical"tiring-room" is to be found in Richard Brome's comedy, "TheAntipodes, " first published in 1640. Byeplay says of Peregrine, theleading comic character:

 He has got into our tiring-house amongst us, And ta'en a strict survey of all our properties, Our statues and our images of gods, Our planets and our constellations, Our giants, monsters, furies, beasts, and bugbears, Our helmets, shields, and vizors, hairs and beards. 

With the Restoration wigs came into general wear, and gradually thebeards and moustaches, which had literally flourished so remarkablyfrom the time of Elizabeth, were yielded to the razor. At this periodtheatrical costume was simply regulated by the prevailing fashions, and made no pretensions to historical truth or antiquariancorrectness. The actors appeared upon all occasions in the enormousperukes that were introduced in the reign of Charles II. , andcontinued in vogue until 1720. The flowing flaxen wigs assumed byBooth, Wilks, Cibber, and others, were said to cost some fortyguineas each. "Till within these twenty-five years, " writes Tom Daviesin 1784, "our Tamberlanes and Catos had as much hair on their heads asour judges on the bench. " Cibber narrates how he sold a superb fairfull-bottomed periwig he had worn in 1695 in his first play, "The Foolin Fashion, " to Colonel Brett, so that the officer might appear toadvantage in his wooing of the Countess of Macclesfield, the ladywhom, upon unsatisfactory evidence, the poet Savage persistentlyclaimed as his mother. 

But if the heroes of the theatre delighted in long flaxen hair, it wasalways held necessary that the stage villain's should appear injet-black periwigs. For many years this continued to be an establishedlaw of the drama. "What is the meaning, " demanded Charles II. , "thatwe never see a rogue in the play but, odds-fish! they always clap himon a black periwig, when it is well known one of the greatest roguesin England always wears a fair one?" The king was understood to referto Titus Oates. But this custom was of long life. Davies describes"certain actors who were cast into the parts of conspirators, traitors, and murderers, who used to disguise themselves in largeblack wigs, and to distort their features in order to appear terrible. I have seen, " he adds, "Hippesley act the First Murderer in 'Macbeth;'his face was made pale with chalk, distinguished with large whiskersand a long black wig. " "Begin, murderer; leave thy damnable faces andbegin!" cries Hamlet to Lucianus, the poisoner; so that even inShakespeare's time grimness of aspect on the part of the stage villainmay have been thought indispensable. Churchill's friend, Lloyd, in hisadmirable poem, "The Actor, " published in 1762, writes on this head:

 To suit the dress demands the actor's art, Yet there are those who over-dress the part: To some prescriptive right gives settled things-- Black wigs to murderers, feathered hats to kings. 

Quin appeared upon the stage almost invariably in a profusefull-bottomed periwig. Garrick brought into fashion a wig of muchsmaller size, worn low on the forehead, with five crisp curls oneither side, and known generally as the "Garrick cut. " But the greatactor occasionally varied the mode of his peruke. The portraits byWood, Sherwin, and Dance exhibit him in three different forms ofwigs. As Hotspur, he wore "a laced frock and Ramilies wig. " When JohnKemble first played Hamlet he appeared in a black velvet court suit, with laced ruffles and powdered hair, if not a periwig. It is to benoted, however, that there was nothing in this system of dress toshock the spectators of the time. Powdered wigs were the vogue, and itwas not considered strange that the actor should be attired similarlyto the audience. Some ventures had been made in the direction ofcorrectness of costume, but they had been regarded as rather dangerousinnovations. Garrick candidly confessed himself timid about thematter. Benjamin West once inquired of the actor why he did not reformthe costume of the stage. "The audience would not stand it, " saidGarrick; "they would throw a bottle at my head if I attempted anyalteration. " The truth was, perhaps, that Garrick had won his triumphsunder the old system, and was disinclined, therefore, to risk anychange. 

Actors have often been zealous treasurers of theatrical properties andappliances, and some have formed very curious collections ofstage-wigs. Munden, who was most heedful as to his appearance in thetheatre, always provided his own costume, wearing nothing thatbelonged to the wardrobe of the manager, and giving large sums for anydress that suited his fancy. His wigs were said to be of greatantiquity and value; they were in the care of, and daily inspected by, a hairdresser attached to the theatre. Edwin's biography records thatthat actor's "wiggery cost him more than a hundred pounds, and hecould boast of having perukes in his collection which had decoratedthe heads of monarchs, judges, aldermen, philosophers, sailors, jockeys, beaux, thieves, tailors, tinkers, and haberdashers. " Suett, also a great wig-collector, is reputed to have assumed on the stage, in the burlesque of "Tom Thumb, " a large black peruke with flowingcurls, that had once been the property of King Charles II. He hadpurchased this curious relic at the sale of the effects of a Mr. Rawle, accoutrement-maker to George III. When the wig was submittedfor sale, Suett took possession of it, and, putting it on his head, began to bid for it with a gravity that the bystanders found to beirresistibly comical. It was at once declared that the wig shouldbecome the actor's property upon his own terms, and it was forthwithknocked down to him by the auctioneer. The wig appeared upon the stageduring many years, until at last it was destroyed, with much othervaluable property, in the fire which burnt to the ground theBirmingham Theatre. Suett's grief was extreme. "My wig's gone!" hewould say, mournfully, for some time after the fire, to every one hemet. Suett, Mathews, and Knight were at one time reputed to possessthe most valuable stock of wigs in the profession. Knight's collectionwas valued, after his death, at £250. 

The stage-wig is sometimes liable to unfortunate accidents. In theturbulent scenes of tragedy, when the catastrophe is reached, and thehero, mortally stricken, falls upon the stage heavily and rigidly, inaccordance with the ruling of immemorial tradition, the wig, like anunskilful rider upon a restive steed, is apt to become unseated. Manya defunct Romeo has been constrained to return to life for a moment inorder that he might entreat Juliet, in a whisper, just as her ownsuicide is imminent, to contrive, if possible, a readjustment of hiswig, which, in the throes of his demise, had parted from his head, or, at least, to fling her veil over him, and so conceal his mischancefrom public observation. To Mr. Bensley, the tragedian, so muchadmired by Charles Lamb, and so little by any other critic, a curiousaccident is said to have happened. He was playing Richard III. In anIrish theatre; the curtain had risen, and he was advancing to thefoot-lights to deliver his opening soliloquy, when an unlucky nail inthe side wing caught a curl of his full-flowing majestic wig anddragged it from his head. He was a pedantic, solemn actor, with asepulchral voice and a stiff stalking gait. Anthony Pasquin hasrecorded a derisive description of his histrionic method:

 With three minuet steps in all parts he advances, Then retires three more, strokes his chin, prates and prances, With a port as majestic as Astley's horse dances. 

 * * * * *

 Should we judge of this man by his visage and note, We'd imagine a rookery built in his throat, Whose caws were immixed with his vocal recitals, While others stole downwards and fed on his vitals. 

Still there can be no doubt that he played with extremeconscientiousness, and was fully impressed with a sense of hisprofessional responsibilities. The loss of his wig must haveoccasioned him acute distress. For a moment he hesitated. What was heto do? Should he forget that he was Richard? Should he remember thathe was only Mr. Bensley? He resolved to ignore the accident, toabandon his wig. Shorn of his locks, he delivered his speech in hismost impressive manner. Of course he had to endure many interruptions. An Irish audience is rarely forbearing--has a very quick perception ofthe ludicrous. The jeering and ironic cheering that arose must havegravely tried the tragedian. "Mr. Bensley, darling, put on yourjasey!" cried the gallery. "Bad luck to your politics! Will you suffera Whig to be hung?" But the actor did not flinch. His exit was asdignified and commanding as had been his entrance. He did not evencondescend to notice his wig as he passed it, depending from its naillike a scarecrow. One of the attendants of the stage was sent on toremove it, the duty being accomplished amidst the most boisterouslaughter and applause of the whole house. 

Mr. Bernard, in his "Retrospections of the Stage, " makes humorousmention of a provincial manager of the last century who was alwaysreferred to as "Pentland and his wig, " from his persistent adherenceto an ancient peruke, which, as he declared, had once belonged toColley Cibber. The wig was of the pattern worn on state occasions bythe Lord Chief Justice of England, a structure of horsehair, thatdescended to the shoulders in dense lappels. Pentland, who had beenfifty years a manager, was much bent with infirmity, and afflictedwith gout in all his members, still was wont to appear as the juvenileheroes of the drama. But in his every part, whether Hamlet or DonFelix, Othello or Lord Townley, he invariably assumed this formidablewig. Altogether his aspect and performance must have been of anextraordinary kind. He played Plume, the lively hero of Farquhar's"Recruiting Officer, " dressed in an old suit of regimentals, andwearing above his famous wig a prodigious cocked hat. The rising ofthe curtain discovered him seated in an easy-chair with his lowerlimbs swathed in flannels. He was, indeed, unable to walk, or even tostand, and throughout the performance had to be wheeled on and off thestage. Surely light comedy was never seen under such disadvantageousconditions. He endeavoured to compensate for his want of locomotivepower by taking snuff with great frequency, and waving energeticallyin the air a large and soiled pocket-handkerchief. This Pentland, indeed, appears to have been a curious example of the strollingmanager of the old school. His company consisted but of somehalf-dozen performers, including himself, his wife, and his daughter. He journeyed from town to town on a donkey, the faithful companion ofall his wanderings, with his gouty legs resting upon the panniers, into which were packed the wardrobe and scenic embellishments of histheatre. On these occasions he always wore his best light-comedy suitof brown and gold, his inevitable wig, and a little three-cornered hatcocked on one side, "giving the septuagenarian an air of gaiety thatwell accorded with his known attachment to the rakes and heroes of thedrama; one hand was knuckled in his side--his favourite position--andthe other raised a pinch of snuff to his nose; and as he passed alonghe nodded and bowed to all about him, and seemed greatly pleased withthe attention he excited. " His company followed the manager on foot. Yet for many years Mr. Pentland was the sole purveyor of theatricalentertainments to several English counties, and did not shrink frompresenting to his audiences the most important works in the dramaticrepertory. 

When, in 1817, Edmund Kean played Eustache de Saint Pierre in the playof "The Surrender of Calais, " he designed to impress the townpowerfully by the help of a wig made after the pattern of CountUgolino's. "I'll frighten the audience with it, " said he; but, as ithappened, the audience declined to be frightened. On the contrary, when the actor appeared upon the scene he was only partiallyrecognised by the spectators. Some persons even inquired: "Who is thatfellow?" None cried: "God bless him!" The wig, in short, was notappreciated, for all it was of elaborate construction, and stood up, bristling with its gray hairs like a _chevaux de frise_. The tragedianvery soon gave up the part in disgust. 

It is odd to find a stage wig invested with political significance, viewed almost as a cabinet question, considered as a possibleprovocation of hostilities between two great nations; yet something ofthis kind happened some fifty years ago. Mr. Bunn, then manager ofCovent Garden Theatre, had adapted to the English stage MonsieurScribe's capital comedy of "Bertrand et Raton. " The scene of the play, it may be stated, is laid at Copenhagen, and the subject relates tothe intrigues that preceded the fall of Struensee in 1772. Theadaptation was duly submitted to George Colman, the examiner of plays, and was by him forwarded to the Earl of Belfast, then LordChamberlain, with an observation that the work contained nothing of akind that was inadmissible upon the English stage. 

Suddenly a rumour was born, and rapidly attained growth and strength, to the purport that the leading character of Count Bertrand wasdesigned to be a portraiture of Talleyrand, at that time the Frenchambassador at the court of St. James's. Some hesitation arose as tolicensing the play, and on the 17th of January, 1834, the authoritiesdecided to prohibit its representation. Mr. Bunn sought an interviewwith the Chamberlain, urging a reversal of the judgment, andundertaking to make any retrenchments and modifications of the workthat might be thought expedient. The manager could only obtain apromise that the matter should be further considered. Already thestage had been a source of trouble to the political and diplomaticworld. It was understood that the Swedish ambassador had abruptlywithdrawn from the court of the Tuileries in consequence of theproduction in Paris of a vaudeville called "Le Camarade au Lit, "reflecting, so many held, upon the early life of Bernadotte, King ofSweden. That nothing of this kind should happen in London theChamberlain was determined. He read the comedy most carefully and, having marked several passages as objectionable, forwarded it to theexaminer, from whom, in due course, Mr. Bunn received the followingcharacteristic note:

 "January 20th, 1834. 

 "MY DEAR B. --With all we have to do, I don't see how I can return the manuscript with alterations before to-morrow. Pray dine with me to-day at half-past five--but come at four. We shall then have time to cut the play before we cut the mutton. 

 "Yours most truly, "G. C. "

Both these "cuttings" were successfully accomplished, and on the 25thof January the comedy was officially licensed. Still the authoritieswere uneasy. A suspicion prevailed that Mr. Farren, who was to sustainthe part of Bertrand, meditated dressing and "making up" after themanner of Talleyrand. Sir Thomas Mash, the comptroller of theChamberlain's office, made direct inquiries in this respect. Themanager supplied a sketch of the costume to be worn by the actor. "Iknew it was to be submitted to the king, " writes Mr. Bunn, and helooked forward to the result with anxious curiosity. On the 7th ofFebruary came an answer from Sir Thomas Mash. "I have the pleasure toreturn your drawing without a syllable of objection. " On the 8th, "Bertrand et Raton, " under the name of "The Minister and the Mercer, "was first produced on the English stage. 

The success of the performance was unquestionable, but the alarms ofthe authorities were not over. Many of the players took uponthemselves to restore passages in the comedy which had been effaced bythe examiner; and, worse than this, Mr. Farren's appearance did notcorrespond with the drawing sent to the Chamberlain's office. His wigwas especially objectionable; it was an exact copy of the silverysilken tresses of Talleyrand, which had acquired a European celebrity. It was plain that the actor had "made up" after the portrait of thestatesman in the well-known engravings of the Congress of Vienna. Mr. Bunn had again to meet the angry expostulations of the Chamberlain. Onthe 14th of February he wrote to Lord Belfast: "The passages bearingreference to the Queen Matilda in conjunction with Struensee havingbeen entirely omitted, will, I trust, be satisfactory to yourlordship. Until the evening of performance I was not aware what styleof wig Mr. Farren meant to adopt, such matters being entirely at thediscretion of performers of his standard. I have since mentioned tohim the objections which have been pointed out to me, but he has sentme word that he cannot consent so to mutilate his appearance, addingthat it is a wig he wore two years ago in a comedy called 'Lords andCommons. '" If this was true there can be little doubt that the wig hadbeen dressed anew and curling-ironed into a Talleyrand form that hadnot originally pertained to it. Meantime King William IV. Had stirredin the matter, despatching his Chamberlain to the Lords Grey andPalmerston. "They--said to be exceedingly irate--instantly attendedthe performance. In the box exactly opposite to the one they occupied, sat, however, the gentleman himself, _l'homme véritable_, hisExcellency Prince Talleyrand, _in propriâ personâ_, and he laughed soheartily at the play, without once exhibiting any signs of annoyanceat the appearance of his supposed prototype, that the whole affairwore a most absurd aspect; and thus terminated a singular specimen of'great cry and little wool. '"

A stage wig has hardly since this risen to the importance of a stateaffair. Yet the Chamberlain has sometimes interfered to stay anydirect stage portraiture of eminent characters. Thus Mr. Buckstone wasprohibited from appearing "made up" as Lord John Russell, and Mr. A. Wigan, when performing the part of a French naval officer somefive-and-twenty years ago, was directed by the authorities to reformhis aspect, which too much resembled, it was alleged, the portraits ofthe Prince de Joinville. The actor effected a change in this instancewhich did not much mend the matter. It was understood at the timeindeed that he had simply made his costume more correct, and otherwisehad rather heightened than diminished his resemblance to the son ofLouis Philippe. Other stage-wig questions have been of minorimport--relating chiefly to the appropriateness of the _coiffures_ ofHamlet and others. Should the Prince wear flaxen tresses or a"Brutus"? Should the Moor of Venice appear in a negro's close woollycurls, or are flowing locks permissible to him? These inquiries have agood deal exercised the histrionic profession from time to time. Andthere have been doubts about hair-powder and its compatibility withtragic purposes. Mademoiselle Mars, the famous French actress, decidedupon defying accuracy of costume, and declined to wear a powdered wigin a serious part. Her example was followed by Rachel, Ristori, andothers. When Auber's "Gustave, ou le Bal Masqué, " was in rehearsal, the singers complained of the difficulty they experienced inexpressing passionate sentiments in the powdered wigs and statelydress of the time of Louis XV. In the masquerade they were thereforepermitted to assume such costumes as seemed to them suited to theviolent catastrophe of the story. They argued that _"le moindre gesteviolent peut exciter le rire en provoquant l'explosion d'un nuageblanc; les artistes sont donc contraints de se tenir dans une réserveet dans une immobilité qui jettent du froid sur toutes lessituations. "_ It is true that Garrick and his contemporaries worehair-powder, and that in their hands the drama certainly did not lackvehemently emotional displays. But then the spectators were in likecase; and _"explosions d'un nuage blanc"_ were probably of too commonoccurrence to excite derision or even attention. 

Wigs are still matters of vital interest to the actors, and it is tobe noted that the theatrical hairdressers have of late years devotedmuch study to this branch of their industry. The light comedian stillindulges sometimes in curls of an unnatural flaxen, and the comiccountryman is too often allowed to wear locks of a quite impossiblecrimson colour. Indeed, the headdresses that seem only contrived tomove the laughter of the gallery, yet remain in an unsatisfactorycondition. But in what are known as "character wigs" there has beenmarked amendment. The fictitious forehead is now very often artfullyjoined on to the real brow of the performer, without those distressingdiscrepancies of hue and texture which at one time were so veryapparent, disturbing credibility and destroying illusion. And thedecline of hair in colour and quantity has often been imitated in thetheatre with very happy ingenuity. Heads in an iron-gray or partiallybald state--varying from the first slight thinning of the locks to thetime when they come to be combed over with a kind of "cat's cradle" ortrellis-work look, to veil absolute calvity--are now represented bythe actors with a completeness of a most artistic kind. With theladies of the theatre blond wigs are now almost to be regarded asnecessaries of histrionic life. This may be only a transient fashion, although it seems to have obtained very enduring vitality. Dr. Véron, writing of his experiences as manager of the Paris Opera House fortyyears ago, affirms: _"Il y a des beautés de jour et des beautés dusoir; une peau brune, jaune, ou noire, devient blanche à éclat de lalumière; les cheveux noirs réussissent mieux aussi au théâtre que lescheveux blonds. "_ But the times have changed; the arts of thetheatrical toilet have no doubt advanced greatly. On the stage now allcomplexions are brilliant, and light tresses are pronounced to be moreadmirable than dark. Yet Dr. Véron was not without skill and learningon these curious matters. He discourses learnedly in regard to thecosmetics of the theatre--paint and powder, Indian ink and carmine, and the chemical preparations necessary for the due fabrication ofeyebrows and lashes, for making the eyes look larger than life, forcolouring the cheeks and lips, and whitening the nose and forehead. And especially the manager took pride in the capillary artifices ofhis establishment, and employed an "artist in hair, " who held almostarrogant views of his professional acquirements. "My claim to thegrateful remembrance of posterity, " this superb _coiffeur_ was wont toobserve, "will consist in the fact that I made the wig in whichMonsieur Talma performed his great part of Sylla!" The triumphs of thescene are necessarily short-lived; they exist only in the recollectionof actual spectators, and these gradually dwindle and depart as Timegoes and Death comes. Nevertheless something of this wig-maker's famestill survives, although Talma has been dead nearly half a century. 

As Sylla, Talma was "made up" to resemble the first Napoleon. Macreadywrites in his "Journal" of Talma's appearance as Sylla: "The toga satupon him as if it had been his daily costume. His _coiffure_ mighthave been taken from an antique bust; but was in strict resemblance ofNapoleon's. It was reported that several passages had been struck outof the text by the censor, under the apprehension of their applicationby the Parisians to the exiled Emperor; and an order was said to havebeen sent from the police forbidding Talma to cross his hands behindhim, the ordinary habit of Napoleon. " The tragedy of "Sylla" waswritten by M. Jouy, and was first performed at the Théâtre Francais in1822. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

"ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS. "

It is clear that playgoers of the Shakespearean period dearly loved tosee a battle represented upon the stage. The great poet thoroughlyunderstood his public, and how to gratify it. In some fifteen of hisplays he has introduced the encounter or the marshalling of hostileforces. "Alarums and excursions" is with him a very frequent stagedirection; and as much may be said of "they fight, " or "_exeunt_fighting. " Combats and the clash of arms he obviously did not count as"inexplicable dumb show and noise. " He was conscious, however, thatthe battles of the stage demanded a very large measure of faith on thepart of the spectators. Of necessity they were required to "makebelieve" a good deal. In the prologue to "Henry V. " especial apologyis advanced for the presumption of the dramatist in dealing with socomprehensive a subject; and indulgence is claimed for the unavoidablefeebleness of the representation as compared with the force of thereality:

 Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; Into a thousand parts divide one man, And make imaginary puissance: Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times; Turning th' accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass. 

These conditions, however, were accepted by the audiences of the timein the most liberal spirit. Critics were prone to deride the popularliking for "cutler's work" and "the horrid noise of target fight;""the fools in the yard" were censured for their "gaping and gazing" atsuch exhibitions. But the battles of the stage were still fought on;"alarums and excursions" continued to engage the scene. Indeed, variety and stir have always been elements in the British drama asopposed to the uniformity and repose which were characteristics of theancient classical theatre. 

Yet our early audiences must have been extremely willing to help outthe illusions of the performance, and abet the tax thus levied upontheir credulity. Shakespeare's battles could hardly have been veryforcibly presented. In his time no "host of auxiliaries" assisted thecompany. "Two armies flye in, " Sir Philip Sidney writes in his"Apologie for Poetrie, " 1595, "represented with four swords andbucklers, and what harde heart will not receive it for a pitchedfielde?" So limited an array would not be deemed very impressive inthese days; but it was held sufficient by the lieges of Elizabeth. Just as the Irish peasant is even now content to describe a mere squadof soldiers as "the army, " so Shakespeare's audiences were willing toregard a few "blue-coated stage-keepers" as a formidable body oftroops. And certainly the poet sometimes exercised to the utmost theimaginations of his patrons. He required them to believe that hissmall stage was immeasurably spacious; that his handful of "supers"was in truth a vast multitude. During one scene in "King John" he doesnot hesitate to bring together upon the boards the three distinctarmies of Philip of France, the Archduke of Austria, and the King ofEngland; while, in addition, the citizens of Angiers are supposed toappear upon the walls of their town and discuss the terms of itscapitulation. So in "King Richard III. , " Bosworth Field isrepresented, and the armies of Richard and Richmond are made to encampwithin a few feet of each other. The ghosts of Richard's victims risefrom the stage and address speeches alternately to him and to hisopponent. Playgoers who can look back a score of years may remember atextual revival of the tragedy, in which this scene was exhibited inexact accordance with the original stage directions. Colley Cibber'sfamous acting version was for once discarded, and Richard and Richmondon the eve of their great battle quietly retired to rest in thepresence of each other, and of their audience. However to becommended on the score of its fidelity to the author's intentions, thescene had assuredly its ludicrous side. The rival tents wore theaspect of opposition shower-baths. It was exceedingly difficult tohumour the idea that the figures occupying the stage could neither seenor hear one another. Why, if they but outstretched their arms theycould have touched each other; and they were supposed to be mutuallyeager for combat to the death! It became manifest, indeed, that thespectators had lost greatly their ancestors' old power of "makingbelieve. " They could no longer hold their reason in suspense for thesake of enhancing the effect of a theatrical performance, thoughprepared to be indulgent in that respect. What is called "realism" hadinvaded the stage since Shakespeare's time, and could not now berepelled or denied. Hints and suggestions did not suffice; thepositive and the actual had become indispensable. 

There can be no doubt, however, that Shakespeare's battles hadoftentimes the important aid of real gunpowder. The armies might besmall; but the noise that accompanied their movements was surely verygreat. The stage direction "alarums and chambers go off" occurs morethan once in "King Henry V. " The Chorus to the play expressly states:

 Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur; ... And the nimble gunner With linstook now the devilish cannon touches, And down goes all before them. 

Gunpowder was even employed in plays wherein battles were notintroduced. Thus at the close of "Hamlet, " Fortinbras says: "Go bidthe soldiers shoot, " and the stage direction runs: "A dead march. _Exeunt_ bearing off the dead bodies; after which a peal of ordnanceis shot _off_. " And just as, in 1846, the Garrick Theatre, inGoodman's Fields, was destroyed by fire, owing to some wadding lodgingin the flies after a performance of the Battle of Waterloo, so in1613, the Globe Theatre, in Southwark, was burnt to the ground fromthe firing of "chambers" during a representation of "King Henry VIII. "Howes, in his additions to "Stowe's Chronicle, " thus describes theevent: "Also upon St. Peter's Day, 1613, the playhouse or theatrecalled the Globe, upon the Bankside, near London, by negligentdischarging of a peal of ordnance, close to the south side thereof, the theatre took fire, and the wind suddenly dispersed the flame roundabout, and in a very short space the whole building was quite consumedand no man hurt; the house being filled with people to behold theplay, namely, of 'Henry VIII. ;' and the next spring it was new buildedin a far fairer manner than before. "

The paucity of Shakespeare's stage armies has sometimes found itsreflex in the limited means of country theatres of more modern date. The ambition of strolling managers is apt to be far in advance oftheir appliances; they are rarely stayed by the difficulties ofrepresentation, or troubled with doubts as to the adequacy of theirtroupe, in the words of a famous commander, to "go anywhere and doanything. " We have heard of a provincial Rolla who at the last momentdiscovered that the army, wherewith he proposed to repulse the forcesof Pizarro, consisted of one supernumerary only. The Peruvianchieftain proved himself equal to the situation, however, and adaptedhis speech to the case. Addressing his one soldier, he declaimed inhis most dignified manner: "My brave associate, partner of my toil, myfeelings, and my fame, can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuousenergies which inspire your heart?" and so on. Thus altered, thespeech was found to be sufficiently effective. 

In his "Essay of Dramatic Poesy, " Dryden complains of the "tumults towhich we are subject in England by representing duels, battles, andthe like, which renders our stage too like the theatres where theyfight prizes. For what is more ridiculous than to represent an armywith a drum and four men behind it, all which the hero of the otherside is to drive before him? or to see a duel fought and one slainwith two or three thrusts of the foils, which we know are so bluntedthat we might give a man an hour to kill another in good earnest withthem?"

Two things were especially prized by the audiences of the past: aspeech and a combat. "For God's sake, George, give me a speech and letme go home!" cried from the pit the wearied country squire of QueenAnne's time to his boon companion Powell, the actor, doomed to appearin a part deficient in opportunities for oratory. "But, Mr. Bayes, might we not have a little fighting?" inquires Johnson, in theburlesque of "The Rehearsal, " "for I love those plays where they cutand slash one another on the stage for a whole hour together. "

The single combats that occur in Shakespeare's plays are verynumerous. There is little need to remind the reader, for instance, ofthe hand-to-hand encounters of Macbeth and Macduff, Posthumus andIachimo, Hotspur and the Prince of Wales, Richard and Richmond. Romeohas his fierce brawl with Tybalt, Hamlet his famous fencing scene, andthere is serious crossing of swords both in "Lear" and "Othello. "English audiences, from an inherent pugnacity, or a naturalinclination for physical feats, were wont to esteem highly the combatsof the stage. The players were skilled in the use of their weapons, and would give excellent effect to their mimic conflicts. And thiscontinued long after the wearing of swords had ceased to be anecessity or a fashion. The youthful actor acquired the art of fencingas an indispensable step in his theatrical education. A sword was oneof the earliest "properties" of which he became possessor. He alwayslooked forward to impressing his audience deeply by his skill incombat. Charles Mathews, the elder, has recorded in his too briefchapters of autobiography, "his passion for fencing which nothingcould overcome. " As an amateur actor he paid the manager of theRichmond Theatre seven guineas and a half for permission to undertake"the inferior insipid part of Richmond, " who does not appear until thefifth act of the play. The Richard of the night was a brother-amateur, equally enthusiastic, one Litchfield by name. "I cared for nothing, "wrote Mathews, "except the last scene of Richmond, but in that I wasdetermined, to have my full swing of carte and tierce. I had no notionof paying my seven guineas and a half without indulging my passion. Invain did the tyrant try to die after a decent time; in vain did hegive indications of exhaustion; I would not allow him to give in. Idrove him by main force from any position convenient for his lastdying speech. The audience laughed; I heeded them not. They shouted; Iwas deaf. Had they hooted I should have lunged on in myunconsciousness of their interruption. I was resolved to show them allmy accomplishments. Litchfield frequently whispered 'Enough!' but Ithought with Macbeth, 'Damned be he who first cries, Hold, enough!' Ikept him at it, and I believe we fought almost literally a long hourby Shrewsbury clock. To add to the merriment, a matter-of-fact fellowin the gallery, who in his innocence took everything for reality, andwho was completely wrapt up and lost by the very cunning of the scene, at last shouted out: 'Why don't he shoot him?'"

The famous Mrs. Jordan was, it seems, unknown to Mathews, presentamong the audience on this occasion, having been attracted from herresidence at Bushey by the announcement of an amateur Richard. "Yearsafterwards, " records Mathews, "when we met in Drury Lane green-room, Iwas relating, amongst other theatrical anecdotes, the bumpkin's callfrom the gallery in commiseration of the trouble I had in killingRichard, when she shook me from my feet almost by starting up, clasping her hands, and in her fervent, soul-stirring, warm-heartedtones, exclaiming: 'Was that you? I was there!' and she screamed withlaughter at the recollection of my acting in Richmond, and the lengthof our combat. "

"Where shall I hit you, Mr. Kean?" inquired a provincial Laertes ofthe great tragedian. "Where you _can_, sir, " was the grim reply. ForKean had acquired fencing under Angelo, and was proud of hisproficiency in the art. He delighted in prolonging his combats to theutmost, and invested them with extraordinary force and intensity. Onsome occasions he so identified himself with the character herepresented as to decline to yield upon almost any terms. Hazlittcensures certain excesses of this kind which disfigured hisperformance of Richard. "He now actually fights with his doubledfists, after his sword is taken from him, like some helpless infant. ""The fight, " writes another critic, "was maintained under variousvicissitudes, by one of which he was thrown to the earth; on his kneehe defended himself, recovered his footing, and pressed his antagonistwith renewed fury; his sword was struck from his grasp--he wasmortally wounded; disdaining to fall"--and so on. No wonder that manyRichmonds and Macduffs, after combating with Mr. Kean, were left soexhausted and scant of breath as to be scarcely able to deliveraudibly the closing speeches of their parts. The American stage has ahighly-coloured story of an English melodramatic actor with thepseudonym of Bill Shipton, who, "enacting a British officer in 'TheEarly Life of Washington, ' got so stupidly intoxicated that when MissCuff, who played the youthful hero, had to fight and kill him in aduel, Bill Shipton wouldn't die; he even said loudly on the stagethat he wouldn't. Mary Cuff fought on until she was ready to faint, and after she had repeated his cue for dying, which was, 'Cowardly, hired assassin!' for the fourteenth time, he absolutely jumped off thestage, not even pretending to be on the point of death. Our indignantcitizens then chased him all over the house, and he only escaped byjumping into the coffin which they bring on in Hamlet, Romeo, andRichard. " The story has its humour, but is not to be implicitlycredited. 

Broad-sword combats were at one time very popular interludes at minortheatres. They were often quite distinct performances, prized fortheir own sake, and quite irrespective of their dramatic relevancy. Itcannot be said that they suggested much resemblance to actual warfare. Still they demanded of the performers skill of a peculiar kind, greatphysical endurance and ceaseless activity. The combat-sword was anunlikely-looking weapon, very short in the blade, with a protuberanthilt of curved bars to protect the knuckles of the combatant. Theorchestra supplied a strongly-accentuated tune, and the swords clashedtogether in strict time with the music. The fight raged hither andthither about the stage, each blow and parry, thrust and guard, beinga matter of strict pre-arrangement. The music was hurried or slackenedaccordingly as the combat became more or less furious. "One, two, three, and under; one, two, three, and over;" "robber's cuts;""sixes"--the encounter had an abundance of technical terms. And eachperformer was allowed a fair share of the feats accomplished: thecombatants took turns in executing the strangest exploits. Alternatelythey were beaten down on one knee, even lower still, till they crawledserpent-wise about the boards; they leaped into the air to avoidchopping blows at their lower members; they suddenly span round ontheir heels, recovering themselves in time to guard a serious blow, aimed with too much deliberation at some vital portion of theirframes; occasionally they contrived an unexpected parry by swiftlypassing the sword from the right hand to the left. Now and then theyfought a kind of double combat, wielding a sword in either hand. Altogether, indeed, it was an extraordinary entertainment, whichevoked thunders of applause from the audience. The eccentric agilityof the combatants, the peculiarities of their method of engagement, the stirring staccato music of the band, the clashing of the swordsand the shower of sparks thus occasioned, were found quiteirresistible by numberless playgoers. Mr. Crummles, it will beremembered, had a very high opinion of this form of entertainment. 

Of late, however, the broadsword combat has declined as a theatricalattraction if it has not altogether expired. The art involved in itspresentment is less studied, or its professors are less capable thanwas once the case. And perhaps burlesque has exposed too glaringly itsridiculous or seamy side. It was not one of those things that couldlong endure the assaults of travesty. The spell was potent enough inits way, but it dissolved when once interruptive laughter becamegenerally audible. A creature of theatrical tradition, curiouslysophisticated and enveloped in absurdities, its long survival isperhaps more surprising than the fact of its decease. Some attempt atridiculing it seems to have been made so far back as the seventeenthcentury, in the Duke of Buckingham's "Rehearsal. " Two charactersenter, each bearing a lute and a drawn sword, and alternately fightand sing; "so that, " as Bayes explains, "you have at once your earentertained with music and good language, and your eye satisfied withthe garb and accoutrements of war. " In the same play, also, the actorswere wont to introduce hobby-horses, and fight a mimic battle of veryextravagant nature. 

Ridicule of a stage army was one of the established points of humourin the old burlesque of "Bombastes Furioso, " and many a pantomime haswon applause by the comical character of the troops brought upon thescene. It should be said, however, that of late years the more famousbattles of the theatre have been reproduced with remarkable liberalityand painstaking. In lieu of "four swords and bucklers, " a verynumerous army of supernumeraries has marched to and fro upon theboards. In the ornate revivals of Shakespeare, undertaken from time totime by various managers, especial attention has been directed to theeffective presentment of the battle scenes. The "auxiliaries" havefrequently consisted of soldiers selected from the household troops. They are reputed to be the best of "supers, " imposing of aspect, stalwart and straight-limbed, obedient to command, and skilled inmarching and military formations. Londoners, perhaps, are little awareof the services their favourite regiments are prompt to lend totheatrical representations. Notably our grand operas owe much to theColdstreams and Grenadiers. After a performance of "Le Prophète" or"L'Etoile du Nord, " let us say, hosts of these warriors may be seenhurrying from Covent Garden back to their barracks. Plays that havedepended for their success solely upon the battles they haveintroduced have not been frequent of late years, and perhaps theirpopularity may fairly be counted as a thing of the past. We have leftbehind us the times when versatile Mr. Gomersal was found submittingto the public by turns his impersonation of Napoleon at Waterloo andSir Arthur Wellesley at Seringapatam; when Shaw, the Lifeguardsman, after performing prodigies of valour, died heroically to slow music;when Lady Sale, armed with pistol and sabre, fought against heavyAfghan odds, and came off supremely victorious. Perhaps the publichave ceased to care for history thus theatrically illustrated, orprefers to gather its information on the subject from despatches andspecial correspondence. The last theatrical venture of this classreferred to our army's exploits in Abyssinia. But the play did notgreatly please. Modern battles have, indeed, outgrown the stage, andthe faculty of making "imaginary puissance" has become lost. In thetheatre, as elsewhere, the demand is now for the literal, theaccurate, and the strictly matter of fact. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

STAGE STORMS. 

Addison accounted "thunder and lightning--which are often made use ofat the descending of a god or the rising of a ghost, at the vanishingof a devil or the death of a tyrant"--as occupying the first place"among the several artifices put in practice by the poets to fill theminds of an audience with terror. " Certainly the stage owes much toits storms: they have long been highly prized both by playwrights andplaygoers, as awe-inspiring embellishments of the scene; and it musthave been an early occupation of the theatrical machinist to devisesome means of simulating the uproar of elemental strife. So far backas 1571, in the "Accounts of the Revels at Court, " there appears acharge of £1 2s. Paid to a certain John Izarde, for "mony to him duefor his device in counterfeting thunder and lightning in the play of'Narcisses;' and for sundry necessaries by him spent therein;" whileto Robert Moore, the apothecary, a sum of £1 7s. 4d. Is paid for"prepared corianders, " musk, clove, cinnamon, and ginger comfits, roseand "spike" water, "all which, " it is noted, "served for flakes ofsnow and haylestones in the maske of 'Janus;' the rose-water sweetenedthe balls made for snow-balls, and presented to her majesty by Janus. "The storm in this masque must clearly have been of a very elegant andcourtly kind, with sugar-plums for hailstones and perfumed water forrain. The tempests of the public theatres were assuredly conductedafter a ruder method. In his prologue to "Every Man in his Humour, "Ben Jonson finds occasion to censure contemporary dramatists for the"ill customs" of their plays, and to warn the audience that hisproduction is not as others are:

 He rather prays you will be pleased to see One such to-day as other plays should be; Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas, Nor creaking throne comes down the boys to please, Nor nimble squib is seen to make afeard The gentlewomen; nor rolled bullet heard To say it thunders; nor tempestuous drum Rumbles to tell you when the storm doth come, &c. 

It has been conjectured that satirical allusion was here intended tothe writings of Shakespeare; yet it is certain that Shakespearesustained a part, most probably that of Old Knowell, in the firstrepresentation of Jonson's comedy. Storms are undoubtedly of frequentoccurrence in Shakespeare's plays. Thus, "Macbeth" and "The Tempest"both open with thunder and lightning; there is "loud weather" in "TheWinter's Tale;" there is thunder in "The First Part of King HenryVI. , " when La Pucelle invokes the fiends to aid her endeavours;thunder and lightning in "The Second Part of King Henry VI. , " whenMargery Jourdain conjures up the spirit Asmath; thunder and lightningin "Julius Cæsar;" a storm at sea in "Pericles, " and a hurricane in"King Lear. " It is to be noted, however, that all these plays couldhardly have been represented so early as 1598, when "Every Man in hisHumour" was first performed. 

From Jonson's prologue it appears that the rumbling of thunder was atthat time imitated by the rolling to and fro of bullets orcannon-balls. This plan was in time superseded by more ingeniouscontrivances. It is curious to find, however, that some fifty yearsago one Lee, manager of the Edinburgh Theatre, with a view toimproving the thunder of his stage, ventured upon a return to theElizabethan system of representing a storm. His enterprise wasattended with results at once ludicrous and disastrous. He placedledges here and there along the back of his stage, and, obtaining aparcel of nine-pound cannon-balls, packed these in a wheelbarrow, which a carpenter was instructed to wheel to and fro over the ledges. The play was "Lear, " and the jolting of the heavy barrow as it wastrundled along its uneven path over the hollow stage, and therumblings and reverberations thus produced, counterfeited mosteffectively the raging of the tempest in the third act. Unfortunately, however, while the King was braving, in front of the scene, thepitiless storm at the back, the carpenter missed his footing, trippedover one of the ledges, and fell down, wheelbarrow, cannon-balls, andall. The stage being on a declivity, the cannon-balls came rollingrapidly and noisily down towards the front, gathering force as theyadvanced, and overcoming the feeble resistance offered by the scene, struck it down, passed over its prostrate form, and made their waytowards the foot-lights and the fiddlers, amidst the amusement andwonder of the audience, and the amazement and alarm of the Lear of thenight. As the nine-pounders advanced towards him, and rolled about inall directions, he was compelled to display an activity in avoidingthem, singularly inappropriate to the age and condition of thecharacter he was personating. He was even said to resemble a dancerachieving the terpsichorean feat known as the egg hornpipe. Presently, too, the musicians became alarmed for the safety of themselves andtheir instruments, and deemed it advisable to scale the spikedpartition which divided them from the pit; for the cannon-balls wereupon them, smashing the lamps, and falling heavily into the orchestra. Meantime, exposed to the full gaze of the house, lay prone, beside hisempty barrow, the carpenter, the innocent invoker of the storm he hadbeen unable to allay or direct, not at all hurt, but exceedinglyfrightened and bewildered. After this unlucky experiment, the managerabandoned his wheelbarrow and cannon-balls, and reverted to morereceived methods of producing stage storms. 

In 1713, a certain Dr. Reynardson published a poem called "The Stage, "which the critics of the time agreed to be a pretty and ingeniouscomposition. It was dedicated to Addison, the preface stating that"'The Spectator's' account of 'The Distrest Mother' had raised theauthor's expectation to such a pitch that he made an excursion fromcollege to see that tragedy acted, and upon his return was commandedby the dean to write upon the Art, Rise, and Progress of the EnglishStage; which how well he has performed is submitted to the judgment ofthat worthy gentleman to whom it is inscribed. " Dr. Reynardson's poemis not a work of any great distinction, and need only be referred tohere for its mention of the means then in use for raising the stormsof the theatre. Noting the strange and incongruous articles to befound in the tiring-room of the players--such as Tarquin's trousersand Lucretia's vest, Roxana's coif and Statira's stays, the poetproceeds:

 Hard by a quart of bottled lightning lies A bowl of double use and monstrous size, Now rolls it high and rumbles in its speed, Now drowns the weaker crack of mustard-seed; So the true thunder all arrayed in smoke, Launched from the skies now rives the knotted oak, And sometimes naught the drunkard's prayers prevail, And sometimes condescends to sour the ale. 

There is also allusion to the mustard-bowl as applied to theatricaluses in "The Dunciad:"

 "Now turn to different sports, " the goddess cries, "And learn, my sons, the wondrous power of NOISE. To move, to raise, to ravish every heart, With Shakespeare's nature or with Jonson's art, Let others aim; 'tis yours to shake the soul With thunder rumbling from the mustard-bowl. "

And further reference to the frequency of stage storms is continued inthe well-known lines, written by way of parodying the mention of theDuke of Marlborough in Addison's poem "The Campaign:"

 Immortal Rich! how calm he sits at ease, 'Mid snows of paper and fierce hail of pease; And proud his mistress' orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm. 

A note to the early editions of "The Dunciad" explains that the oldways of making thunder and mustard were the same, but that of late thethunder had been advantageously simulated by means of "troughs of woodwith stops in them. " "Whether Mr. Dennis was the inventor of thatimprovement, I know not, " writes the annotator; "but it is certainthat being once at a tragedy of a new author he fell into a greatpassion at hearing some, and cried: ''Sdeath! that is my thunder. '"Dennis's thunder was first heard on the production at Drury LaneTheatre, in 1709, of his "Appius and Virginia, " a hopelessly dulltragedy, which not even the united exertions of Booth, Wilkes, andBetterton could keep upon the stage for more than four nights. "TheDunciad" was written in 1726, when Pope either did not really knowthat the old mustard-bowl style of storm was out of date, or purposelyrefrained from mentioning the recent invention of "troughs of woodwith stops in them. "

In July, 1709, Drury-lane Theatre was closed by order of the LordChamberlain, whereon Addison published in "The Tatler" a facetiousinventory of the goods and movables of Christopher Rich, the manager, to be disposed of in consequence of his "breaking up housekeeping. "Among the effects for sale are mentioned:

 A mustard-bowl to make thunder with. 

 Another of a bigger sort, by Mr. D----'s directions, little used. 

The catalogue is not of course to be viewed seriously, or it might beinferred that Dennis's new thunder was still something of themustard-bowl sort. Other items relative to the storms of the stage andtheir accessories are:

 Spirits of right Nantz brandy for lambent flames and apparitions. 

 Three bottles and a half of lightning. 

 A sea consisting of a dozen large waves, the tenth bigger than ordinary, and a little damaged. 

(According to poetic authority, it may be noted, the tenth wave isalways the largest and most dangerous. )

 A dozen and a half of clouds trimmed with black, and well conditioned. 

 A set of clouds after the French mode, streaked with lightning and furbelowed. 

 One shower of snow in the whitest French paper. 

 Two showers of a browner sort. 

It is probably to this mention of snow-storms we owe the familiartheatrical story of the manager who, when white paper failed him, metthe difficulty of the situation by snowing brown. 

The humours of the theatre afforded great diversion to the writers in"The Spectator, " and the storms of the stage are repeatedly referredto in their essays. In 1771, Steele, discoursing about inanimateperformers, published a fictitious letter from "the Salmoneus ofCovent Garden, " demanding pity and favour on account of the unexpectedvicissitudes of his fortune. "I have for many years past, " he writes, "been thunderer to the playhouse; and have not only made as much noiseout of the clouds as any predecessor of mine in the theatre that everbore that character, but have also descended, and spoke on the stageas the Bold Thunderer in 'The Rehearsal. ' When they got me down thuslow, they thought fit to degrade me further, and make me a ghost. Iwas contented with this for these last two winters; but they carrytheir tyranny still further, and not satisfied that I am banished fromabove ground, they have given me to understand that I am wholly todepart from their dominions, and taken from me even my subterraneousemployment. " He concludes with a petition that his services may beengaged for the performance of a new opera to be called "TheExpedition of Alexander, " the scheme of which had been set forth in anearlier "Spectator, " and that if the author of that work "thinks fitto use firearms, as other authors have done, in the time of Alexander, I may be a cannon against Porus; or else provide for me in the burningof Persepolis, or what other method you shall think fit. "

In 1714, Addison wrote: "I look upon the playhouse as a world withinitself. They have lately furnished the middle region of it with a newset 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 than any hitherto made use of. They have a Salmoneus behind the scenes, who plays it off with greatsuccess. Their lightnings are made to flash more briskly thanheretofore; their clouds are also better furbelowed and morevoluminous; not to mention a violent storm locked up in a great chestthat is designed for 'The Tempest. ' They are also provided with adozen showers of snow, which, as I am informed, are the plays of manyunsuccessful poets, artificially cut and shredded for that vise. " Inan earlier "Spectator" he had written: "I have often known a bellintroduced into several tragedies with good effect, and have seen thewhole assembly in a very great alarm all the while it has beenringing. " Pope has his mention in "The Dunciad" of the same artifice:

 With horns and trumpets now to madness swell. Now sink in sorrow with a tolling bell; Such happy arts attention can command, When fancy flags and sense is at a stand. 

The notion of storing lightning in a bottle for use when requiredseems to have been frequently reverted to by the authors of the lastcentury as a means of entertaining the public. Thus a writer in "TheWorld, " in 1754, makes no doubt "of being able to bring thunder andlightning to market at a much cheaper price than common gunpowder, "and describes a friend who has applied himself wholly to electricalexperiments, and discovered that "the most effectual and easy methodof making this commodity is by grinding a certain quantity of airbetween a glass ball and a bag of sand, and when you have ground itinto fire your lightning is made, and then you may either bottle itup, or put it into casks properly seasoned for that purpose, and sendit to market. " The inventor, however, confesses that what he hashitherto made is not of a sufficient degree of strength to answer allthe purposes of natural lightning; but he is confident that he willsoon be able to effect this, and has, indeed, already so far perfectedhis experiments that, in the presence of several of his neighbours, hehas succeeded in producing a clap of thunder which blew out a candle, accompanied by a flash of lightning which made an impression upon apat of butter standing upon the table. He is also confident that inwarm weather he can shake all the pewters upon his shelf, and fullyexpects, when his thermometer is at sixty-two degrees and a half, tobe able to sour all the small beer in his cellar, and to break hislargest pier-glass. This paper in "The World, " apart from its humorousintention, is curious as a record of early dabblings in electricalexperiments. It may be mentioned that in one of Franklin's letters, written apparently before the year 1750, the points of resemblancebetween lightning and the spark obtained by friction from anelectrical apparatus are distinctly stated. It is but some thirty-fiveyears ago that Andrew Crosse, the famous amateur electrician, wasasked by an elderly gentleman, who came to witness his experimentswith two enormous Leyden jars charged by means of wires stretched formiles among the forest trees near Taunton: "Mr. Crosse, don't youthink it is rather impious to bottle the lightning?"

"Let me answer your question by asking another, " said Crosse, laughing. "Don't you think it might be considered rather impious tobottle the rain-water?"

Further, it may be remembered that curious reference to this part ofour subject is made by "the gentleman in the small clothes" who livednext door to Mrs. Nickleby, and presumed to descend the chimney of herhouse. "Very good, " he is reported to have said on that occasion, "then bring in the bottled lightning, a clean tumbler, and acorkscrew. "

The early days of George Frederick Cooke were passed atBerwick-upon-Tweed. Left an orphan at a very tender age, he had beencared for and reared by two aunts, his mother's sisters, who providedhim with such education as he ever obtained. There were no play-booksin the library of these ladies, yet somehow the youth contrived tobecome acquainted with the British drama. Strolling companiesoccasionally visited the town, and a certain passion for the theatrepossessed the boys of Berwick, with Cooke, of course, among them. Theyformed themselves into an amateur company, and represented, after afashion, various plays, rather for their own entertainment, however, than the edification of their friends. And they patronised, so far asthey could, every dramatic troupe that appeared in the neighbourhoodof Berwick. But they had more goodwill than money to bestow upon thestrollers, and were often driven to strange subterfuges in theiranxiety to see the play, and in their inability to pay the price ofadmission to the theatre. On one occasion Cooke and two or threefriends secreted themselves beneath the stage, in the hope of stealingout during the performance and joining the audience by means of anopening in a dark passage leading to the pit. Discovery andignominious ejection followed upon this experiment. Another essay ledto a curious adventure. Always on the alert to elude the vigilance ofthe doorkeeper, the boys again effected an entrance into the theatre. The next consideration was how to bestow themselves in a place ofconcealment until the time for raising the curtain should arrive, whenthey might hope, in the confusion and bustle behind the scenes, toescape notice, and enjoy the marvels of the show. "Cooke, " records hisbiographer, "espied a barrel, and congratulating himself on this safeand snug retreat, he crept in, like the hero of that immortal moderndrama, 'Tekeli. '" Unfortunately this hiding-place was one ofconsiderable peril. Cooke perceived that for companion tenants of hisbarrel he had two large cannon-balls--twenty-four pounders; but beingas yet but incompletely initiated into the mysteries of the scene, hedid not suspect the theatrical use to which these implements of warwere constantly applied. He was in the thunder-barrel of the theatre!The play was "Macbeth, " and the thunder was required in the firstscene, to give due effect to the entrance of the witches. "The JupiterTonans of the theatre, _alias_ the property-man, approached and seizedthe barrel. Judge the breathless fear of my hero--it was too great forwords, and he only shrunk closer to the bottom of his hiding-place. His tormentor proceeded to cover the open end of the barrel with apiece of old carpet, and to tie it carefully, to prevent the thunderfrom being spilt. Still George Frederick was most heroically silent;the machine was lifted by the Herculean property-man, and carriedcarefully to the side scene, lest in rolling the thunder should rumblebefore its cue. It would be a hopeless task to paint the agitation ofthe contents of the barrel. The property-man, swearing the barrel wasunusually heavy, placed the complicated machine in readiness, thewitches entered amid flames of rosin; the thunder-bell rang, thebarrel renewed its impetus, and away rolled George Frederick and hisponderous companions. Silence would now have been no virtue, and heroared most manfully, to the surprise of the thunderer, who, neglecting to stop the rolling machine, it entered on the stage, andGeorge Frederick, bursting off the carpet head of the barrel, appearedbefore the audience just as the witches had agreed to meet when 'thehurly-burly's done. '" Cooke's biographer, Mr. William Dunlap, thoughtthat this story bore "sufficient marks of probability. " It must besaid, however, that as to anecdotes touching their heroes, biographersare greatly prone to be credulous. 

The illusions of the stage were much enhanced by Garrick's Alsatianscene-painter, Philip James de Loutherbourg, a man of genius in hisway, and an eminent innovator and reformer in the matter of theatricaldecoration. Before his time the scenes had been merely strained"flats" of canvas, extending the whole breadth and height of thestage. He was the first to introduce set scenes and what aretechnically called "raking pieces. " He invented transparent scenes, with representations of moonlight, rising and setting suns, fires, volcanoes, &c. , and contrived effects of colour by means of silkscreens of various hues placed before the foot and side lights. He wasthe first to represent a mist by suspending a gauze between the sceneand the spectator. For two seasons he held a dioramic exhibition ofhis own, called the Eidophusikon, at the Patagonian Theatre in ExeterChange, and afterwards at a house in Panton Square. The specialattraction of the entertainment was a storm at sea, with the wreck ofthe "Halsewell, " East Indiaman. No pains were spared to picture thetempest and its most striking effects. The clouds were movable, painted upon a canvas of vast size, and rising diagonally by means ofa winding machine. The artist excelled in his treatment of clouds, andby regulating the action of his windlass he could direct theirmovements, now permitting them to rise slowly from the horizon andsail obliquely across the heavens and now driving them swiftly alongaccording to their supposed density and the power ascribed to thewind. The lightning quivered through transparent places in the sky. The waves carved in soft wood from models made in clay, coloured withgreat skill, and highly varnished to reflect the lightning, rose andfell with irregular action, flinging the foam now here, now there, diminishing in size, and dimming in colour, as they receded from thespectator. "De Loutherbourg's genius, " we are informed, "was asprolific in imitations of nature to astonish the ear as to charm thesight. He introduced a new art--the picturesque of sound. " That is tosay, he imitated the noise of thunder by shaking one of the lowercorners of a large thin sheet of copper suspended by a chain; thedistant firing of signals of distress from the doomed vessel hecounterfeited by suddenly striking a large tambourine with a spongeaffixed to a whalebone spring, the reverberations of the spongeproducing a peculiar echo as from cloud to cloud dying away in thedistance. The rushing washing sound of the waves was simulated byturning round and round an octagonal pasteboard box, fitted withshelves, and containing small shells, peas, and shot; while two discsof tightly-strained silk, suddenly pressed together, produced a hollowwhistling sound in imitation of loud and fitful gusts of wind. Cylinders, loosely charged with seed and small shot, lifted now at oneend, now at the other, so us to allow the contents to fall in apattering stream, effectually reproduced the noise of hail and rain. The moon was formed by a circular aperture cut in a tin box containinga powerful argand lamp, which was placed at the back of the scene, andbrought near or removed from the canvas as the luminary was supposedto be shining brightly or to be obscured by clouds. These contrivancesof Mr. De Loutherbourg may now, perhaps, be deemed to be of rather acommonplace description--they have figured so frequently, and in suchamplified and amended forms, upon the modern stage; but they werecalculated to impress the painter's patrons very considerably; theywere then distinctly innovations due to his curiously inventivegenius, and the result of much labour and heedful ingenuity. If thetheatrical entertainments of the present time manifest little progressin histrionic art, there has been, at any rate, marked advance in thematter of scenic illusions and mechanical effects. The thunder of ourmodern stage storms may no more proceed from mustard-bowls, or from"troughs of wood with stops in them, " but it is, at any rate, sufficiently formidable and uproarious, sometimes exciting, indeed, the anxiety of the audience, lest it should crash through the roof ofthe theatre, and visit them bodily in the pit; while for our magnesiumor lime-light flashes of lightning, they are beyond anything that"spirit of right Nantz brandy" could effect in the way of lambentflames, have a vividness that equals reality, and, moreover, leavebehind them a pungent and sulphurous odour that may be described aseven supernaturally noxious. The stage storm still bursts upon thedrama from time to time; the theatre is still visited in due course byits rainy and tempestuous season; and thunder and lightning are, asmuch as in Addison's time, among the favourite devices of ourplaywrights, "put in practice to fill the minds of an audience withterror. " The terror may not be quite of the old kind, but still itdoes well enough. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

"DOUBLES. "

The "doubling" of parts, or the allotment to an actor of morecharacters than one in the same representation, was an early necessityof theatrical management. The old dramatists delighted in a longcatalogue of _dramatis personæ_. There are some fifty "speaking parts"in Shakespeare's "Henry V. , " for instance; and although it was usualto press even the money-takers into the service of the stage to figureas supernumerary players, there was still a necessity for the regularmembers of the troupe to undertake dual duties. Certain curious stagedirections cited by Mr. Payne Collier from the old extemporal play of"Tamar Cam, " mentioned in Henslowe's "Diary" under the date ofOctober, 1602, afford evidence of an early system of doubling. In theconcluding scene of the play four-and-twenty persons are required torepresent the nations conquered by the hero--Tartars, Bactrians, Cattaians, Pigmies, Cannibals, &c. , and to cross the stage inprocession in the presence of the leading characters. The names ofthese performers are supplied, and it is apparent that Messrs. George, Thomas Morbeck, Parsons, W. Parr, and other members of the company, were present early in the scene as nobles and soldiers in attendanceupon the conqueror, and later--sufficient time being allowed for themto change their costumes--as representatives of "the people of Bohare, a Cattaian, two Bactrians, " &c. 

In proportion as the actors were few, and the _dramatis personæ_numerous, so the system of doubling, and even trebling parts, moreand more prevailed. Especially were the members of itinerant companiescompelled to undertake increase of labour of this kind. It was totheir advantage that the troupe should be limited in number, so thatthe money accruing from their performances should not be divided intotoo many shares, and, as a consequence, each man's profit reduced tooconsiderably. Further, it was always the strollers' principle ofaction to stick at nothing: to be deterred by no difficulties inregard to paucity of numbers, deficient histrionic gifts, inadequatewardrobes, or absent scenery. They were always prepared to represent, somehow, any play that seemed to them to promise advantages to theirtreasury. The labours of doubling fell chiefly on the minor players, for the leading tragedian was too frequently present on the scene asthe hero of the night to be able to undertake other duties. But if theplayer of Hamlet, for instance, was confined to that character, it wasstill competent for the representative of "the ghost of buriedDenmark" to figure also as Laertes; or for Polonius, his deathaccomplished, to reappear in the guise of Osric or the FirstGravedigger; to say nothing of such minor arrangements as wereinvolved in entrusting the parts of the First Actor, Marcellus, andthe Second Gravedigger to one actor. Some care had to be exercisedthat the doubled characters did not clash, and were not required to besimultaneously present upon the scene. But, indeed, the strollers didnot hesitate to mangle their author when his stage directions did notaccord with their convenience. The late Mr. Meadows used to relatethat when in early life he was a member of the Tamworth, Stratford-upon-Avon, and Warwick company, he was cast for Orozembo, the Old Blind Man, and the Sentinel in "Pizarro, " and took part in amutilated version of Macbeth, in which King Duncan, Hecate, the FirstMurderer, and the Doctor were performed by one actor; the bleedingsoldier, one of the apparitions, and Seyton by another; and Fleance, the Apparition of a crowned head, and the Gentlewoman by the juvenilelady of the company, the characters of Donaldbain and Siward beingwholly omitted. 

Harley's first theatrical engagement was with Jerrold, the manager ofa company at Cranbrook. His salary was fifteen shillings a week, andin a representation of "The Honeymoon" he appeared as Jaques, Lampedo, and Lopez, accomplishing the task with the assistance of several wigsand cloaks. In "John Bull" he played Dan, John Burr, and Sir FrancisRochdale; another actor doubling the parts of Peregrine and TomShuffleton, while the manager's wife represented Mrs. Brulgruddery andFrank Rochdale, attiring the latter in a pair of very loose nankeentrousers and a very tight short jacket. The entire company consistedof "four white males, three females, and a negro. " Certain of theparts were assigned in the playbills to a Mr. Jones. These, much tohis surprise, Harley was requested by the manager to assume. "Betweenyou and me, " he whispered mysteriously to his young recruit, "there'sno such person as Mr. Jones. Our company's rather thin just now, butthere's no reason why the fact should be noised abroad. " Otherprovincial managers were much less anxious to conceal the paucity oftheir company. A country playbill, bearing date 1807, seems indeed tovaunt the system of doubling to which the _impresario_ had beendriven. The comedy of "The Busy Body" was announced for performancewith the following extraordinary cast:

 Sir Francis Gripe and Charles Mr. Johnston. Sir George Airy and Whisper Mr. Deans. Sir Jealous Traffic and Marplot Mr. Jones. Miranda and Scentwell Mrs. Deans. Patch and Isabinda Mrs. Jones. 

Among other feats of doubling or trebling may be counted theperformance, on the same night, by a Mrs. Stanley, at the CoburgTheatre, of the parts of Lady Anne, Tressell, and Richmond, in"Richard III. " A Mr. W. Rede once accomplished the difficult feat ofappearing as Sir Lucius O'Trigger, Fag, and Mrs. Malaprop in arepresentation of "The Rivals, " the lady's entrance in the last scenehaving been preceded by the abrupt exit of Sir Lucius and the omissionof the concluding passages of his part. The characters of King Henry, Buckingham, and Richmond, in Cibber's edition of "Richard III. , " havefrequently been undertaken by one performer. 

Actors have often appeared in two, and sometimes in three theatres onthe same evening. This may be the result of their own greatpopularity, or due to the fact of their serving a manager who hasbecome lessee of more than one establishment. For twenty-eight nightsin succession, Grimaldi performed the arduous duties of clown both atSadler's Wells and Covent Garden Theatres. On one occasion he evenplayed clown at the Surrey Theatre in addition. It is recorded that"the only refreshment he took during the whole evening was one glassof warm ale and a biscuit. " A postchaise and four was waiting at theSurrey Theatre to convey him to Sadler's Wells, and thence to CoventGarden, and the postboys urged their horses to a furious speed. It iswell known that while fulfilling his double engagement he one wetnight missed his coach, and ran in the rain all the way fromClerkenwell to Holborn, in his clown's dress, before he could obtain asecond vehicle. He was recognised as he ran by a man who shouted:"Here's Joe Grimaldi!" And forthwith the most thoroughly popularperformer of his day was followed by a roaring and cheering mob ofadmirers, who proclaimed his name and calling, threw up their hats andcaps, exhibited every evidence of delight, and agreed, as with oneaccord, to see him safe and sound to his journey's end. "So the coachwent on, surrounded by the dirtiest bodyguard that was ever beheld;not one of whom deserted his post until Grimaldi had been safelydeposited at the stage-door of Covent Garden, when, after raising avociferous cheer, such of them as had money rushed round to thegallery doors, and making their appearance in the front just as hecame on the stage, set up a boisterous shout of 'Here he is again!'and cheered him enthusiastically, to the infinite amusement of everyperson in the theatre who had got wind of the story. "

At one time Elliston, engaged as an actor at Drury Lane, had theadditional responsibility of two theatrical managements, the Surreyand the Olympic. His performers were required to serve both theatres, and thus frequently appeared upon the stage in two counties upon thesame night. In 1834 the two patent theatres were ruled by one lessee, whose managerial scheme it was to work the two houses with a companyand a half. The running to and from Drury Lane and Covent Garden ofactors half attired, with rouged faces, and loaded with theparaphernalia of their art, of dancers in various stages of dress, ofmusicians bearing their instruments and their music-books, wasincessant, while the interchange of mysterious terms and inquiries, such as "Who's on?" "Stage waits, " "Curtain down, " "Rung up, " "Firstmusic, " &c. , was sufficiently perplexing to passers-by. At the seasonof Christmas, when the system of double duty was at its height, thehardships endured by the performers were severe indeed. The dancerswere said to pass from one theatre to the other six times during theevening, and to undergo no fewer than eight changes of costume. 

In the same way the performances at the summer theatre, the Haymarket, at the commencement and close of its season, often came into collisionwith the entertainments of the winter houses, and the actor engaged bytwo masters, and anxious to serve both faithfully, had a very arduoustime of it. How could he possibly be present at the Haymarket and yetnot absent from Drury Lane or Covent Garden? As a rule the patenttheatres had the preference, and the summer theatre was compelled fora few nights to be content with a very scanty company. On oneoccasion, however, Farley, the actor, achieved the feat of appearingboth at the Haymarket and Covent Garden on the same night, and in theplays presented first at each house. The effort is deserving ofparticular description. 

At Covent Garden the curtain rose at half-past six o'clock. In theHaymarket the representation commenced at seven. At the former theatreFarley was cast for one of the witches in "Macbeth. " At the latter hewas required to impersonate Sir Philip Modelove, in the comedy of "ABold Stroke for a Wife. " It was a question of fitting in his exits atCovent Garden with his entrances at the Haymarket. A hackney-coach wasin attendance, provided with a dresser, lighted candles, the necessarychange of costume, and the means of altering his make-up. His earlyduties as a witch at Covent Garden fulfilled, the actor jumped intohis coach, and, with the assistance of his dresser, was promptlychanged from the weird sister of the tragedy to the elderly beau ofthe comedy. He duly arrived at the Haymarket in time to presenthimself as Sir Philip, whose first entrance upon the stage is in thesecond act of the play. This part of his task performed, he hurriedagain to Covent Garden, being transformed on the road from Sir Philipback again to the weird sister. Again he left the patent theatre, andreached the Haymarket in time to appear as Sir Philip, on the secondentrance of that character in the fifth act of the play. The actoracquitted himself entirely to the satisfaction of his two audiences(who were perhaps hardly aware of the extent of his labours), butwith very considerable strain upon his nervous system. For to add tothe difficulties of his task, his coachman, indifferent to the counselthat the more haste often signifies the worse speed, turning a cornertoo sharply, ran his forewheel against a post, and upset coach, actor, dresser, candles, costumes, and all. This untimely accidentnotwithstanding, the actor, with assistance freely rendered by afriendly crowd, secured another vehicle, and succeeded inaccomplishing an exploit that can scarcely be paralleled in histrionicrecords. 

But if doubling was sometimes a matter of necessity, it has often beenthe result of choice. Actors have been much inclined to undertake dualduty with a view of manifesting their versatility, or of surprisingtheir admirers. Benefit-nights have been especially the occasions ofdoubling of this kind. Thus, at a provincial theatre, then under hismanagement, Elliston once tried the strange experiment of sustainingthe characters of both Richard and Richmond in the same drama. Theentrance of Richmond does not occur until the fifth act of thetragedy, when the scenes in which the king and the earl occupy thestage become alternate. On making his exit as Richard, Ellistondropped his hump from his shoulder, as though it had been a knapsack, straightened his deformed limbs, slipped on certain pieces ofpasteboard armour, and, adorned with fresh head-gear, duly presentedhimself as the Tudor prince. The heroic lines of Richmond delivered, the actor hurried to the side-wings, to resume something of themisshapen aspect of Richard, and then re-enter as that character. Inthis way the play went on until the last scene, when the combatantscame face to face. How was their fight to be presented to thespectators? This omission of so popular an incident as a broadswordcombat could not be thought of. The armour of Richmond was forthwithshifted on to the shoulders of a supernumerary player, who was simplyenjoined to "hold his tongue, and fight like the devil. " Richardslain, Richmond departed. The body of the dead king was borne from thestage, and Elliston was then enabled to reappear as Richmond, andspeak the closing lines of the play. 

Among more legitimate exploits in the way of doubling are to beaccounted the late Mr. Charles Mathews's assumption of the twocharacters of Puff and Sir Fretful Plagiary in "The Critic;" Miss KateTerry's performance both of Viola and Sebastian in "Twelfth Night;"Mr. Phelps's appearance as James the First and Trapbois, in the playfounded upon "The Fortunes of Nigel;" and the rendering by the sameactor of the parts of the King and Justice Shallow in "The Second Partof Henry IV. " The worst that can be said for these performances isthat they incline the audience to pay less heed to the play than tothe frequent changes of appearance entailed upon the players. Thebusiness of the scene is apt to be overlooked, and regard wandersinvoluntarily to the transactions of the tiring-room and theside-wings. Will the actor be recognisable? will he really have timeto alter his costume? the spectators mechanically ask themselves, andmeditation is occupied with such possibilities as a tangled string oran obstinate button hindering the performer. All this is opposed tothe real purpose of playing, and injurious to the actor's art, to saynothing of the interests of the dramatist. Illusion is the specialobject of the theatre, and this forfeits its magic when once inquiryis directed too curiously to its method of contrivance. Still doublingof this kind has always been in favour both with actors and audiences, and many plays have been provided especially to give dual occupationto the performers. Certain of these have for excuse the fact thattheir fables hinge upon some question of mistaken identity, or strongpersonal resemblance. The famous "Courier of Lyons, " founded, indeed, upon a genuine _cause célèbre_, was a drama of this kind. Here it wasindispensable that the respectable Monsieur Lesurques and the criminalDubosc, between whom so extraordinary a likeness existed that the onesuffered death upon the scaffold for a murder committed by the other, should be both impersonated by the same performer. "The CorsicanBrothers, " it need hardly be said, narrated the fortunes of thetwin-born Louis and Fabian dei Franchi, reasonably supposed to be somuch alike that they could not be known apart. Mademoiselle Rachelappeared with success in a drama called "Valeria, " written byMessieurs Auguste Maquet and Jules Lacroix, for the express purpose, it would seem, of rehabilitating the Empress Messalina. The actresspersonated Valeria, otherwise Messalina, and also Cynisca, adancing-girl of evil character, but so closely resembling the empressthat, as the dramatists argued, history had confounded the two ladies, and charged the one with the misdeeds of the other. "Like and Unlike, "an adaptation from the French, in which, some years since, MadameCeleste was wont to perform at the Adelphi, is also a drama of thesame class. But, indeed, works contrived for doubling purposes arenumerous enough. And in this category may be included the elaboratemelodramas which deal with long lapses of years, and relate theadventures of more than one generation, and in which the hero orheroine of the earlier scenes reappears at a later stage of theperformance as his or her own child. Here, however, frequent change ofdress is not required; the character first personated, when once laidaside, is not resumed, but is supposed to have been effectuallyremoved from the scene by death, generally of a violent description. It is to be added that the applause often won by the actor who doublesa part on account of his rapid changes of attire, are in truth duemuch less to him than to the activity of his dresser--a functionary, however, who is never seen by the public. Still, calls before thecurtain have now become such common compliments, that even thedressers of the theatre may yet obtain this form of recognition oftheir deserts. 

The services of a mute double to assist the illusion of the scene, orto spare a leading performer needless fatigue, have often beenrequired upon the stage. Such a play as "The Corsican Brothers" couldscarcely be presented without the aid of a mute player to take theplace, now of Louis, now of Fabian dei Franchi, to personate now thespectre of this twin, now of that. In former days, when the deepesttragedy was the most highly esteemed of theatrical entertainments, funeral processions, or biers bearing the corpses of departed heroes, were among the most usual of scenic exhibitions. Plays closed with asurprising list of killed and wounded. But four of the characters inRowe's "Fair Penitent" are left alive at the fall of the curtain, andamong those survivors are included such subordinate persons asRossano, the friend of Lothario, and Lucilla, the confidante ofCalista, whom certainly it was worth no one's while to put to death. The haughty gallant, gay Lothario, is slain at the close of the fourthact, but his corpse figures prominently in the concluding scenes. Thestage direction runs at the opening of the fifth act: "A room hungwith black; on one side Lothario's body on a bier; on the other atable with a skull and other bones, a book and a lamp on it. Calistais discovered on a couch, in black; her hair hanging loose anddisordered. Soft music plays. " In this, as in similar cases, it wasclearly unnecessary that the personator of the live Lothario of thefirst four acts should remain upon the stage to represent his deadbody in the fifth. It was usual, therefore, to allow the actor'sdresser to perform this doleful duty, and the dressers of the timeseem to have claimed occupation of this nature as a kind of privilege, probably obtaining in such wise some title to increase of salary. Theoriginal Lothario--the tragedy being first represented in 1703--wasGeorge Powell, an esteemed actor who won applause from Addison andSteele, but who appears to have been somewhat of a toper, and wasgenerally reputed to obscure his faculties by incessant indulgence inNantes brandy. The fourth act of the play over, the actor wasimpatient to be gone, and was heard behind the scenes angrilydemanding the assistance of Warren, his dresser, entirely forgetful ofthe fact that his attendant was employed upon the stage in personatingthe corpse of Lothario. Mr. Powell's wrath grew more and more intense. He threatened the absent Warren with the severest of punishments. Theunhappy dresser, reclining on Lothario's bier, could not but overhearhis raging master, yet for some time his fears were surmounted by hissense of dramatic propriety. He lay and shivered, longing for the fallof the curtain. At length his situation became quite unendurable. Powell was threatening to break every bone in his skin. In hisdresser's opinion the actor was a man likely to keep his word. With acry of "Here I am, master!" Warren sprang up, clothed in sabledraperies which were fastened to the handles of his bier. The houseroared with surprise and laughter. Encumbered by his charnel-housetrappings, the dead Lothario precipitately fled from the stage. Theplay, of course, ended abruptly. For once the sombre tragedy of "TheFair Penitent" was permitted a mirthful conclusion. 

Whenever unusual physical exertion is required of a player, a perilousfall, or a desperate leap, a trained gymnast is usually engaged asdouble to accomplish this portion of the performance. When in thestage versions of "Kenilworth, " Sir Richard Varney, in lieu of AmyRobsart, is seen to descend through the treacherous trap and incur afall of many feet, we may be sure that it is not the genuine Varney, but his double who undergoes this severe fate. The name of the doubleis not recorded in the playbill, however, and he wins little fame, let him acquit himself as skilfully as he may. Occasionally, however, doubles of this kind are found to emerge from obscurity and establisha reputation of their own. In 1820, a pantomime, dealing with thefairly tale of "Jack and the Beanstalk, " was produced at Drury Lane. The part of the hero was allotted to little Miss Povey, who declined, however, to undertake Jack's feat of climbing the famous beanstalk, aformidable structure reaching from the stage to the roof of thetheatre. It became necessary to secure a substitute who should presentsome resemblance to the small and slight figure of the young actress, and yet be sufficiently strong and courageous to undertake the taskshe demurred to. The matter was one of some difficulty, and for sometime no competent double was forthcoming. One morning, however, Winston, the stage-manager, descried a little active boy, acting aswaterman's assistant, at the hackney-coach stand in Bedford Street, Covent Garden. He was carried to the theatre and his abilities put tothe test at a rehearsal of the pantomime. His performance waspronounced satisfactory. He nightly appeared during the run of "Jackand the Beanstalk" as the climbing double of Miss Povey. Subsequently, he became one of the pupils of the clown. The boy said he believed hisname was Sullivan. Years afterwards he was known to fame as MonsieurSilvain, ballet-master, and principal dancer of the Academic Royale, Paris, an artist of distinction, and a most respectable member ofsociety. 

Mrs. Mowatt, the American actress, has recorded in her Memoirs acurious instance of a double being employed in connection with a dummyto secure a theatrical illusion of a special kind. The play producedat the Olympic Theatre some twenty years ago, was an English versionof the "Ariâne" of Thomas Corneille. In the original, Ariadne, uponthe discovery of the perfidy of Theseus, falls upon a sword andexpires. This catastrophe was altered in the adaptation, and astartling effect produced by the leaping of the heroine from a rock, and her plunging into the sea, while the ship of Theseus is seendeparting in the distance. It was found necessary that three Ariadnes, similarly costumed, and identical in appearance, should lend their aidto accomplish this thrilling termination. Mrs. Mowatt, as Ariadne thefirst, paced the shore, and received the agonising intelligence ofthe desertion of Theseus. A ballet-girl, as Ariadne the second, climbed the rocks of the Island of Naxos, reaching the highest peak tocatch the last glimpse of the vanishing vessel. The third Ariadne wasa most lifelike lay figure, which, on a given signal, was hurled fromthe cliff, and seen to fall into the abyss below. 

The greatest difficulty seems to have been experienced at rehearsal inpersuading Ariadne the second even to walk up the steep rocks ofNaxos. The poor ballet-girl had been chosen for this duty less becauseof her courage than on account of an accidental resemblance she boreto Mrs. Mowatt. "She stopped and shrieked halfway, protested she wasdizzy, and might fall, and would not advance a step farther. Afterabout half-an-hour's delay, during which the poor girl was encouraged, coaxed, and scolded abundantly, she allowed the carpenter, who hadplanned the rocky pathway, to lead her carefully up and down thedeclivity, and finally rushed up alone. " At a certain cue she wasrequired to fall upon her face, concealed from the audience by anintercepting rock, and then the lay figure took its flight through theair. 

The success of the performance appears to have been complete. Thesubstitution of the double for Ariadne, and the dummy for the double, even puzzled spectators who were provided with powerful opera-glasses. "The illusion was so perfect, " Mrs. Mowatt writes, "that on the firstnight of the representation, when Ariadne leaped from the rock, a manstarted up in the pit, exclaiming in a tone of genuine horror: 'GoodGod! she is killed!'" How this exclamation must have rejoiced theheart of the stage-manager! For one would rather not consider thepossibility of the "man in the pit" having been placed there by thatfunctionary with due instructions as to when and what he was toexclaim. 

It is a sort of doubling when, in consequence of the illness orabsence of a performer, his part is read by some other member of thecompany. In this way curious experiments have sometimes been made uponpublic patience. At Dublin, in 1743, Addison's tragedy was announcedfor representation, with Sheridan, the actor, in the character ofCato. Sheridan, however, suddenly declined to appear, the costume hehad usually assumed in his performance of Cato being absent from thewardrobe. In this emergency, Theophilus Cibber submitted a propositionto the audience that, in addition to appearing as Syphax in the play, he should read the part Mr. Sheridan ought to have filled. The offerwas accepted, the performance ensued, and apparently excited noopposition. Sheridan was much incensed, however, and published anaddress to the public. Cibber replied. Sheridan issued a secondaddress, to which Cibber again responded. Their correspondence wassubsequently reprinted in a pamphlet entitled "Sock and Buskin. " Butthe fact remained that "Cato" had been represented with the chief partnot acted, but read by a player who had other duties to fulfil in thetragedy. One is reminded of the old-established story of the play of"Hamlet" being performed with the omission of the character of thePrince of Denmark; a tradition, or a jest, which has long beenattributed to Joe Miller, or some similar compiler of facetiæ. Itwould seem, however, that even this absurd legend can boast somefoundation of fact. At any rate, Mr. Parke, the respectable oboist ofthe Opera House, who published his Musical Memoirs in 1830, is foundgravely recording of one Cubit, a subordinate actor and singer ofCovent Garden Theatre, that once, "when during one of his summerengagements at a provincial theatre, he was announced to perform thecharacter of Hamlet, he was seized with a sudden and serious illnessin his dressing-room, just before the play was going to begin;whereupon the manager, having 'no more cats than would catch mice, 'was constrained to request the audience to suffer them to go throughwith the play, omitting the character of Hamlet; which, being compliedwith, it was afterwards considered by the bulk of the audience to be agreat improvement. " Mr. Parke proceeds to record, by way, perhaps, offortifying his story: "Although this may appear ridiculous andimprobable, an occurrence of a similar kind took place several yearsafterwards at Covent Garden Theatre, when Cooke, the popular actor, having got drunk, the favourite afterpiece of 'Love à la Mode' wasperformed before a London audience (he being absent) without theprincipal character, Sir Archy MacSarcasm. "

CHAPTER XXVII. 

BENEFITS. 

Philip Henslowe, who, late in the sixteenth century, was proprietor ofthe old Rose Theatre, which stood a little west of the foot of LondonBridge, at Bankside, combined with his managerial duties theoccupation of pawnbroker, and was employed, moreover, as a kind ofcommission agent, or middleman, between dramatic authors and actors. It probably seemed as natural to the manager to engage in thesedifferent employments as to require his players to "double" or"treble" parts in plays possessed of an unusually long list of_dramatis personæ_. He had married Agnes Woodward, a widow, whosedaughter, Joan, became the first wife of Edward Alleyn, the actor, thefounder of Dulwich College. Henslowe had been the servant of Mrs. Woodward, and by his union with her he acquired considerable property. Forthwith he constituted himself "a banker of the poor"--to use themodern euphonious synonym for pawnbroker--and advanced money for allneeding it who were able to deposit with him plate, rings, jewels, wearing apparel, or other chattels of value. The playwrights of thetime constantly obtained loans from him, not always that he mightsecure their compositions for his theatre, but often to relieve theirimmediate wants; and it is plain that he constantly availed himself oftheir necessitous condition to effect bargains with them veryadvantageous to his own interests. Robert Daborne, the dramatist, forinstance, appears to have been particularly impecunious, and he was, moreover, afflicted with a pending lawsuit; the sums he obtained forhis plays from the manager were therefore very disproportionate anduncertain. His letters to Henslowe are urgent in solicitations forpayment on account of work in hand; he was often obliged to send hismanuscripts piecemeal to the manager, and on one occasion supplied arough draft of the last scene of a play in order to obtain a fewshillings in advance. The amounts paid for new plays at this time werevery low. Before 1600 Henslowe never gave more than £8 for a play, butafter that date there was a considerable rise in prices. In 1613Daborne received £20 for his tragedy of "Machiavell and the Devil. " Inthe same year, however, for another play, "The Bellman of London, " hewas content to take £12 and "the overplus of the second day. " He haddemanded £20 in the first instance, but being in great stress formoney, had reduced his terms, beseeching Henslowe "to forsake him notin his extremity. " Daborne's letters of entreaty indeed expose hispoverty in a most pathetic manner, while occasionally they betrayamusingly his vanity as an author. In one of his appeals to themanager, he writes: "I did think I deserved as much money as Mr. Massinger;" but this estimation of himself and his writings has notbeen confirmed by later ages. 

The "overplus of the second day" was probably, as a rule, not veryconsiderable, seeing that a payment of £20 down was regarded as ahigher rate of remuneration than £12 and "the overplus, " whatever itmight produce, in addition. Daborne's needs, however, may have inducedhim to prize unduly "the bird in the hand. " Still his brother-authorsheld similar views on the subject. They, too, disliked the overplussystem, while the managers as resolutely favoured it. So that, apartfrom the consideration that poverty clings to certainty because itcannot afford speculation, and that, to the literary characterespecially, a present payment of a specified sum is always moreprecious than possible undefined profits in the future, we mayconclude that the overplus system generally told to the advantage ofthe managers. In the end the labourers had to yield to thecapitalists; indeed, they could make little stand against them. Authors have never manifested much faculty for harmonious combination, and a literary strike was no more conceivable then than now. In time achance of the overplus became hardly separable from the method ofpaying dramatists. It was thought, perhaps, that better works wouldbe produced by the writers who were made in some sort dependent forprofit upon the success of their plays and partners in the ventures ofthe managers. In such wise the loss sustained from the condemnation ofa play at its first representation would not fall solely upon themanager; the author would at least be a fellow-sufferer. Gradually thechance of the overplus was deferred from the second to the thirdperformance. The system no doubt varied according to the position ofthe dramatist, who, if he were a successful writer, could make his ownterms, so far as the selection of the overplus night was concerned. Sir John Denham, in the prologue to his tragedy, "The Sophy, " acted atBlackfriars about 1642, speaks of the second _or_ third day's overplusas belonging to the poet:

 Gentlemen, if you dislike the play, Pray make no words on't till the second day Or third be passed. 

After the Restoration it became a settled practice that what was thencalled "the author's night" should be the third performance of hisplay; and the dramatist in time received further profit fromsubsequent representations. 

 Then grant 'em generous terms who dare to write, Since now that seems as dangerous as to fight; If we must yield yet ere the day be fixt, Let us hold out the third, and, if we may, the sixth. 

 _Prologue, "The Twin Rivals, " Farquhar, produced 1702. _

"In Dryden's time, " writes Dr. Johnson, explaining that with all hisdiligence in play-writing the poet could not greatly improve hisfortune, [2] "the drama was very far from that universal approbationwhich it has now obtained. The playhouse was abhorred by the Puritans, and avoided by those who desired the character of seriousness ordecency. A grave lawyer would have debased his dignity, and a youngtrader would have impaired his credit by appearing in those mansionsof dissolute licentiousness. The profits of the theatre, when so manyclasses of the people were deducted from the audience, were notgreat, and the poet had, for a long time, but a single night. Thefirst that had two nights was Southern; and the first that had threewas Rowe. There were, indeed, in those days, arts of improving apoet's profit, which Dryden forbore to practise; but a play seldomproduced him more than a hundred pounds by the accumulated gain of thethird night, the dedication, and the copy. "

 [2] He had, it was alleged, entered into a contract to furnish four plays in each year. 

These "arts of improving a poet's profit" consisted in the canvassinghis friends and patrons, distributing tickets, and soliciting favourin all quarters. By his address in these matters, Southern's tragedy, "The Spartan Dame, " produced him £500; indeed, he is said to haveprofited more by his writings for the stage than any of hiscontemporaries. Malone states that Addison was the first to abandonthe undignified custom of appealing personally to the public forsupport. But it has been pointed out that this is an error. Addisongave the profits of "Cato" to the managers, and was not requiredtherefore to appeal on his own behalf to the public. Goldsmith's"Good-natured Man, " it may be noted, was played ten consecutivenights, and the third, sixth, and ninth performances were advertisedas "appropriated to the author. " These three nights produced him £400, and he received £100 more from Griffin, the publisher, for thepublication of the play--the entire receipts being immediately, withcharacteristic promptness, spent in the purchase of the lease of hischambers in Brick Court, Middle Temple, and in handsome furniture, consisting of "Wilton carpets, blue moreen mahogany sofas, blue moreencurtains, chairs corresponding, chimney-glasses, Pembroke and cardtables, and tasteful book-shelves. " According to Malone, one hundredguineas remained for many years, dating from 1726, the standard pricepaid by the publishers for a new play. 

In addition to these "authors' nights, " performances were occasionallygiven for the benefit of an author suffering from adversecircumstances. Thus, in 1733, a performance was organised at theHaymarket Theatre for the benefit of Mr. Dennis, the critic anddramatist. "The Provoked Husband" was represented, and Pope so farlaid aside his resentment against his old antagonist as to supply aprologue for the occasion. Nevertheless, it was noticed that the poethad not been able to resist the temptation of covertly sneering at thesuperannuated author, and certain of the lines in the prologue werefound susceptible of a satirical application. Happily, poor Dennis, protected by his vanity or the decay of his intelligence, perceivednothing of this. Indeed, the poor old critic survived the benefit buttwenty days, dying in the seventy-seventh year of his age. Otherbenefit performances on behalf of distressed men of letters, or theirfamilies, have frequently been given, even in quite recent times; butthese are not to be confounded with the "authors' nights, " as theywere originally understood. "Authors' nights, " strictly so called, have disappeared of late years. Modern dramatists are content to makeprivate arrangements in regard to their works with the managers, anddo not now publicly advance their personal claims upon the generalconsideration. They may profit by an "overplus, " or be paid by thelength of a "run" of their plays, or may sell them out-right at oncefor a stipulated sum. The public have no knowledge of, and no concernin, the conditions of their method of transacting business. But fromthe old overplus system of the Elizabethan stage resulted thosespecial performances called "benefits, " still known to the modernplaygoer, though now connected in his mind almost altogether withactors, and in no degree with authors. Nevertheless, it was forauthors that benefits were originally instituted, in opposition, as wehave seen, to their wishes, and solely to suit the convenience andforward the interests of managers such as Mr. Henslowe. 

Certainly in Shakespeare's time the actors knew nothing of benefits. They obtained the best price they could for their services, and therisk of profit or loss upon the performance was wholly the affair ofthe manager. Indeed, it was long after the time when the chance of anoverplus had become systematised as a means of paying authors, that itoccurred to anyone that actors might also be remunerated in a similarway. In olden days the actor's profession was not favourably regardedby the general public; his social position was particularly insecure;he was looked upon as of close kin to the rogue and the vagabond, andwith degrading possibilities in connection with the stocks andwhipping-post never wholly remote from his professional career. AnElizabethan player, presuming to submit his personal claims and meritsto the consideration of the audience, with a view to his ownindividual profit, apart from the general company of which he was amember and the manager whom he served, would probably have been deemedguilty of a most unpardonable impertinence. Gradually, however, thestatus of the actor improved; people began to concede that he was notnecessarily or invariably a mountebank, and that certain of thequalities and dignities of an art might attach now and then to hisachievements. The famous Mrs. Barry was, according to Cibber, "thefirst person whose merit was distinguished by the indulgence of havingan annual benefit play, which was granted to her alone, " he proceeds, "if I mistake not, first in King James II. 's time, and which becamenot common to others until the division of the company, after thedeath of King William's Queen Mary. " However, in the preceding reign, in the year 1681, it appears by an agreement made between Davenant, Betterton, and others, that Charles Hart and Edward Kynaston were tobe paid "five shillings apiece for every day there shall be anytragedies or comedies or other representations at the Duke's Theatre, in Salisbury Court, or wherever the company shall act during therespective lives of the said Charles Hart and Edward Kynaston, excepting the days the young men or young women play for their ownprofit only. " Benefits would certainly seem to be here referred to, unless we are to understand the performances to be of a commonwealthkind, carried on by the players at their own risk, and independentlyof the managers. Still, to King James's admiring patronage of Mrs. Barry, the benefit system, as it is at present known to us, has beengenerally ascribed; and clearly the monarch's memory deserves to becherished on this account by our players. He can ill afford to foregothe smallest claim to esteem, and undoubtedly he entertained afriendly regard for the stage and its professors. Indeed, the Stuartsgenerally were well disposed towards the arts, and a decidedlyplaygoing family. 

For some years, however, actors' benefits did not extend beyond thecase of Mrs. Barry. But in 1695 the patentees of the theatres were sounfortunately situated that they could not satisfy the claims of theiractors, and were compelled to pay them "half in good words and half inready money. " Under these circumstances certain of the playerscompounded for the arrears of salary due to them by taking the risk ofbenefit performances. After a season or two these benefits were foundto be so advantageous to the actors that they were expresslystipulated for in their agreements with the managers. On the otherhand, the managers, jealous of the advantages secured in this wise bythe players, took care to charge very fully for the expenses of thehouse, which were of course deducted from the gross receipts of thebenefit-night, and further sought to levy a percentage upon theprofits obtained by the actors. In 1702 the ordinary charge for houseexpenses, on the occasion of a benefit at Drury Lane, was about £34. In Garrick's time the charge rose to £64, and was afterwards advancedconsiderably. Still the actors had special sources of profit. Theiradmirers and patrons were not content to pay merely the ordinaryprices of admission, but bought their tickets at advanced rates, andoften sent presents of money in addition. Thus Betterton--whosesalary, by-the-bye, was only £4 per week--took a benefit in 1709, whenhe received £76 for two-thirds of the receipts upon the ordinaryscale--one-third being deducted by the manager for expenses--and afurther sum of £450 for the extra payments and presents of hisfriends. The boxes and pit were "laid together, " as it was called, andhalf-a-guinea was charged for admission. "One lady gave him tenguineas, some two, and most one guinea. Further, he delivered ticketsfor more persons than the boxes, pit, and stage could hold, and it wasthought that he cleared £450 at least over and above the £76. "Certainly the great actor enjoyed on this occasion of his benefit whatis popularly known as "a bumper. "[3]

 [3] Macready, on the occasion of his taking a benefit, invariably refused to receive any payment in excess of the ordinary charges for admission to the theatre, and was wont, with a polite note of thanks, to return the balance to those who, as he judged, had overpaid him for their tickets. 

The system of actors' benefits having thus become thoroughlyestablished, was soon extended and made applicable to other purposes, for the most part of a charitable kind. Thus, in 1711, a benefitperformance was given in aid of Mrs. Betterton, the widow of the latefamous tragedian, who had herself been an actress, but had for sometime ceased to appear on the stage owing to age and other infirmities. The "Tatler, " after an account of Betterton's funeral, describesfeelingly the situation of his widow: "The mention I have here made ofMr. Betterton, for whom I had, as long as I have known anything, avery great esteem and gratitude, for the pleasure he gave me, can dohim no good; but it may possibly be of service to the unhappy woman hehas left behind him, to have it known that this great tragedian wasnever in a scene half so moving as the circumstances of his affairscreated at his departure. His wife, after a cohabitation of fortyyears in the strictest amity, has long pined away with a sense of hisdecay, as well in his person as in his little fortune; and inproportion to that she has herself decayed both in health and reason. Her husband's death, added to her age and infirmities, would certainlyhave terminated her life, but that the greatness of her distress hasbeen her relief by her present deprivation of her senses. This absenceof her reason is her best defence against age, sorrow, poverty, andsickness. "[4] Indeed, Steele constantly testifies his fondness for thetheatre and kindly feeling towards the players, by calling attentionto the benefit performances, and bespeaking the public favour forthem, adding much curious mention and humorous criticism of thecomedians who were especially the objects of his admiration--Pinkethman, Bullock, Underbill, Dogget, and others. 

 [4] The "Tatler, " No. 167, May 4, 1710. 

Other benefits, however, less urgently laid claim to the goodwill ofthe public. At the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, in the year 1726, a performance was announced "for the benefit of an author whose playis deferred till next season. " How far the efforts of this anonymousgentleman to raise money upon a sort of contingent reversion ofliterary distinction were encouraged by the playgoers, or whether hisplay ever really saw the light of the stage-lamps, can hardly now bediscovered. By-and-by performances are given on behalf of objectswholly unconnected with players or playwrights. In 1742 arepresentation was advertised, "For the entertainment of the GrandMaster of the Ancient and Honourable Society of Free and AcceptedMasons--for the benefit of a brother who has had great misfortunes. " Aseason or two later there was a benefit at Drury Lane "for a gentlemanunder misfortunes, " when Othello was played by an anonymous actor, afterwards to be known to fame as Mr. Samuel Foote. In subsequentyears benefits were given "for the sufferers by a late fire;" onbehalf of the soldiers who had fought against the Pretender in theyear '45; for "Mrs. Elizabeth Forster, the granddaughter of Milton, and his only surviving descendant, "[5] when "Comus" was performed, anda new prologue, written by Dr. Johnson, was spoken by Garrick; for"the Lying-in Hospital in Brownlow Street;" while in the success ofthe production of Dr. Young's tragedy of "The Brothers, " played atDrury Lane in 1753, the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel wasdirectly concerned--the author having announced that the profits wouldbe given in aid of that charity. Nevertheless, the receiptsdisappointed expectation; whereupon the author generously, out of hisown resources, made up the sum of £1000. A special epilogue waswritten for the occasion by Mallet at Garrick's request; but this wasso coarsely worded, and so broadly delivered by Mrs. Clive, that Dr. Young took offence, and would not suffer the lines to be printed withhis play. 

 [5] The lady is said to have been so little acquainted with diversion or gaiety, that she did not know what was intended when a benefit was offered her. Praiseworthy efforts were made in her interest, but the performance only produced £130. 

Among the curiosities of benefits may be recorded a performance thattook place at Drury Lane in 1744 on behalf of Dr. Clancy, the authorof one or two plays, who published his memoirs in Dublin in 1750. Dr. Clancy was blind, and the playbill was headed with the line fromMilton, "The day returns, but not to me returns. " The play was"Oedipus, " and the part of Tiresias, the blind prophet, was undertakenby Dr. Clancy. The advertisements expressed a hope that "as this willbe the first instance of any person labouring under so heavy adeprivation performing on the stage, the novelty as well as theunhappiness of his case will engage the favour and protection of aBritish audience. " The performance, which must certainly have been ofa painful kind, attracted a very numerous audience: and the fact maybe regarded as proof that an appetite for what is now designated "thesensational" was not wholly unknown to the playgoers of the lastcentury. It does not appear that Dr. Clancy's representation of theblind prophet was repeated, nor is it stated that as an histrioniceffort it was particularly distinguished. It was enough perhaps thatthe part was played by a man who was really blind, instead of by onemerely simulating blindness. Ultimately Dr. Clancy's case moved thepity of George II. , and he was awarded during his life a pension of£40 a year from the privy purse. 

Other authors have from time to time appeared on the stage to speakprologues, or to sustain complete characters; for instance, TomDurfey, Otway, Farquhar, Savage, Murphy, and, to jump to later days, Sheridan Knowles. Their appearances, however, cannot be simplyconnected with benefits. In many cases they, no doubt, contemplatedthe adoption of the stage as a profession, though, as a rule, it mustbe said success was denied them in such respect. They played on theirbenefit-nights, of course, but their performances were not limited tothose occasions. 

It is not to be supposed that a benefit could be taken by an actor, or, at an earlier date, by an author, without his incurring muchtrouble in regard to preliminary arrangements. The mere issue of alist of entertainments, however attractive, was by no meanssufficient. He was required to call at the houses of his patrons andfriends, personally to solicit their support on the occasion, and topay his respects to them. Any failure of attention on his part in thismatter he was bound to make the subject of public explanation andapology. It must be remembered that the playgoers of a century agowere rather a family than a people. They were limited in number, returned to the theatre night after night, naturally demanding thatconstant change of programme which so distinguished the old stage, andhas been so completely omitted from modern theatrical arrangements, and were almost personally known to the actors. This, of course, onlyrefers to the visitors to the pit and boxes; the galleries were alwayspresumed to be occupied by footmen and apprentices, and persons of noconsideration whatever, while stalls were not yet in existence. Strangers from the country were few--those from foreign parts fewerstill. The theatre was regarded, as it were, from a household point ofview; was in some sort supplementary to a man's home, and he thereforeconsidered himself entitled to be heard and to take a personalinterest in regard to its concerns and proceedings. Necessarily thisfeeling diminished as London grew in size and the audience increasedin numbers, and finally became impossible. An actor knew at last hisadmirers only in the mass; while they lost inevitably all individualand private interest in his success. But long after the Londonplayers had ceased to make calls and to solicit patronage for theirbenefits, the practice still obtained in the provinces, and could onno account be abandoned. Thus, in early life, when a member of thecountry company of which her father, Roger Kemble, was manager, thegreat Mrs. Siddons has been seen, as a contemporary writer describes, "walking up and down both sides of a street in a provincial town, dressed in a red woollen cloak, such as was formerly worn by menialservants, and knocking at each door to deliver the playbill of herbenefit. " And to come to a later instance, the reader may bear in mindthat before that ornament of Mr. Crummles's company, Miss Snevellici, took her benefit or "bespeak" at the Portsmouth Theatre, she, incompany with Nicholas Nickleby, and, for propriety's sake, the InfantPhenomenon, canvassed her patrons in the town, and sold tickets to Mr. And Mrs. Curdle, Mrs. Borum, and others. 

In pursuance of this principle, we find a notice in the bill for Mr. Bickerstaff's benefit, at Drury Lane, in May, 1723: "Bickerstaff beingconfined to his bed by his lameness, and his wife lying now dead, hasnobody to wait on the quality and his friends for him, but hopesthey'll favour him with their appearance. " And when, just before Mr. Ryan's benefit at Covent Garden in 1735, he had been attacked by afootpad and seriously injured--several of his teeth having been shotout, and his face and jawbone much shattered--he addressed a letter in_The Daily Post_ to his friends, in which he stated the uncertainty ofhis being ever able to appear on the stage again, and expressed hishopes "that they would excuse his not making a personal application tothem. " So again, on the occasion of Mr. Chapman's benefit, in 1739, there appears in the playbill an announcement: "N. B. --I being indanger of losing one of my eyes, and advised to keep it from the air, therefore stir not out to attend my business at the theatre. On thismelancholy occasion I hope my friends will be so indulgent as to sendfor tickets to my house, the corner of Bow Street, Covent Garden, which favour will be gratefully acknowledged by their obedient, humbleservant, THOMAS CHAPMAN. " The excuses set forth in these announcementsappear to be very sufficient, and no doubt were so regarded by thepatrons in each case, while at the same time they demonstrate theconduct required ordinarily of persons anxious for public support onthe occasion of their benefits. Excuses of a lighter kind, however, seem frequently to have been held adequate by the players. Mr. Sheridan, the actor, notifies in 1745 that, "as his benefit was notappointed till last Friday, he humbly hopes that such ladies andgentlemen as he shall omit to wait on will impute it rather to a wantof time than to a want of respect and knowledge of his duty. " And Mr. Yates, who about the same time had migrated from the West-end stage tothe humbler theatre in Goodman's Fields, and announced Fielding's"Miser" for his benefit--"the part of Lovegold to be attempted by Mr. Yates after the manner of the late Mr. Griffin"--apologises "for notwaiting on ladies and gentlemen, as he is not acquainted with thatpart of the town. " Whether this somewhat lofty plea of ignorance oftheir neighbourhood, however, affected unfavourably the actor's claimsupon the denizens of Goodman's Fields, cannot now be ascertained. Intime notices of this kind disappeared altogether from the playbills. At the present day an actor, of course, does his best to conciliatepatronage, and in his own immediate circle of friends some littlecanvassing probably takes place to promote the sale of tickets; butthese matters are arranged privately, and the general public isrelieved from the calls of actors and their personal appeals forsupport. Indeed, the old system is now in a great degree reversed, andthe actor's place of abode is often stated in his advertisements inorder that the public may call upon him to obtain tickets for hisbenefit, if they prefer that course to purchasing them in the usualway at the box-office of the theatre. In the case of actresses thisplan has often been found efficacious in diminishing the exuberantardour of certain youthful supporters of the stage, by enabling themto discover that the fair performer who had peculiarly stirred theirdramatic sympathies, was hardly seen to such advantage by daylight, inthe seclusion of her private dwelling, as when under the glare of gas, with distance lending enchantment to rouge and pearl-powder, andcasting an accommodating veil over divers physical deficiencies andunavoidable deteriorations. 

As benefits became common, and they were relegated to the close of theseason, when the general appetite for theatrical entertainments may bepresumed to be tolerably satiated, the actors found it very necessaryto put forward performances of an unusual kind to attract patronageand stimulate the curiosity of the public. It was understood that onthese occasions criticism was suspended, and great licence waspermissible. A benefit came to be a kind of dramatic carnival. Any andeverything was held to be lawful, and efforts of an experimental kindwere almost demanded--certainly excused under the circumstances. Theplayer who usually appeared wearing the buskin now assumed the sock, and the established comedian ventured upon a flight into the regionsof tragedy. Novelty of some sort was indispensable, and the audience, if they might not wholly approve, were yet expected to forbearcondemning. The comic actors especially availed themselves of theirprivileges, and on the strength of their popularity--the comedianalways establishing more intimate and friendly relations betweenhimself and his audience than are permitted to the tragedian--indulgedin very strange vagaries. Mr. Spiller, on the occasion of his benefitat the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields in 1720, issued anadvertisement: "Whereas I, James Spiller, of Gloucestershire, havingreceived an invitation from Hildebrand Bullock, of Liquorpond Street, London, to exercise the usual weapons of the noble science of defence, will not fail to meet this bold invader, desiring a full stage, bluntweapons, and from him much favour. " At another time the same actorannounced his benefit in a kind of mock electioneering address, requesting the vote and interest of the public on the ground of hisbeing "a person well affected to the establishment of the theatre. " Torecite an epilogue while seated on the back of an ass was a favouriteexpedient of the comedians of the early Georgian period, while theintroduction of comic songs and mimicry--such as the scene of "TheDrunken Man, " and the song of "The Four-and-Twenty Stock-Jobbers, "which Mr. Harper performed on his benefit-night in 1720--was found tobe a very attractive measure. Authors who were on friendly terms withthe actors, or had reason to be grateful to them, frequently gave themshort pieces or wrote special epilogues for their benefits. Sheridan'sfarce, "St. Patrick's Day, or the Scheming Lieutenant, " was a presentto Clinch, the actor, and first produced on his benefit-night in 1775. Goldsmith felt himself so obliged to Quick and Lee Lewes, who had beenthe original Tony Lumpkin and Young Marlow in "She Stoops toConquer, " that for the one he adapted a farce from Sedley'stranslation of "Le Grondeur, " and supplied the other with anoccasional epilogue, written in his pleasantest manner. When Shuterselected "The Good-natured Man" for his benefit, the gratified author, in a fit of extravagant kindness, sent the actor ten guineas--possiblythe last he had at the time--for a box ticket. 

On the occasion of his first benefit in London, Garrick furnished hispatrons with a remarkable proof of his versatility, for he representedextreme age in "King Lear, " and extreme youth in the comedy of "TheSchoolboy. " At his second benefit he again contrasted his efforts intragedy and comedy by appearing as Hastings in "Jane Shore, " and Sharpin the farce of "The Lying Valet. " Kean, for his benefit, danced asharlequin, gave imitations of contemporary performers, and sang thesong of "Tom Tug" after the manner of Mr. Incledon. Other actors ofvery inferior capacity made similar experiments, the fact that theperformance was "for a benefit, " and "for one night only, " beingesteemed in every case a sufficient justification of any eccentricity. 

It would be hopeless to attempt any detailed account of the manystrange deeds done for the sake of benefits. Actresses have encroachedupon the repertory of their male playfellows, as when Mrs. Woffingtonappeared as Lothario, Mrs. Abington as Scrub, Mrs. Siddons as Hamlet, and when portly Mrs. Webb attempted the character of Falstaff. Actorshave laid hands on characters which usually were deemed the exclusiveproperty of the actresses--as when Mr. Dowton resigned his favouritepart of Sir Anthony Absolute and donned the guise of Mrs. Malaprop. The Kembles have sought to make their solemn airs and sepulchral tonesavailable in the reckless scenes and hilarious utterances offarce--and exuberant comedians of the Keeley and Liston pattern haveventured to tincture with whimsicality the woes of tragedy. To draw acrowded house and bring money to the treasury was the only aim. Benefits, in fact, followed the argument of the old drinkingsong--merriment at all costs to-night, and sobriety, somehow, on themorrow--until the benefit season came round again, and then--_dacapo!_

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THUNDERS OF APPLAUSE. 

Addison devotes a number of "The Spectator" to a description of "TheTrunkmaker in the Upper Gallery"--a certain person so called, who hadbeen observed to frequent, during some years, that portion of thetheatre, and to express his approval of the transactions of the stageby loud knocks upon the benches or the wainscot, audible over thewhole house. It was doubtful how he came to be called the Trunkmaker;whether from his blows, resembling those often given with a hammer inthe shops of such artisans, or from a belief that he was a genuinetrunkmaker, who, upon the conclusion of his day's work, repaired tounbend and refresh his mind at the theatre, carrying in his hand oneof the implements of his craft. Some, it is alleged, were foolishenough to imagine him a perturbed spirit haunting the upper gallery, and noted that he made more noise than ordinary whenever the Ghost in"Hamlet" appeared upon the scene; some reported that the trunkmakerwas, in truth, dumb, and had chosen this method of expressing hiscontent with all he saw or heard; while others maintained him to be"the playhouse thunderer, " voluntarily employing himself in thegallery when not required to discharge the duties of his office uponthe roof of the building. The "Spectator, " holding that public showsand diversions lie well within his province, and that it isparticularly incumbent upon him to notice everything remarkabletouching the elegant entertainments of the theatre, makes it hisbusiness to obtain the best information he can in regard to thistrunkmaker, and finds him to be "a large black man whom nobody knows;"who "generally leans forward on a huge oaken plant, " attending closelyto all that is occurring upon the stage; who is never seen to smile, but who, upon hearing anything that pleases him, takes up his staffwith both hands, and lays it upon the next piece of timber that standsin his way, with exceeding vehemence; after which, he composes himselfto his former posture, till such time as something new sets him againat work. Further, it was observed of him, that his blows were so welltimed as to satisfy the most judicious critics. Upon the expression ofany shining thought of the poet, or the exhibition of any uncommongrace by the actor, the trunkmaker's blow falls upon bench orwainscot. If the audience fail to concur with him, he smites a secondtime, when, if the audience still remain unroused, he looks round himwith great wrath and administers a third blow, which never fails toproduce the desired effect. Occasionally, however, he is said topermit the audience to begin the applause of their own motion, and atthe conclusion of the proceeding ratifies their conduct by a singlethwack. 

It was admitted that the trunkmaker had rendered important service tothe theatre, insomuch that, upon his failing to attend at his post byreason of serious illness, the manager employed a substitute toofficiate in his stead, until such time as his health was restored tohim. The incompetence of the deputy, however, became too manifest;though he laid about him with incredible violence, he did it in suchwrong places, that the audience soon discovered he was not their oldfriend the real trunkmaker. With the players the trunkmaker wasnaturally a favourite; they not only connived at his obstreperousapprobation, but cheerfully repaid such damage as his blowsoccasioned. That he had saved many a play from condemnation, andbrought fame to many a performer, was agreed upon all hands. Theaudience are described as looking abashed if they find themselvesbetrayed into plaudits in which their friend in the upper gallerytakes no part; and the actors are said to regard such favours as mere_brutum fulmen_ or empty noise, when unaccompanied by "the sound ofthe oaken plant. " Still, the trunkmaker had his enemies, whoinsinuated that he could be bribed in the interest of a bad poet or avicious player; such surmises, however, the "Spectator" averred to bewholly without foundation, upholding the justice of his strokes andthe reasonableness of his admonitions. "He does not deal about hisblows at random, but always hits the right nail upon the head. Theinexpressible force wherewith he lays them on sufficiently shows thestrength of his convictions. His zeal for a good author is indeedoutrageous, and breaks down every fence and partition, every board andplank, that stands within the expression of his applause. "

Moreover, the "Spectator" insists upon the value and importance to anaudience of a functionary thus presiding over them like the directorof a concert, in order to awaken their attention and beat time totheir applauses; or, "to raise my simile, " Addison continues, "I havesometimes fancied the trunkmaker in the upper gallery to be, likeVirgil's ruler of the winds, seated upon the top of a mountain, who, when he struck his sceptre upon the side of it, 'roused a hurricaneand set the whole cavern in an uproar. '"

In conclusion, the writer, not caring to confine himself to barrenspeculations or to reports of pure matter of fact, without derivingtherefrom something of advantage to his countrymen, takes the libertyof proposing that upon the demise of the trunkmaker, or upon hislosing "the spring of his arm" by sickness, old age, infirmity, or thelike, some able-bodied critic should be advanced to his post, with acompetent salary, and a supply, at the public expense, of bamboos foroperas, crab-tree cudgels for comedies, and oaken plants fortragedies. "And to the end that this place should be always disposedof according to merit, I would have none preferred to it who has notgiven convincing proofs both of a sound judgment and a strong arm, andwho could not upon occasion either knock down an ox, or write acomment upon Horace's 'Art of Poetry. ' In short, I would have him adue composition of Hercules and Apollo, and so rightly qualified forthis important office that the trunkmaker may not be missed by ourposterity. "

Addison's paper doubtless possessed an element of fact and truth, enriched by the fancifulness peculiar to the writer. It was his mannerthus to embroider commonplace; to enhance the actual by largeadditions of the ideal. There probably existed such a personage as thetrunkmaker; some visitor to the upper gallery was in the habit ofexpressing approval by strokes of his cudgel upon the wainscot; andhis frequent presence had obtained the recognition of the otherpatrons of the theatre. It was an easy and a pleasant task to Addisonto invest this upper-gallery visitor with special critical qualitiesto attribute to his "oaken plant" almost supernatural powers. In anycase, the trunkmaker was a sort of foreshadowing of the _claqueur_. Itwas reserved for later times to organise applause and reduce successto a system. Of old, houses were sometimes "packed" by an author'sfriends to ensure a favourable result to the first representation ofhis play. When, for instance, Addison's "Cato" was first produced, Steele, as himself relates, undertook to pack an audience, andaccordingly filled the pit with frequenters of the Whig coffee-houses, with students from the Inns of Court, and other zealous partisans. "This, " says Pope, "had been tried for the first time in favour of'The Distressed Mother' (by Ambrose Phillips), and was now, with moreefficacy, practised for 'Cato. '" But this was only an occasional_claque_. The "band of applauders" dispersed after they had cheeredtheir friend and achieved their utmost to secure the triumph of hisplay. And they were unconnected with the manager of the theatre; theywere not _his_ friends, still less were they his servants, receivingwages for their labours, and bound to raise their voices and claptheir hands in accordance with his directions. For such are thegenuine _claqueurs_ of to-day. 

Dr. Véron, who has left upon record a sort of secret history of hismanagement of the Paris Opera House, has revealed many curiousparticulars concerning _les claqueurs_, adding a serious defence ofthe system of artificial applause. The artistic nature, the doctormaintains, submitting its merits to the judgment of the generalpublic, has great need of the exhilaration afforded by evidence ofhearty approval and sympathy; the singer and the dancer are thusinspired with the courage absolutely necessary to the accomplishmentof their professional feats; and it is the doctor's experience thatwhenever a song or a dance has been redemanded by the audience, thedance has been better danced, and the song better sung, the secondtime of performance than the first. Hence there is nothing harmful, but rather something beneficial, in the proceedings of _lesclaqueurs_. Every work produced at the theatre cannot be of the firstclass, and legitimately rouse the enthusiasm of the public; everydramatic or lyrical artist cannot invariably, by sheer force oftalent, overcome the coldness, the languor, or the indifference of anaudience; yet the general effect of the representation would suffermuch if all applause, including that of a premeditated and, indeed, purchased kind, were entirely withheld; the timid would remain timid, talent would remain unrecognised, and, therefore, almost unrevealed, if no cheering were heard to reassure, to encourage, to kindle, andexcite. The suggestion that the public would supply genuine applauseif only the _claqueurs_ were less liberal with the spurious article, Dr. Véron rather evades than discusses. 

The chief of the _claqueurs_ in Dr. Véron's time was a certain M. Auguste, of Herculean form and imposing address, well suited in everyrespect for the important post he filled. He was inclined tocostume of very decisive colours--to coats of bright green orreddish-brown--presumably that, like a general officer, his forcesmight perceive his presence in their midst by the peculiarity, if notthe brilliance, of his method of dress. Auguste was withouteducation--did not know a note of music; but he understood theaudience of the Opera House. For long years he had attended everyrepresentation upon its stage, and experience had made him a mostskilful tactician. Auguste enjoyed the complete confidence of Dr. Véron. _Claqueur_ and manager attended together the rehearsals ofevery new work, and upon the eve of its first performance held acabinet council upon the subject. They reviewed the whole productionfrom the first line to the last. "I did not press upon him myopinions, " says Dr. Véron; "I listened to his; he appraised, he judgedall, both dance and song, according to his own personal impressions. "The manager was surprised at the justice of the _claqueur's_ criticismby anticipation--at his ingenious plans for apportioning andgraduating the applause. It was Auguste's principle of action to beginmodestly and discreetly, especially at the opera, dealing with achoice and critical public; to approve a first act but moderately, reserving all salvoes of applause for the last act and the _dénoûment_of the performance. Thus, in the last act he would bestow three roundsof applause upon a song, to which, had it occurred in the first act, he would have given but one. He held that towards the middle of aperformance success should be quietly fostered, but never forced. Forthe _claqueurs_ of other theatres Auguste entertained a sort ofdisdain. It was, as he averred, the easiest thing in the world toobtain success at the Opéra Comique, or the Vaudeville. The thing wasmanaged there not so much by applause as by laughter. There was theless need for careful management; the less risk of vexing the publicby injudicious approbation. No one could take offence at a man forlaughing immoderately; he was not chargeable with disingenuousness, asin the case of one applauding to excess. Occasionally cries wereraised of "_A la porte les claqueurs_;" but such a cry as "_A la porteles rieurs_, " had never been heard. At the Opera House, however, therewas no occupation for laughers; in the score of an opera, or in theplot of a ballet, appeal was never made to a sense of the mirthful. Then the opera public was of a susceptible, and even irritable nature;it might be led, but it could scarcely be driven; it could beinfluenced by polite and gentle means; it would resent activeinterference, and "a scene" might ensue--even something of adisturbance. But M. Auguste implored his manager to be easy on thatscore. Nothing of the kind should happen; he would prove himselfdeserving, worthy of his employer's confidence. "Only, " said M. Auguste, "those fools, the paying public, certainly give us a greatdeal of trouble!"

The _chef de la claque_ was, of course, supplied with admissiontickets by the management, and these were issued according to anestablished scale. If the success of a work, already represented manytimes, showed signs of flagging, and needed to be sustained, Augustereceived some forty or fifty pit tickets; but in the case of a workhighly approved by the public, and still attracting good houses, twenty, or even ten, tickets were held to be sufficient. But on thefirst production of an entirely new entertainment, at least a hundredtickets were handed to Auguste. There was then a meeting of the_claqueurs_ at some appointed place--usually a wine-shop in theneighbourhood of the theatre--and the plan of action was arranged, thearmy of applauders organised and marshalled. Intelligent lieutenants, about ten in number, each in command of a detachment of the forces, were instructed how to deal with opponents, and to keep watchful eyesupon the proceedings of their chief. In addition to a money paymentand their own entrance tickets, they were accorded other tickets to begiven only to friends upon whose fidelity they could rely. Certain ofthe _claqueurs_ accepted outpost duty, as it were, and acted inisolated positions; others, and these the majority, took close order, and fought, so to speak, in column. In addition to his regular forces, Auguste engaged supernumerary and irregular troops, known to him as_sous-claqueurs_, upon whose discipline and docility he could notwholly rely, though he could make them useful by enclosing them in theranks of his seasoned soldiers. The _sous-claqueurs_ were usuallywell-clothed frequenters and well-wishers of the Opera House, anxiousto attend the first representation of the new work to be produced, andwilling to pay half-price for their tickets, upon the condition thatthey placed their applause at the disposal of M. Auguste. 

The _claqueurs_ were admitted to the theatre and took their seats sometime before the entrance of the paying public. M. Auguste had thusample opportunity of deciding upon his strategic operations, ofplacing his advance guard, of securing the position of his main army, and of defending its flanks and rear. The paying public thus founditself curiously intermixed and imprisoned by these hosts of_claqueurs_, and victory usually crowned the efforts of M. Auguste, who was careful to arrogate to himself the results of the evening'sproceedings. "What a splendid success I have achieved!" he would say;completely ignoring the efforts of the composer, the artists of thetheatre, and the manager, who were perhaps entitled to some share ofthe glories of the performance. 

Auguste, as Dr. Véron relates, made his fortune at the opera. He wasin receipt of annuities from several artists of established fame. Success could hardly be achieved without his aid. The friends, patrons, and family of a new artist, to ensure his or her success, invariably paid court and money to Auguste, the price of his servicescorresponding with the pretensions of the _débutant_. And then heundertook engagements of an exceptional kind, sometimes even to theprejudice of his manager. Artists required of him some times a suddenincrease of their success--that, for a few nights only, anextraordinary measure of applause should reward their exertions. Their engagements were expiring or were about to be renewed; it wasdesirable to deceive both the public and the manager. The vitalquestion of salary was under consideration; an increase of theiremoluments was most desirable. So, for a while, the mediocre singer ordancer obtained from Auguste and his auxiliaries unusual favour, andthe manager was induced to form very erroneous opinions upon thesubject. Rumours, too, were artfully circulated to the effect that theperformer in question had received liberal offers from England orPrussia; that his or her merits had roused the attention of rival_impresarios_; the Parisian manager was cautioned at all costs toretain in his theatre ability and promise so remarkable. But with thesigning of a new engagement, at an advance of salary, camedisenchantment. M. Auguste's services were now withdrawn, for theperformer's object was attained; and the management for some time tocome was saddled with mediocrity, purchased at a high price. 

But little difficulties and deceptions of this kind notwithstanding, Dr. Véron approved the _claque_ system, and constituted himself thefriend and defender of Auguste. It was not only that Auguste washimself a very worthy person--an excellent father of a family, leadinga steady and creditable kind of life, putting by, for the benefit ofhis children, a considerable portion of his large annual earnings as_chef de la claque_--but the advantages of artificial applause andsimulated success seemed to Dr. Véron to be quite beyond question, while wholly justifiable by their results. The manager detected the_claque_ system as a pervading element in almost all conditions oflife. To influence large bodies or assemblies, dexterity andstratagem, he declared, were indispensably necessary. The applauseexacted by Nero, when he recited his verses or played upon the lute, or Tiberius, posing himself as an orator before the senate, was thework of a _claque_, moved thereto rather by terror, however, than bypecuniary considerations. Parliamentary applause he found also to beof an artificial kind, produced by the spirit of friendship or theties of party; and he relates how, when the _Constitutionnel_newspaper was under his direction, certain leading members attended atthe printing-office to correct the proofs of their speeches, and neverfailed to enliven them at intervals by the addition of such terms as"Cheers, " "Loud cheers, " "Great cheering, " "Sensation, " "Excitement, "&c. These factitious plaudits, tricks, and manoeuvres of players, singers, dancers, and orators, in truth, deceive no one, hemaintained; while they make very happy, nevertheless, all those whohave recourse to them. 

As a manager, therefore, Dr. Véron invariably opposed the efforts madeto suppress the _claqueurs_ in the pay of the theatre. He admits thatsometimes excess of zeal on the part of these hirelings brought aboutpublic discontent and complaint; but, upon the whole, he judged thatthey exercised a beneficial influence, especially in the prevention ofcabals or conspiracies against particular artists, and of certainscandals attached to the rivalry and jealousy of performers. And to M. Auguste he thus addressed himself: "You have a fine part to play;great duties to perform: put an end to quarrels; help the weak againstthe strong; never oppose the public; cease applauding on a hint oftheir disapproval; present an example of politeness and decorum;conciliate and pacify; above all, prevent all hostile combinations, all unjust coalitions, against the artists on the stage, or the worksrepresented. "

Dr. Véron has said, perhaps, all that could be said for the _claque_system; but his plausible arguments and apologies will not carryconviction to every mind. There can be no doubt of the value, thenecessity almost, of applause to the player; but one would much ratherthat the enthusiasm of an audience was wholly genuine, and notprovided at so much a cheer, let us say, by the manager or the playerhimself. "Players, after all, " writes Hazlitt, "have little reason tocomplain of their hard-earned short-lived popularity. One thunder ofapplause from pit, boxes, and gallery is equal to a whole immortalityof posthumous fame. " But if the thunder is but stage thunder? If theapplause is supplied to order, through the agency of a M. Auguste?Upon another occasion Hazlitt expresses more tenderness for theephemeral glories of the actor's art. "When an author dies it is nomatter, for his work remains. When a great actor dies, there is a voidproduced in society, a gap which requires to be filled up. Theliterary amateur may find employment for his time in reading oldauthors only, and exhaust his entire spleen in scouting new ones; butthe lover of the stage cannot amuse himself in his solitaryfastidiousness by sitting to witness a play got up by the departedghosts of first-rate actors, or be contented with the perusal of acollection of old playbills; he may extol Garrick, but he must go tosee Kean, and, in his own defence, must admire, or at least tolerate, what he sees, or stay away against his will. " And Cibber, in hisapology, has placed on record an elaborate lament, "that the momentarybeauties flowing from an harmonious elocution cannot, like those ofpoetry, be their own record; that the animated graces of the actor canlive no longer than the instant breath and motion that presents them;or, at least, can but faintly glimmer through the memory or imperfectattestation of a few surviving spectators. "

The complete suspension of applause, genuine or factitious, mustresult in the exceeding depression of the player. He must feel himselfdeprived of his proper sustenance; and something of dismay mustpossess him, when he finds that all his efforts move his audience inno way; that they are not _en rapport_ with him; that while he laboursthey are listless. Henderson committed himself to the exaggerationthat no actor could perform well, unless he was systematicallyflattered both on and off the stage. Liston, the comedian, foundapplause, of whatever kind, so absolutely necessary to him that hedeclared he liked to see even a small dog wag his tail in approbationof his exertions. Mrs. Siddons complained of the inferior measure ofapplause that she obtained in the theatres of the provinces. At DruryLane her grand bursts of passion were received with prolonged cheeringand excitement, that gave her rest and breathing-time, and preparedher for increased efforts. The playgoers of York were at one time solukewarm in their reception of popular players, that, at the instanceof Woodward, Tate Wilkinson, the manager, called on the chief patronsof the theatre, and informed them that the actor was so mortified bytheir coolness, that he could not play nearly so well in York as inLondon, Dublin, and Edinburgh. The York audience benefited by theremonstrance, and on Woodward's next appearance, greatly to hisdelight, awarded him extraordinary applause. 

The system of calling, or recalling, a favourite performer, which nowappears to be established in our theatres, is of foreign origin, andwas first instituted in London at the Italian Opera House. "It is thehighest ambition of the opera-singers, --like the Methodists--to havea _call_" says Parke, the oboe-player, in his "Musical Memoirs, "published in 1830; and he describes the opera season of 1824, whenRossini was director and composer to the King's Theatre, and his wife, Madame Colbran Rossini, appeared as _prima donna seria_; Madame Pastaand Madame Catalani being also engaged for a limited number of nights. He relates, as something remarkable, that at the fall of the curtainafter the performance of Mayer's "Il Fanatico per la Musica, " MadameCatalani "was _called for_, when she again presented herself, makingher obeisance, amidst waving of handkerchiefs and tumultuousapplause. " Madame Pasta, after appearing as Desdemona, "also had acall when the curtain fell, and was brought back to receive the rewarddue to her distinguished talents. " Two seasons later Mr. Parke says, in reference to Madame Pasta's performance of Desdemona: "At the endof the opera, by desire of the audience, she came forward once more toreceive that reward which is becoming so common that it will shortlycease to be a mark of distinction. " And, two seasons after that, ofher appearance in "Tancredi, " he writes: "She, _as usual_, delightedthe audience; and was, _as usual_, enthusiastically applauded. Afterthe curtain fell she was called for, _as usual_, to go through theceremony of being unmercifully applauded. "

In the non-operatic theatres it is probable that calls first came invogue when epilogues went out. 

The players are called simply to congratulate them on their success, and to express some sort of gratitude for their exertions. There isnothing to be urged against this method of applauding the performerswhen kept within reasonable bounds. Sometimes it is to be feared, however, the least discreet of the audience indulge in calls ratherfor their own gratification--by way of pastime during the intervalbetween one play and another--than out of any strict consideration ofthe abilities of the players; and, having called on one or twodeserving members of a company, proceed to require the presence beforethe curtain of others who have done little to merit the compliment. Certain playgoers, indeed, appear to applaud no matter what, simplyfor the sake of applauding. They regard the theatre as a place to benoisy in, and for the vehement expression of their own restlessnatures. When they cannot greet a player with acclamations, they willclamorously deride a footman, or other servant of the theatre, whoappears before the foot-lights with a broom, or a watering-pot, acarpet, or other necessary of representation; or they will issueboisterous commands to the gentlemen of the orchestra to "strike up"and afford an interlude of music. To these of the audience it isalmost painful that a theatre should be peaceful or a stage vacant;rather than this should happen they would prefer, if it could possiblybe contrived, and they were acquainted with his name, that thecall-boy or the prompter should be called for and congratulated uponthe valuable aid he had furnished to the performance. 

Macready relates in his Memoirs that the practice of "calling on" theprincipal actor was first introduced at Covent Garden Theatre, on theoccasion of his first performance of the character of Richard theThird, on October 19th, 1819. "In obedience to the impatient andpersevering summons of the house I was desired by Fawcett to go beforethe curtain; and accordingly I announced the tragedy for repetitionamidst the gratulating shouts that carried the assurance of completesuccess to my agitated and grateful heart. " But while loving applause, as an actor needs must, Macready had little liking for the honours ofcalls and recalls--heartily disapproving of them, indeed, when theyseemed to him in any way to disturb the representation. Thus, of hisperformance of Werner at Manchester, in 1845, he writes: "Acted veryfairly. Called for. _Trash!_" Under date December 23rd, 1844, herecords: "Acted Virginius [in Paris] with much energy and power to avery excited audience. I was loudly called for at the end of thefourth act, but could not or would not make so absurd and empirical asacrifice of the dignity of my poor art. " Three years later he entersin his diary: "Acted King Lear with much care and power, and wasreceived by a most kind, and sympathetic, and enthusiastic audience. Iwas called on, the audience trying to make me come on after the firstact, but of course I could not think of such a thing. " But these"calls" relate to the conclusion of an act, when, at any rate, thedrop-scene was fallen, hiding the stage from view, and when, for awhile, there is a pause in the performance, suspension of theatricalillusion. What would Macready have said to "calls" in the course ofthe scene, while the stage is still occupied, with certain of thecharacters of the drama reduced to lay figures by the conduct of theirplayfellows and the public? Yet in modern times Ophelias, aftertripping off insane to find a watery grave, have been summoned back tothe stage to acknowledge suavely enough by smiles and curtsies theexcessive applause of the spectators, greatly to the perplexity ofKing Claudius, Queen Gertrude, and Laertes, and seriously to theinjury of the poet's design--and this is but a sample of the folliesof the modern theatre in this respect. 

Such calls, recalls, and imbecile compliments are indeed whollyreprehensible, and should be suppressed as strenuously as possible. The managers of the Theatre Royal at Dresden some few years sinceforbade the performers to accept calls before the termination of anact, as "the practice interrupted the progress of the action on thestage, " and respectfully requested the audience to abstain from suchdemands in future. Would that this ordinance had obtained more generalobedience. 

Writing in 1830, Mr. Parke describes the custom of encoring performersas a prerogative that had been exercised by the public for more than acentury; and says, with some justice, that it originated more fromself-love in the audience than from gratitude to those who hadafforded them pleasure. He considered, however, that encoring had doneservice upon the whole, by exciting emulation, and stimulating singersto extraordinary exertion; and that though, in many instances, itdestroyed the illusion of the scene, it had become so fixed that, inspite even of the burlesque of encoring Lord Grizzle's dying song inFielding's "Tom Thumb, " it continued to prevail as much as ever. Henotes it as curious that, "in calling for a repetition, the audiencesof the French and English theatres should each have selected a wordforming no part of their respective languages--the former making useof the Latin word, _bis_; and the latter the French word, _encore_. "Double encores, we gather from the same authority, first occurred inEngland, at the Opera House, during the season of 1808, when MadameCatalani was compelled to sing three times one of her songs in thecomic opera, "La Freschetana. " As none of the great singers, herpredecessors--Mara, Banti, Grassini, and Billington--had ever receiveda similar compliment, this appeared extraordinary, until the factoozed out that Catalani, as part of her engagement, had stipulatedfor the privilege of sending into the house fifty orders on each nightof her performance. After this discovery double encores ceased for atime at the King's Theatre; but the system reappeared at CoventGarden, by way of compliment to Braham, each time the great tenor sangthe favourite polacca in the opera of "The Cabinet;" and subsequentlylike honours were paid to Sinclair upon his return from Italy. Untilthen, it would seem, Mr. Sinclair had been well satisfied with oneencore, and exceedingly anxious that smaller favour should, on noaccount, be withheld from him. When he played the part of Don Carlos, in the opera of "The Duenna, " he was disappointed with the measure ofapplause bestowed upon his efforts, and complained that the obbligatocadenza--which Mr. Parke had time out of mind played on the oboe inthe symphony of the song, "Had I a heart for falsehood framed"--interferedwith the effect of his singing, and that the applause which wasobtained by the cadenza deprived him of his encore. Accordinglyhe requested that the cadenza might be suppressed. "ThoughI thought this a mean and silly application, " says Mr. Parke, "Icomplied with it, and never interfered with his encores afterwards. "It must be said for Sinclair, however, that encores had come to beregarded as tests of a singer's merits, and that a re-engagement atthe theatre sometimes depended upon this demonstration of publicapproval. At Vauxhall Gardens, indeed, the manager--"who was not, "says Mr. Parke, "a musical luminary"--formed his opinion of thecapacities of his singers from the report of a person appointed toregister the number of encores obtained by each during the season. Thesingers who had received the most encores were forthwith re-engagedfor the next year. Upon the whole, however, the system was not foundto be completely satisfactory. The inferior vocalists, stimulated bythe fear of losing their engagements, took care to circulate ordersjudiciously among their friends, with instructions as to the songsthat were to be particularly applauded; and it frequently resultedthat the worst performers, if the most artful manoeuvrers, were at thehead of the poll at the end of the season, and re-engaged over theheads of superior artists, and greatly to the ultimate detriment ofthe concern. In reference to this system of obtaining encores, Mr. Parke cautiously observes: "Without presuming to insinuate that it wassurreptitiously introduced into our English theatres, I may bepermitted to observe, after forty years' experience in theatricaltactics, that it would not be difficult, through a judiciousdistribution of determined _forcers_ in various parts of a theatre, with Herculean hands and stentorian voices, to achieve that enviabledistinction. " Possibly the reader, bearing in mind certain greatsuccesses and double and treble encores of our own time, may confirm, from his own experience, Mr. Parke's opinions and suggestions in thisdirection. 

It was a rule of the theatre of the last century that, although theaudience were at liberty to demand the presence of an actor upon thestage, particularly with a view to his giving an explanation of anymatter in which he had offended them, this privilege did not extend tothe case of anyone connected with the theatre other than in ahistrionic capacity. Thus, when in the year 1744 a serious riotoccurred in Drury-lane Theatre, relative to the excessive charges madefor admission to an old entertainment--it being understood that fornew entertainments it was permissible to raise the prices--"theManager (Mr. Fleetwood) was called for by the audience in full cry;but, not being an actor, he pleaded his privilege of being exemptedfrom appearing on the stage before them, and sent them word by one ofthe performers that he was ready to confer with any persons theyshould depute to meet him in his own room. A deputation accordinglywent from the pit, and the house patiently waited their return. "

At this time, no doubt, the actor laboured under certain socialdisadvantages; and the manager who did not act, however insignificanta person otherwise, was generally regarded as enjoying a moredignified position than that occupied by the most eminent ofperformers. In time, of course, the status of the actor improved, andhe outgrew the supposititious degradation attaching to his exercise ofhis profession. We have lived to see composers, authors, and evenscene-painters summoned before the foot-lights, nothing loath, apparently, to accept this public recognition of their merits. Butthese are innovations of quite recent date. In a reputable literaryand critical journal, [6] of forty years back, appears an account ofthe production at the English Opera House (now the Lyceum Theatre) ofthe opera of "Nourjahad, " the work of the late Mr. E. J. Loder, ofBath, then described as the leader of the theatrical orchestra there, and the son and successor of Mr. Loder, whose talents as a musicianhad been long known in that city, and at the Philharmonic and otherconcerts. Much praise is awarded to the work, and then we find thefollowing paragraph:

 [6] _The Athenæum. _

"The silly practice of calling for a favourite actor at the end of aplay was upon this occasion, for the first time, extended to acomposer; and Mr. E. J. Loder was produced upon the stage to make hisbow. As the chance portion of the audience could not possibly be awarethat a gentleman so little known in London was present, it would havebetrayed less of the secrets of the prison-house if this bit ofnonsense had not been preconcerted by injudicious and over-zealousfriends. The turn of successful authors will, we suppose, come next;and, therefore, such of them as are not actors had better take a fewlessons in bowing over the lamps and be ready. We know some half-dozenwhom this process would cause to shake in their shoes more vehementlythan even the already accumulated anxieties of a first night. "

The critic was, in some sort, a seer. The turn of the authors arrivedin due course, some years later, although history has not been carefulto record the name of the first English dramatist who appeared beforethe curtain and bowed "over the lamps. " How far the accomplishment ofthis proceeding is attended by shaking in the shoes, is preluded bylessons in the art of deportment, or adds to the anxieties of a firstrepresentation, must be left for some successful playwright to reveal. 

It may be noted that this calling for the author is also of foreignorigin. The first dramatist called before the curtain in France wasVoltaire, after the production of "Merope;" the second was Marmontel, after the representation of his tragedy of "Dionysius. " More than acentury ago the author of a "Letter to Mr. Garrick" observed that itwas then usual in France for the audience of a new and well-approvedtragedy to summon the author before them that he might personallyreceive the tribute of public approbation due to his talents. "Nothinglike this, " he writes, "ever happened in England. " "And I may say, never will, " commented the author of a reply to the letter, with moreconfidence than correctness of prophecy. Further, he writes, "I knownot how far a French audience may carry their complaisance, but, wereI in the author's case, I should be unwilling to trust to the civilityof an English pit or gallery.... Suppose that every play that isoffered should be received, and suppose that some one of them shouldhappen to be damned, might not an English audience on this occasioncall for the author, not to partake of their applause, indeed, but toreceive the tokens of their displeasure?" Fears of this kind have beenproved groundless, however. When a play has been condemned, the actorsand the manager may suffer, and be subjected sometimes to veryconsiderable affront; but the public wrath is not visibly inflictedupon the author. He is left to the punishment of his reflections andhis disappointed hopes. Certainly he incurs no bodily risk from theincivility of the pit or gallery. But the old violent method ofcondemning a play is nearly out of vogue. The offending work is nowleft to expire of inanition, as it were. Empty benches and a voidtreasury are found to be efficacious means of convincing a managerthat he has failed in his endeavour to entertain the public. 

For some time the successful author, yielding to the demand that heshould appear personally before the audience, was content to "bow hisacknowledgments"--for so the proceeding is generally described--from aprivate box. It was felt, however, that this was but a half measure. He could be seen by a portion of the audience only. From the privatebox to the stage was but a step, and the opinion prevailed that if hewas to appear at all, he must manifest himself thoroughly, and allowthe whole house a fair opportunity of viewing him. Still it should beunderstood that it is at the option of the dramatist to presenthimself publicly or to remain in private, and leave the audience toform such conjectures as may occur to them concerning the nature ofhis physical aspect. The public have no more real right to insist onthe dramatic author's crossing the stage than to require that asuccessful poet, or novelist, or historian, shall remain on view athis publisher's for a specified time after the production of hislatest work. It is necessary to insist on this, because a little scenethat occurred a short time since in a London theatre shows somemisapprehension on the subject in the minds of certain of the public. A successful play had been produced by a well-known writer, who wascalled for in the usual manner at the conclusion of the performance. The stage-manager explained the non-appearance of the author--he wasnot in the house. Thereupon an angry gentleman stood up in the pit, and demanded "Why isn't he here? He was here during the performance, because I saw him. " The stage-manager could only repeat that thedramatist was not then in the theatre. "But he never appears when he'scalled for, " cried the complainant; and he proceeded to mentioninstances in support of his statement, the stage-manager beingdetained upon the stage some time during the progress of his argument. The sympathies of the house appeared to be altogether with theexpostulant, and the notion that the author had any right to pleasehimself in the matter failed to obtain countenance. Upon a subsequentoccasion, indeed, the author in question--another of his works havingbeen given to the stage--thought it prudent to comply with the publicdemand, and, though with evident reluctance, presented himself beforethe foot-lights, to be inspected by his admirers and to receive theircongratulations. He yielded to a tyranny he was quite justified inresisting. Other authors, though whether or not from unwillingness toappear can hardly be affirmed, have forborne to attend the firstrepresentation of their plays, and the audience have been compelled tobe content with the announcement--"Mr. ---- is absent from London. "Sometimes particulars are supplied, and happy Mr. ---- is stated to be"probably, at that precise moment, enjoying his cigar upon theesplanade at Brighton, " it being added, that "intelligence of thetriumphant reception of his new play shall be forthwith despatched tohim by means of the electric telegraph. "

If the name of the English author who first bowed over the foot-lightscannot now be ascertained, a dramatist perfectly willing to adopt thatcourse can nevertheless be mentioned. To Talfourd the representationof his dramatic works was always a source of intense delight. He wouldtravel almost any distance to see one of his plays upon the boards. Macready has left some curious particulars touching the firstproduction of "Ion": "Was called for very enthusiastically by theaudience, and cheered on my appearance most heartily.... Miss EllenTree was afterwards called forward. Talfourd came into my room andheartily shook hands with me and thanked me. He said something aboutMr. Wallack, the stage-manager, wishing him _to go on the stage asthey were calling; but it would not be right_. I said: _'On no accountin the world. '_ He shortly left me, and, as I heard, was made to goforward to the front of his box and receive the enthusiastic tributeof the house's grateful delight. " How happy he must have been! In1838, concerning the first night of Sheridan Knowles's play of"Woman's Wit, " Macready writes: "Acted Walsingham in a very crude, nervous, unsatisfactory way. Avoided a call by going before thecurtain to give out the play; there was very great enthusiasm. Led onKnowles in obedience to the call of the audience. " But Knowles was notan author only, he was an actor also--he had trod the boards as hisown Master Walter, and in other parts, although he was not included inthe cast of "Woman's Wit. " No doubt, from Macready's point of view, this distinguished his case clearly from that of Talfourd's. 

After the calling on of authors came the calling on of scene-painters. But of late, with the help of much salutary criticism on the subject, a disposition has arisen to check this very preposterous method ofacknowledging the merits of a worthy class, who should be satisfiedwith learning from the wings or the back of the stage the admirationexcited by their achievements, and should consider themselves in suchwise as sufficiently rewarded. If they are to appear between theirscenes and the public, why not also the costumiers and thegas-fitters, and the numberless other contributors to theatricalsuccess and glory? Indeed, as a rule, the applause, calls, and encoresof the theatre are honours to be conferred on singers and actors only, are their rightful and peculiar property, and should hardly bediverted from them or shared with others, upon any pretence whatever. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

REAL HORSES. 

A horse in the highway is simply a horse and nothing more; but, transferred to the theatre, the noble animal becomes a _real_ horse. The distinction is necessary in order that there may be no confusingthe works of nature with the achievements of the property-maker. Notthat this indispensable dramatic artist shrinks from competition. Buthe would not have ascribed to him the production of anothermanufactory, so to say. His business is in counterfeits; he views withsome disdain a genuine article. When the famous elephant Chuneestepped upon the stage of Covent Garden, the chief performer in thepantomime of "Harlequin and Padmanaba, or the Golden Fish, " thecreature was but scornfully regarded by Mr. Johnson, the property-manof Drury Lane. "I should be very sorry, " he cried, "if I could notmake a better elephant than that!" And it would seem that heafterwards justified his pretensions, especially in the eyes of theplaygoers prizing imitative skill above mere reality. We read in theparody of Coleridge, in "Rejected Addresses":

 Amid the freaks that modern fashion sanctions, It grieves me much to see live animals Brought on the stage. Grimaldi has his rabbit, Laurent his cat, and Bradbury his pig; Fie on such tricks! Johnson, the machinist, Of former Drury, imitated life Quite to the life! The elephant in Blue Beard, Stuffed by his hand, wound round his lithe proboscis As spruce as he who roared in Padmanaba. 

But no doubt an artificial elephant is more easily to be fabricatedthan an artificial horse. We do not encounter real elephants at everyturn with which to compare the counterfeit. The animal is of bulkyproportions and somewhat ungainly movements. With a frame ofwicker-work and a hide of painted canvas, the creature can be fairlyrepresented. But a horse is a different matter. Horses abound, however, and have proved themselves, time out of mind, apt pupils. They can readily be trained and taught to perform all kinds of featsand antics. So the skill of the property-maker is not taxed. He standson one side, and permits the real horse to enter upon the mimic scene. 

When Don Adriano de Armado, the fantastical Spaniard of "Love'sLabour's Lost, " admits that he is "ill at reckoning, " and cannot tell"how many is one thrice told, " his page Moth observes "how easy it isto put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing horse will tell you. " This is without doubt an allusion toa horse called Marocco, trained by its master, one Banks, a Scotchman, to perform various strange tricks. Marocco, a young bay nag ofmoderate size, was exhibited in Shakespeare's time in the courtyard ofthe Belle Sauvage Inn, on Ludgate Hill, the spectators lining thegalleries of the hostelry. A pamphlet, published in 1595, and entitled"Maroccos Exstaticus, or Bankes Bay Horse in a Traunce; a Discourseset down in a Merry Dialogue between Bankes and his Beast, " contains awood-print of the performing animal and his proprietor. Banks's horsemust have been one of the earliest "trained steeds" ever exhibited. His tricks excited great amazement, although they would hardly now beaccounted very wonderful. Marocco could walk on his hind legs, andeven dance the Canaries. At the bidding of his master he would carry aglove to a specified lady or gentleman, and tell, by raps with hishoof, the numbers on the upper face of a pair of dice. He wentthrough, indeed, much of what is now the regular "business" of thecircus horse. In 1600 Banks amazed London by taking his horse up tothe vane on the top of St. Paul's Cathedral. Marocco visited Scotlandand France, and in these countries his accomplishments were generallyattributable to witchcraft. Banks rashly encouraged the notion thathis nag was supernaturally endowed. An alarm was raised that Maroccowas possessed by the Evil One. To relieve misgivings and escapereproach, Banks made his horse pay homage to the sign of the cross, and called upon all to observe that nothing satanic could have beeninduced to perform this act of reverence. A rumour at one timeprevailed that the horse and his master had both, as "subjects of theBlack Power of the world, " been burned at Rome by order of the Pope. More authentic accounts, however, show Banks as surviving to CharlesI. 's time, and thriving as a vintner in Cheapside. But it is to begathered from Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare, " that of oldcertain performing horses suffered miserably for their skill. In alittle book, "Le Diable Bossu, " Nancy, 1708, allusion is made to theburning alive at Lisbon, in 1707, of an English horse, whose masterhad taught him to know the cards; and Grainger, in his "BiographicalHistory of England, " 1779, states that, within his remembrance, "ahorse, which had been taught to perform several tricks, was, with itsowner, put into the Inquisition. "

Marocco was but a circus horse; there is no evidence to show that heever trod the stage or took any part in theatrical performances. It ishard to say, indeed, when horses first entered a regular theatre. Pepys chronicles, in 1668, a visit "to the King's Playhouse, to see anold play of Shirley's, called 'Hide Park, ' the first day acted[revived], where horses are brought upon the stage. " He expresses nosurprise at the introduction of the animals, and this may not havebeen their first appearance on the scene. He is content to note that"Hide Park" is "a very moderate play, only an excellent epiloguespoken by Beck Marshall. " The scene of the third and fourth acts ofthe comedy lies in the Park, and foot and horse races are represented. The horses probably were only required to cross the stage once ortwice. 

A representation of Corneille's tragedy of "Andromeda, " in 1682, occasioned great excitement in Paris, owing to the introduction of a"real horse" to play the part of Pegasus. The horse was generallyregarded as a kind of Roscius of the brute creation, and achieved anextraordinary success. Adorned with wings and hoisted up by machinery, he neighed and tossed his head, pawed and pranced in mid-air after avery lively manner. It was a mystery then, but it is common enoughknowledge now, that the horse's histrionic skill is founded upon hisappetite. Kept without food for some time the horse becomes naturallymoved at the sight of a sieve of corn in the side-wings. His feats, the picking up of gloves and handkerchiefs, even the pulling oftriggers, originate but in his efforts to find oats. By-and-by hismemory is exercised, and he is content to know that after theconclusion of his "business" he will be rewarded with oats behind thescenes. The postponement of his meals attends his failure toaccomplish what is required of him. Of old, perhaps, some cruel use ofwhip and spur may have marked the education of the "trick-horse. " Butfor a long time past the animal's fears have not been appealed to, butsimply his love of food. Horses are very sagacious, and their naturaltimidity once appeased, they become exceedingly docile. An untrainedhorse has often shown himself equal to the ordinary requirements ofthe equestrian manager after only four days of tuition. 

Pope satirised the introduction of horses in Shakespeare's "HenryVIII. , " revived with great splendour in 1727, when a representationwas given of the coronation of Anne Bullen, and the royal champion, duly mounted and caparisoned, proclaimed his challenge. But for manyyears the appearances on the stage of equine performers were only ofan occasional kind. It was not until the rebuilding of Astley's, in1803, that the equestrian drama became an established entertainment. An extensive stage was then added to the circus, and "horsespectacles, " as they were called, were first presented. A grand dramacalled "The Blood-Red Knight, " produced in 1810, resulted in a profitto the proprietors of £18, 000, a handsome sum, seeing that the seasonat that time only extended from Easter to the end of September. 

The triumphs of Astley's excited the envy of the Covent Gardenmanagers. Colman's drama of "Blue Beard" was reproduced, with Mr. Johnson's imitation elephant and a troop of real horses. Theperformance was presented on forty-four nights, a long run in thosedays. There was, of course, much wrath excited by this degradation ofthe stage. A contemporary critic writes: "A novel and marked eventoccurred at this theatre on this evening (18th of February, 1811), which should be considered as a black epocha for ever by the loyaladherents to wit and the Muses. As the Mussulmen date theircomputation of years from the flight of Mahomet, so should the hordesof folly commence their triumphant register from the open flight ofcommon-sense on this memorable night, when a whole troop of horsesmade their first appearance in character at Covent Garden. " Themanager was fiercely denounced for his unscrupulous endeavours "toobtain money at the expense of his official dignity. " Another critic, alleging that "the dressing-rooms of the new company of comedians wereunder the orchestra, " complained that "in the first row of the pit thestench was so abominable, one might as well have sitten in a stable. "Still the "equestrian drama" delighted the town. "Blue Beard" wasfollowed by Monk Lewis's "Timour the Tartar, " in which more horsesappeared. Some hissing was heard at the commencement of the new drama, and placards were exhibited in the pit condemning the horses; but inthe end "Timour" triumphed over all opposition, and rivalled the runof "Blue Beard. " It is to be remembered, especially by those whoinsist so much on the degeneracy of the modern theatre, that these"horse spectacles" were presented in a patent house during the palmydays of the drama, while the Kemble family was still in possession ofthe stage of Covent Garden. 

These equestrian doings were satirised at the Haymarket Theatre in thefollowing summer. "The Quadrupeds of Quedlinburgh, or the Rovers ofWeimar, " was produced, being an adaptation by Colman of a burlesque, attributed to Canning, in "The Anti-Jacobin. " It was designed toridicule not merely the introduction of horses upon the stage, butalso the then prevailing taste for morbid German dramas of theKotzebue school. The prologue was in part a travestie of Pope'sprologue to "Cato, " and contained references to the plays of "Lovers'Vows" and "The Stranger. "

 To lull the soul by spurious strokes of art, To warp the genius and mislead the heart, To make mankind revere wives gone astray, Love pious sons who rob on the highway, For this the foreign muses trod our stage, Commanding German schools to be the rage. 

 * * * * *

 Dear Johnny Bull, you boast much resolution, With, thanks to Heaven, a glorious constitution; Your taste, recovered half from foreign quacks, Takes airings now on English horses' backs. While every modern bard may raise his name, If not on lasting praise, on stable fame. Think that to Germans you have given no check, Think bow each actor horsed has risked his neck; You've shown them favour. Oh, then, once more show it To this night's Anglo-German horse-play poet. 

In the course of the play the sentimental sentinel in "Pizarro" wasridiculed, and the whole concluded with a grand battle, in which thelast scene of "Timour the Tartar" was imitated and burlesqued. "Stuffed ponies and donkeys frisked about with ludicrous agility, "writes a critic of the time. The play was thoroughly successful, andwould seem to have retrieved the fortunes of the theatre, which hadbeen long in a disastrous condition. 

Drury Lane also struck a blow at the "horse spectacles" of the rivalhouse. In 1812 was produced "Quadrupeds; or, The Manager's Last Kick. "This was only a revised version of the old burlesque of "The Tailors, a Tragedy for Warm Weather, " usually ascribed to Foote. In the lastscene an army of tailors appeared, mounted on asses and mules, andmuch fun of a pantomimic kind ensued. Some years later, however, DruryLane was content to derive profit from a drama in which "real horses"appeared, with the additional attraction of "real water. " This wasMoncrieff's play of "The Cataract of the Ganges. " Indeed, Drury Lanewas but little entitled to vaunt its superiority in the matter. In1803 its treasury had greatly benefited from the feats of the "realdog" in Reynolds's melodrama "The Caravan. " "Real water, " indeed, hadbeen brought upon the stage by Garrick himself, who owed hisprosperity, not more to his genius as an actor than to his ingenuityas a purveyor of pantomime and spectacles. One of his addresses to hisaudience contains the lines--

 What eager transport stares from every eye, When pulleys rattle and our genii fly, When tin cascades like falling waters gleam, Or through the canvas bursts the real stream, While thirsty Islington laments in vain Half her New River rolled to Drury Lane. 

Of late years a change has come over the equestrian drama. The circusflourishes, and quadrupeds figure now and then upon the stage, but the"horse spectacle" has almost vanished. The noble animal is to be seenoccasionally on the boards, but he is cast for small parts only, islittle better than a four-footed supernumerary. He comes on to aidthe pageantry of the scene; even opera does not disdain his servicesin this respect. A richly-caparisoned charger performs certain simpleduties in "Masaniello, " in "Les Huguenots, " "L'Etoile du Nord, ""Martha, " "La Juive, " and some few other operas. The late M. Jullienintroduced quite a troop of cavalry in his "Pietro il Grande, " butthis homage to horseflesh notwithstanding, the world did not greatlyprize the work in question. The horse no longer performs "leadingbusiness. " Plays are not now written for him. He is no longer requiredto evince the fidelity and devotion of his nature by knocking atstreet-doors, rescuing a prisoned master, defending oppressedinnocence, or dying in the centre of the stage to slow music. Something of a part seemed promised him when the popular drama of"Flying Scud" was first represented; at least, he supplied that workwith its title. But it was speedily to be perceived that animalinterests had been subordinated to human. More prominent occupation byfar was assigned to the rider than to the horse. A different plan ofdistributing parts prevailed when "The High-mettled Racer" and kindredworks adorned the stage. A horse with histrionic instincts andacquirements had something like a chance then. But now he can onlylament the decline of the equestrian drama. True, the circus is stillopen to him; but in the eyes of a well-educated performing horse acircus must be much what a music-hall is in the opinion of a tragediandevoted to five-act plays. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

THE "SUPER. "

The theatrical supernumerary--or the "super, " as he is familiarlycalled--is a man who in his time certainly plays many parts, and yetobtains applause in none. His exits and his entrances, his _début_ andhis disappearance, alike escape criticism and record. His name is notprinted in the playbills, and is for ever unknown to his audience. Even the persons he is supposed to represent upon the stage alwaysremain anonymous. Both as a living and fictitious creature he isdenied individuality, and has to be considered collectively, massedwith others, and inseparable from his companion figures. He is not somuch an actor, as part of the decorations, the animated furniture, soto say, of the stage. Nevertheless, "supers" have their importance andvalue. For how could the drama exist without its background groups:its soldiers, citizens, peasants, courtiers, nobles, guests, andattendants of all kinds? These give prominence, support, and effect tothe leading characters of the theatre; and these are the "supers. "

Upon the French stage the minor assistants of the scene arecomprehensively described as _les choristes_. In this way the pedigreeof the "super" gains something of nobility, and may, perhaps, betraced back to the chorus of the antique drama, a body charged withmost momentous duties, with symbolic mysteries of dance and song, removed from the perils and catastrophes of the play, yet required inregard to these to guide and interpret the sympathies of thespectators. In its modern application, however, this generic term hasits subdivisions, and includes _les choristes_ proper, who boastmusical attainments, and are obedient to the rule of a _chefd'attaque_, or head chorister; _les accessoires_, performers permittedspeech of a brief kind, who can be entrusted upon occasion with suchsimple functions as opening a door, placing a chair, or delivering aletter, and who correspond in many respects with our actors ofutility; _les figurants_, the subordinate dancers led by a _coryphée_;and lastly, _les comparses_, who closely resemble our supernumeraries, and are engaged in more or less numbers, according to the exigenciesof there presentation. Of these aids to performance _les comparses_only enjoy no regular salaries, are not formally enrolled among thepermanent members of the establishment, but are paid simply forappearing--seventy-five centimes for the night, and fifty centimes foreach rehearsal--or upon some such modest scale of remuneration. Thisclassification would appear to afford opportunities to ambition. Hereare steps in the ladder, and merit should be able to ascend. It isunderstood, however, that as a rule _les comparses_ do not rise. Theyare the serfs of the stage, who never obtain manumission. They are asconscripts, from whose knapsacks the field-marshal's _bâton_ is almostinvariably omitted. They become veterans, but their length of servicereceives no favourable recognition. _Comparses_ they live, and_comparses_ they die, or disappear, not apparently discontented withtheir doom, however. Meantime the _figurant_ cherishes sanguine hopesthat he may one day rise to a prominent position in the ballet, orthat he may become an _accessoire_; and the _accessoire_ looks forwardfervently to ranking in the future among the regular actors or_artistes_ of the theatre, with the right of entering its _grandfoyer_, or superior green-room. Until then he must confine himself andhis aspirations to the _petit foyer_ set apart for the use of playersof his class. 

Thus it is told of a certain _accessoire_ of the Porte St. Martin, inyears past, who had won a scarcely appreciable measure of fame for hisadroitness in handing letters or coffee-cups upon a salver, and evenfor the propriety with which he announced, in the part of a footman, the guests and visitors of a drama--such as "Monsieur le Vicomte deSt. Rémy!" or "Madame la Marquise de Roncourt!"--that he applied tohis manager for an increase of his salary on account of the specialvalue of his services. "I do not expect, " he frankly said, "immediately to receive 25, 000 francs, as Monsieur Frédéric Lemaitredoes; no, not yet; although I bear in mind that Monsieur Lemaitrebegan his career with fighting broadsword combats in Madame Saqui'scircus; but my present salary is but 600 francs a-year, and a slightincrease--"

"Monsieur Fombonne, " interrupted the manager, "I acknowledge thejustice of your application. I admire and esteem you. You are one ofthe most useful members of my company. I well know your worth; no onebetter. "

Monsieur Fombonne, glowing with pleasure, bowed in his best manner. 

"I may venture to hope, then--"

"By all means, Monsieur Fombonne. Hope sustains us under all ourafflictions. Always hope. For my part, hope is the only thing left me. Business is wretched. The treasury is empty. I cannot possibly raiseyour salary. But you are an artist, and therefore above pecuniaryconsiderations. I do not--I cannot--offer you money. But I can gratifya laudable ambition. Hitherto you have ranked only as an _accessoire_;from this time forward you are an actor. I give you the right ofentering the _grand foyer_. You are permitted to call MonsieurLemaitre _mon camarade_; to _tutoyer_ Mademoiselle Theodorine. I amsure, Monsieur Fombonne, that you will thoroughly appreciate thedistinction I have conferred upon you. "

Monsieur Fombonne was delighted. He was subsequently to discover, however, that some disadvantages attended his new dignity; that themedal he had won had its reverse. The _accessoires_ and _figurants_ ofthe theatre always received their salaries on the first day of eachmonth. The _artistes_ were not paid until the sixth or seventh day. Monsieur Fombonne had to live upon credit for a week as the price ofhis new privileges. His gain was shadowy; his loss substantial. 

With the choristers proper we are not here much concerned. They arenot fairly to be classed among "supers, " and they pertain almostexclusively to the lyric stage. It is to be noted, however, that theyare in some sort evidence of the connection that once existed betweenthe Church and the Theatre; the ecclesiastical and the laical drama. At any rate, the chorus singers often undertake divided duties in thisrespect, and accept engagements both at the cathedral and theopera-house. And sometimes it has happened that the discharge of theirdual obligations has involved them in serious difficulties. Thus, someyears since, there is said to have been a Christmas spectacle inpreparation at the Opera House in Paris. The entertainment was of along and elaborate kind, and for its perfect production numberlessrehearsals, early and late, dress and undress, were imperativelynecessary. Now the chorus of the opera also represented the choir ofNotre Dame. It was a season of the year for which the Church hasappointed many celebrations. The singers were incessantly running toand fro between the Opera House and Notre Dame. Often they had not amoment to spare, and punctuality in attending their appointments wasscarcely possible, while the trouble of so frequently changing theircostumes was extremely irksome to them. On one occasion a dressrehearsal at the theatre, which commenced at a very late hour, afterthe conclusion of the ordinary performance of the evening, was soprotracted that the time for the early service at the cathedral wasrapidly approaching. The chorus appeared as demons at the opera, andwore the tight-fitting scaly dresses which time out of mind have beeninvested upon the stage with diabolical attributes. What were they todo? Was there time to undress and dress again? Scarcely. Besides, wasit worth the trouble? It was very dark; bitterly cold; there was not asoul to be seen in the streets; all Paris was abed and asleep. Moreover, the door of the sacristy would be ready open to receivethem, and their white stoles would be immediately obtainable. Well, the story goes that these desperate singers, accoutred as they were, ran as fast as they could to Notre Dame, veiled their satanic dressesbeneath the snowy surplices of the choir, and accomplished theirsacred duties without any discovery of the impropriety of theirconduct. It is true they encountered in their course a patrol of thecivic guard; but the representatives of law and order, formingprobably their own conclusions as to the significance of the demoniacapparition, are said to have prudently taken to flight in an oppositedirection. 

Upon our early English stage the "super" had frequent occupation; theShakespearean drama, indeed, makes large demands upon the muteperformers. The stage at this time was not very spacious, however, and was in part occupied by the more pretentious of the spectators, who, seated upon stools, or reclining upon the rushes which strewedthe boards, were attended by their pages, and amused themselves withsmoking their pipes and noisily criticising the performance. There waslittle room therefore for any great number of supernumeraries. Butspectacles--to which the "super" has always been indispensable--hadalready won the favour of playgoers. Sir Henry Wotton writes in 1613of a new play produced at the Globe Theatre, "called 'All is True, 'representing some principal pieces of the reign of Henry VIII. , whichwas set forth with many extraordinary circumstances of pomp andmajesty, even to matting of the stage; the knights of the order withtheir Georges and Garter, the guards with their embroidered coats andthe like; sufficient, in truth, within a while to make greatness veryfamiliar, if not ridiculous. " "Supers" must surely have been employedon this occasion. It is clear, however, that the money-takers, or"gatherers, " as they were called, after the audience had assembled, and their presence was no longer needed at the doors, were accustomedto appear upon the stage as the representatives of guards, soldiers, &c. An early play refers to the combats of the scene beingaccomplished by "the blue-coated stage-keepers, " or attendants. Andthe actors were classified at this time, according to theirprofessional standing, as "whole sharers, " "three-quarter sharers, ""half sharers, " and "hired men, " or "servitors. " The leading playerswere as joint proprietors in the undertaking, and divided the receiptsamong them according to a prearranged scale. Minor characters weresustained by the "servitors, " who were paid, as our actors are at thepresent time, by weekly wages, and had no other interest in thesuccess of the theatre with which they were associated, beyond desirethat its exchequer might always be equal to their claims upon it. Philip Henslowe's "Diary" contains an entry regarding a non-sharingactor: "Hiered as a covenant servant Willyam Kendall--to give him forhis said servis everi week of his playing in London ten shillings, andin the countrie five shillings, for the which he covenaunteth to beredye at all houres to play in the house of the said Philip, and in noother. " It may be noted that Shakespeare's first connection with theGlobe Theatre is shown upon fair evidence to have been originallythat of a "servitor. " In that case the poet must often have beenrequired to appear in very subordinate characters--perhaps evencharacters not entrusted with speech. Will it inflame too violentlythe ambition of our modern "supers" to suggest to them that verypossibly Shakespeare himself may have preceded them in the performanceof their somewhat inglorious duties? The hired men or servitors wereunder the control and in the pay of the proprietor or manager of thetheatre, and their salaries constituted no charge upon the shares ofthe chief actors. Still these were entitled to complain, apparently, if the hired men were too few in number to give due effect to therepresentations. In 1614 a dispute arose between Henslowe and hissharing actors, by reason of his having suddenly reduced his expensesby dismissing "four hired men. " He had previously sought to chargetheir stipends upon the shares, although bound by agreement to defraythese expenses out of the money derived from the galleries--at thistime, perhaps, a managerial perquisite. But in addition to theservitors, as the representatives of minor and mute characters, therewere also available the journeymen or apprentices of the more eminentperformers. If they paid no premium upon being articled, novices wereat any rate bound in return for the education they received to handtheir earnings, or a large part of them, to their masters. And this isprecisely the case at the present time in regard to the pupils ofmusical professors and the teachers of singing, dancing, and feats ofthe circus. The services of the apprentices were transferable, andcould be bought and sold. There is quite a slave-trade aspect aboutthe following entry in Henslowe's "Diary. " "Bowght my boye JeamesBrystow, of William Augusten, player, the 8th of December, 1597, foreight pounds. " Augustine Phillips, the actor, one of Shakespeare'spartners, who died in 1605, and who by his will bequeathed toShakespeare "a thirty shillings peece in gould, " also gave to "SamuellGilborne, my late apprentice, the some of fortye shillings, and mymouse-coloured velvit hose, and a white taffety dublet, a blacketaffety sute, my purple cloke, sword and dagger, and my base viall. "He also gave to "James Sands, my apprentice, the some of fortyshillings and a citterne, a bandore, and a lute, to be paid anddelivered unto him at the expiration of his terme of yeres in hisindentur of apprenticehood. " From his bequests of musical instruments, it has been conjectured that Phillips sometimes played in what is nowcalled the orchestra of the theatre. A sum of forty shillings inElizabeth's time represents the value of about ten pounds of ourcurrency. What with its "gatherers, " "servitors, " and journeymen, theShakespearean stage was obviously provided sufficiently withsupernumerary assistants. 

The "super" is useful, even ornamental in his way, though it behoveshim always to stand aloof from the foot-lights, so that distance maylend his aspect as much enchantment as possible; but he is not highlyesteemed by the general public. In truth he has been long the objectof ridicule and caricature. He is charged with stupidity, and ispopularly considered as a very absurd sort of creature. But he hasresigned his own volition; he has but to obey. He is as a puppet whosewires are pulled by others. He is under the rule of a "super-master, "who is in his turn governed by the wavings of the prompter's whiteflag in the wings, the prompter being controlled by the stage-manager, who is supposed to be the executant of the dramatist's intentions. The"super's" position upon the stage is strictly defined for him;sometimes even marked on the boards with chalk. He may not move untilthe word of command is given him, and then every change of station orattitude must be pursuant to previous instruction. And his duties aresometimes arduous. He may often be required to change his attire andassume a new personality in the course of one night's performances. Amember of a band of brigands in one scene, he may in another beenrolled in a troop of soldiers, sent to combat with and capture thosemalefactors. In the same play he may wear now the robes of a nobleman, and now the rags of a mendicant. A demon possessed of supernaturalpowers at the opening of a pantomime, he is certain before its closeto be found among those good-natured people who saunter across thestage for the sole purpose, as it would seem, of being assaulted andbattered by the clown and pantaloon. It is not surprising altogetherthat a certain apathy gradually steals over him, and that suchintelligence as he ever possessed becomes in time somewhat numbed bythe peculiar nature of his profession. Moreover, in regard to the playin which he takes part he is generally but dimly informed. Its plotand purpose are mysteries to him. He never sees it represented orrehearsed as an entirety. His own simple duties accomplished, he ishurried to the rear of the stage to be out of the way of the actors. Why he bends his knee to one performer and loads another with fetters;why there is banning in this scene and blessing in that; why theheroine in white adores the gallant in blue and abominates her suitorin red, are to him inexplicable matters. The dramas in which hefigures only impress his mind in relation to the dresses he isconstrained to assume during their representation, the dresses beingnever of his own choosing, rarely fitting him, and their significancebeing always outside his comprehension. To him the tragedy of "KingJohn" is but the occasion on which he and his fellows "wore themtin-pots on our 'eads;" "Julius Cæsar" the play in which "we went onin sheets. " "What are we supposed to be?" a curious "super" onceinquired of a more experienced comrade. "Blessed if I know!" was theanswer. "Demons, I expect. " They were clothing themselves inchain-mail, and were "supposed to be"--Crusaders. 

The "super's" dress is, indeed, his prime consideration, and out of itarises his greatest grievance. He must surrender himselfunconditionally to the costumier, and obey implicitly his behests. Summer or winter he has no voice in the question; he must clothehimself warmly or scantily, just as he is bidden. "Always fleshingswhen there's a frost, " a "super" was once heard to grumble, whoconceived the classical system of dress or undress--and for thatmatter, perhaps, the classical drama also--to be invented solely forhis inconvenience and discomfort. But more trying than this antiquegarb is the demoniac mask of pantomime, which is as a diver's helmetill provided with appliances for admitting air or permitting outlook. The group of panting "supers, " with their mimic heads under theirarms--their faces smeared with red or blue, in accordance withdirection, not of their own choice--to be discovered behind the scenesduring the performance of a Christmas piece, is an impressive portionof the spectacle, although it is withheld from the contemplation ofthe audience. There have been "supers" who have approached very nearto death by suffocation, from the hurtful nature of their attire, rather than fail in the discharge of their duties. For there isheroism everywhere. 

The stage has always been fertile in the matter of anecdotage, and ofcourse comical stories of "supers" have abounded; for these, thepoorest of players are readily available for facetious purposes. Thus, so far back as the days of Quin, there is record of a curiousmisapprehension on the part of the supernumeraries of the time. Quin'spronunciation was of a broad old-fashioned kind, a following of atraditional method of elocution from which Garrick did much to releasethe theatre. The play was Thomson's "Coriolanus, " and Quin appeared asthe hero. In the scene of the Roman ladies' entry in procession, tosolicit the return to Rome of Coriolanus, the stage was filled withtribunes and centurions of the Volscian army, bearing fasces, theirensigns of authority. Quin, as the hero, commanded them to "lowertheir fasces" by way of homage to the matrons of Rome. But therepresentatives of the centurions understood him to mean their_faces_, and much to the amusement of the audience all reverentlybowed their heads with absurd unanimity. 

But it is as the performers of "guests" that the "supers" haveespecially moved derision in our theatres; and, indeed, on theParisian stage _les invités_ have long been established provocativesof laughter. The assumption of evening dress and something of themanners of polite society has always been severely trying to thesupernumerary actor. What can he really know of balls and fashionableassemblies? Of course speech is not demanded of him, nor is hispresence needed very near to the proscenium, but he is required togive animation to the background, and to be as easy and graceful as hemay in his aspect and movements. The result is not satisfactory. He ismore at home in less refined situations. He is prone to indulge inrather grotesque gestures, expressive of admiration of the brilliantdecorations surrounding him, and profuse, even servile gratitude forthe hospitality extended to him. He interchanges mute remarks, enlivened by surprising grimaces, with the lady of the ballet, in theshabbiest of ball dresses, who hangs affectionately upon his arm. Thelimited amount of his stipend naturally asserts itself in his costume, which will not bear critical investigation. His boots are of thehomeliest and sometimes of the muddiest; coarse dabs of rouge appearupon his battered cheeks; his wig--for a "super" of this class almostalways wears a wig--is unkempt and decayed; his white cravat has aburlesque air; and his gloves are of cotton. There are even storiesextant of very economical "supers" who have gone halves in a pair of"berlins, " and even expended rouge on but one side of their faces, pleading that they were required to stand only on the right or theleft of the stage, as the case might be, and as they could thus beseen but in profile by the audience, these defects in their appearancecould not possibly attract notice. Altogether the "super's" leasteffective performance is that of "a guest. "

It is a real advance for a "super" when he is charged with some smalltheatrical task, which removes him from the ranks of his fellows. Heacquires individuality, though of an inferior kind. But his promotionentails responsibilities for which he is not always prepared. Lekain, the French tragedian, playing the part of Tancred, at Bordeaux, required a supernumerary to act as his squire, and carry his helmet, lance, and shield. Lekain's personal appearance was insignificant, andhis manner at rehearsal had been very subdued. The "super" thoughtlittle of the hero he was to serve, and deemed his own duties slightenough. But at night Lekain's majesty of port, and the commanding tonein which he cried, _"Suivez moi!"_ to his squire, so startled andovercame that attendant that he suddenly let fall, with a great crash, the weapons and armour he was carrying. Something of the same kind hasoften happened upon our own stage. "You distressed me very much, sir, "said a famous tragedian once to a "super, " who had committed defaultin some important business of the scene. "Not more than you frightenedme, sir, " the "super" frankly said. He was forgiven his failure onaccount of the homage it conveyed to the tragedian's impressiveness. 

M. Etienne Arago, writing some years since upon _les choristes_, callsattention to the important services rendered to the stage by its muteperformers, and demands their wider recognition. He ventures to holdthat as much talent is necessary to constitute a tolerable _figurant_as to make a good actor. He describes the _figurant_ as a multiformactor, a dramatic chameleon, compelled by the special nature of hisoccupation, or rather by its lack of special nature, to appear youngor old, crooked or straight, noble or base-born, savage or civilised, according to the good pleasure of the dramatist. "Thus, when Tancreddeclaims, _'Toi, superbe Orbassan, c'est toi que je défie!'_ andflings his gauntlet upon the stage, Orbassan has but to wave his handand an attendant advances boldly, stoops, picks up the gage ofbattle, and resumes his former position. That is thought to be a verysimple duty. But to accomplish it without provoking the mirth of theaudience is _le sublime du métier--le triomphe de l'art!_"

The emotions of an author who for the first time sees himself inprint, have often been descanted upon. The sensations of a "super, "raised from the ranks, entrusted with the utterance of a few words, and enabled to read the entry of his own name in the playbills, arescarcely less entitled to sympathy. His task may be slight enough, themeasure of speech permitted him most limited; the reference to him inthe programmes may simply run--

 CHARLES (a waiter) Mr. JONES, or even

 RAILWAY PORTER Mr. BROWN, but the delight of the performer is infinite. His promotion is indeedof a prodigious kind. Hitherto but a lay-figure, he is now endowedwith life. He has become an actor! The world is at length informed ofhis existence. He has emerged from the crowd, and though it may be butfor a moment, can assert his individuality. He carries his part aboutwith him everywhere--it is but a slip of paper with one line ofwriting running across it. He exhibits it boastfully to his friends. He reads it again and again; recites it in every tone of voice he cancommand--practises his elocutionary powers upon every possibleoccasion. A Parisian _figurant_, advanced to the position of_accessoire_, was so elated that he is said to have expressed surprisethat the people he met in the streets did not bow to him; that thesentinels on guard did not present arms as he passed. His reverencefor the author in whose play he is to appear is boundless; he regardshim as a second Shakespeare, if not something more. His devotion tothe manager, who has given him the part, for a time approachesdeliriousness. 

"_Our_ new play will be a great go!" a promoted "super" once observedto certain of his fellows, "_I_ play a policeman! I go on in the lastscene, and handcuff Mr. Rant. I have to say, 'Murder's the charge!Stand back!' Won't that _fetch_ the house?"

There are soldiers doomed to perish in their first battle. And therehave been "supers" who have failed to justify their advancement, and, silenced for ever, have had to fall back into the ranks again. TheFrench stage has a story of a _figurant_ who ruined at once a newtragedy and his own prospects by an unhappy _lapsus linguæ_, theresult of undue haste and nervous excitement. He had but to cry aloud, in the crisis of the drama: "_Le roi se meurt!_" He was perfect atrehearsal; he earned the applause even of the author. A brilliantfuture, as he deemed, was open to him. But at night he could onlyutter, in broken tones: "_Le meurt se roi!_" and the tragic situationwas dissolved in laughter. So, in our own theatre, there is theestablished legend of Delpini, the Italian clown, who, charged toexclaim at a critical moment: "Pluck them asunder!" could produce nomore intelligible speech than "Massonder em plocket!" Much mirth inthe house and dismay on the stage ensued. But Delpini had gained hisobject. He had become qualified as an actor to participate in thebenefits of the Theatrical Fund. As a mere pantomimist he was withouta title. But John Kemble had kindly furthered the claim of the foreignclown by entrusting him for once with "a speaking part. " Thetragedian, however, had been quite unprepared for the misadventurethat was to result. 

It used to be said that at the Parisian Cirque, once famous for itsbattle-pieces, refractory "supers" were always punished by beingrequired to represent "the enemy" of the evening: the Russians, Prussians, English, or Arabs, as the case might be--who were to beovercome by the victorious soldiers of France--repulsed at the pointof the bayonet, trampled upon and routed in a variety of ignominiousways. The representatives of "the enemy" complained that they couldnot endure to be hopelessly beaten night after night. Theirexpostulation was unpatriotic; but it was natural. For "supers" havetheir feelings, moral as well as physical. At one of our own theatresa roulette-table was introduced in a scene portraying the _salon_ atHomburg, or Baden-Baden. Certain of the "supers" petitioned that theyshould not always appear as the losing gamesters. They desiredsometimes to figure among the winners. It need hardly be said that themoney that changed hands upon the occasion was only of that valuelesskind that has no sort of currency off the stage. 

When "supers" appear as modern soldiers in action, it is foundadvisable to load their guns for them. They fear the "kick" of theirweapons, and will, if possible, avoid firing them. Once in a militaryplay a troop of grenadiers were required to fire a volley. Theirofficer waved his sword and gave the word of command superbly; but nosound followed, save only that of the snapping of locks: Not a gun hadbeen loaded. An unfortunate unanimity had prevailed among thegrenadiers. Each had forborne to load his weapon, trusting that hisomission would escape notice in the general noise, and assured that ashot more or less could be of little consequence. It had occurred tono one of them that his scheme might be put into operation by othersbeside himself--still less that the whole band might adopt it. Butthis had happened. For the future their guns were given them loaded. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

"GAG. "

The stage, like other professions, is in some sort to be considered asa distinct nation, possessing manners, customs, a code, and, aboveall, a language of its own. This, by the outside world, is designated"slang;" just as in one country the tongue of another is vulgarlydescribed as gibberish. Now and then, however, a word escapes from thepeculiar vocabulary of the players, and secures the recognition andacceptance of the general public. It may not be forthwith registeredin formal dictionaries, or sanctioned by the martinets of speech andstyle; still, like a French sou or a Jersey halfpenny appearingamongst our copper coins, it obtains a fair degree of currency andcirculation, with little question as to the legitimacy of the mintfrom which it originally issued. 

"Gag" is a word of this class. It belongs of right to the actors, butof its age or derivation nothing can be ascertained, Modernlexicography of the best repute does not acknowledge it, and for along time it remained unnoticed, even by the compilers of glossariesof strange and cant terms. Thus, it is not to be found in "Grose'sClassical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, " published in 1796. This isa coarse, but certainly a comprehensive work, and from its omitting toregister "gag, " we may assume that the word had no ascertainedexistence in Grose's time. In the "Slang Dictionary; or, The VulgarWords, Street Phrases, and 'Fast' Expressions of High and LowSociety, " published in 1864, "gag" is duly included, and defined tobe "language introduced by an actor into his part. " Long before this, however, the word had issued from the stage-door, and itssignification had become a matter of general knowledge. 

And even if the word be comparatively new, the thing it represents anddefines is certainly old enough, dating, probably, from the very birthof the drama. So soon as the author began to write words for theactors to deliver, so soon, be sure, did the comedians begin tointerpolate speech of their own contriving. For, as a rule, gag is theprivilege and the property of the comic performer. The tragedian doesnot gag. He may require his part to be what is called "written up" forhim, and striking matter to be introduced into his scenes for his ownespecial advantage, but he is generally confined to the delivery ofblank verse, and rhythmical utterances of that kind do not readilyafford opportunities for gag. There have been Macbeths who havedeclined to expire upon the stage after the silent fashion prescribedby Shakespeare, and have insisted upon declaiming the last dyingspeech with which Garrick first enriched the character. But these areactors of the past. If Shakespeare does not often appear upon themodern stage, at any rate he is not presented in the disguised andmutilated form which won applause in what are now viewed as the "palmydays" of the drama. And the prepared speeches introduced by thetragedians, however alien they may be to the dramatist's intentions, and independent of his creations, are not properly to be considered asgag. 

It was in 1583, according to Howes' additions to Stow's "Chronicle, "that Queen Elizabeth, at the request of Sir Francis Walsingham, andwith the advice of Mr. Edmond Tyllney, her Master of the Revels, selected twelve performers out of some of the companies of hernobility, to be her own dramatic servants, with the special title ofthe Queen's Players. They duly took the oaths of office, and wereallowed wages and liveries as Grooms of the Chambers. Among theseactors were included Robert Wilson, described as gifted with "a quick, delicate, refined, extemporal wit;" and Richard Tarleton, of "awondrous, plentiful, pleasant, extemporal wit. " From this it wouldalmost seem that these comedians owed their fame and advancement totheir skill and inventiveness in the matter of gagging. No doubt theseearly actors bore some relation to the jesters who were establishedmembers of noble households, and of whom impromptu jokes andwitticisms were looked for upon all occasions. Moreover, at this time, as Mr. Payne Collier judges, "extemporal plays, " in the nature of theItalian _Commedie al improviso_, were often presented upon the Englishstage. The actors were merely furnished with a "plat, " or plot of theperformance, and were required to fill in and complete the outline, astheir own ingenuity might suggest. Portions of the entertainments weresimply dumb show and pantomime, but it is clear that spoken dialoguewas also resorted to. In such cases the "extemporal wit, " or gaggingof the comic actors, was indispensably necessary. The "comedians ofRavenna, " who were not "tied to any written device, " but who, nevertheless, had "certain grounds or principles of their own, " arementioned in Whetstone's "Heptameron, " 1582, and references to suchperformers are also to be found in Kyd's "Spanish Tragedy, " and BenJonson's "Case is Altered. " In "Antony and Cleopatra" occurs thepassage:

 The quick comedians Extemporally will stage us and present Our Alexandrian revels. 

And Mr. Collier conjectures that when Polonius, speaking of theplayers, informs Hamlet that, "for the law of writ and the liberty, these are your only men, " he is to be understood as commending theirexcellence, both in written performances and in such as left them atliberty to invent their own discourse. 

But however intelligible and excusable its origin, it is certain thatby the time Shakespeare was writing, the "extemporal wit" of thetheatre had come to be a very grave nuisance. There is no need to setforth here his memorable rebuke of the clowns who demonstrate their"pitiful ambition" by speaking more than their parts warrant. It is tobe observed, however, that while this charge is levelled only at theclowns, or comic performers, the faults of the serious players by nomeans escape uncriticised. The same speech condemns alike the rant ofthe tragedians and the gag of the comedians. Both are regarded asunworthy means of winning the applause of the "groundlings" in onecase, and the laughter of "barren spectators" in the other. Sad tosay, Hamlet, in his character of reformer of stage abuses, failed toeffect much good. The vices of the Elizabethan theatre are extant, andthriving in the Victorian. It is even to be feared that theinterpolations of the clowns have sometimes crept into and disfiguredthe Shakespearean text, much to the puzzlement of the commentators. Often as Hamlet's reforming speech has been recited, it has beengenerally met and nullified by someone moving "the previous question. "At the same time, while there is an inclination to decry perhaps toostrenuously the condition of the modern stage, it is fair to credit itwith a measure of amendment in regard both to rant and gag. Of lateyears rant has certainly declined in public favour, and the"robustious perriwig-pated fellow" tearing a passion to tatters, tovery rags, is a less familiar spectacle upon our boards than formerly;albeit, this statement is obviously open to the reply that the systemof "o'er doing Termagant, " and "out-Heroding Herod" has ceased toprevail, inasmuch as the tragedies and vehement plays, which gave itopportunity and excuse, have vanished from the existing dramaticrepertory. And gag, except perhaps in relation to certaininterpolations, which are founded upon enduring, if absurd, histrionictraditions, acknowledges stricter limitations than it once did. Agagging Polonius, Dogberry, Gobbo, or Gravedigger could scarcelyexpect much toleration from a modern audience; while it is trueenough, that these famous personages do not often present themselvesupon the scene in these times. As a rule, the gag of the presentperiod is to be found mainly in those more frivolous and ephemeralentertainments, which are not much to be damnified by any excesseswith which the comedians may be chargeable. 

There is no gainsaying that in all times gag has been indulgentlyconsidered, and even encouraged by the majority of the audience. Establishing relations of a most intimate kind with his audience, thecomic actor obtains from them absolute licence of speech and conduct. He becomes their "spoiled child, " his excesses are promptly applauded, and even his offences against good taste are speedily pardoned. 

Of early gagging comedians, one of the most noted appears to have beenWill Pinkethman, who flourished under William and Mary, and wonhonourable mention from Sir Richard Steele, in "The Tatler. " Cibberdescribes Pinkethman as an imitator of Leigh, an earlier actor ofsuperior and more legitimate powers. Pinkethman's inclination for"gamesome liberties" and "uncommon pleasantries" was of a mostextravagant kind. Davies says of him that he "was in such fullpossession of the galleries that he would hold discourse with them forseveral minutes. " Nor could he be induced to amend his method ofperformance. It was in vain the managers threatened to fine him forhis exuberances; he was too surely a public favourite to be severelytreated. At one time he came to a "whimsical agreement" with Wilks, the actor, who suffered much from his playfellow's eccentricities, that "whenever he was guilty of corresponding with the gods he shouldreceive on his back three smart strokes of Bob Wilks's cane. " But eventhis penalty, it would seem, Wilks was too good-natured to enforce. Onone occasion, however, as Davies relates, Pinkethman so persisted inhis gagging as to incur the displeasure of the audience. The comedywas Farquhar's "Recruiting Officer;" Wilks played Captain Plume, andPinkethman one of the recruits. The captain enlisting him inquired hisname. Instead of giving the proper answer, Pinkethman replied: "Why, don't you know my name, Bob? I thought every fool knew that. " Wilksangrily whispered to him the name of the recruit, Thomas Appleton. "Thomas Appleton?" he cried aloud. "No, no, my name's WillPinkethman!" Then, addressing himself to the gallery, he said: "Harkye, friends; you know my name up there, don't you?" "Yes, MasterPinkey, " was the answer, "we know your name well enough. " The housewas now in an uproar. At first the audience enjoyed the folly ofPinkethman, and the distressed air of Wilks; but soon the joke grewtiresome, and hisses became distinctly audible. By assuming asmelancholy an expression as he could, and exclaiming with a strongnasal twang: "Odds, I fear I'm wrong, " Pinkethman was enabled torestore the good-humour of his patrons. It would seem that on otheroccasions he was compelled to make some similar apology for hismisdemeanours. "I have often thought, " Cibber writes, "that a gooddeal of the favour he met with was owing to this seeming humble way ofwaiving all pretences to merit, but what the town would please toallow him. " A satiric poem, called "The Players, " published in 1733, contains the following reference to Pinkethman:

 Quit not your theme to win the gaping rout, Nor aim at Pinkey's leer with "S'death, I'm out!" An arch dull rogue, who lets the business cool, To show how nicely he can play the fool, Who with buffoonery his dulness clokes, Deserves a cat-o'-nine-tails for his jokes. 

At this time, Pinkethman had been dead some years, and it is explainedin a note, that no "invidious reflection upon his memory" wasintended, but merely a caution to others, who, less gifted, shouldpresume to imitate conduct which had not escaped censure even in hiscase. With all his irregularities, Pinkethman was accounted aserviceable actor, and was often entrusted with characters of realimportance, such as Dr. Caius, Feeble, Abel Drugger, Beau Clincher, Humphrey Gubbin, and Jerry Blackacre. 

But an actor who outdid even Pinkethman in impertinence of speech wasJohn Edwin, a comedian who enjoyed great popularity late in the lastcentury. A contemporary critic describes him "as one of thoseextraordinary productions that would do immortal honour to the sock, if his extravasations of whim could be kept within bounds, and if thecomicality of his vein could be restrained by good taste. " Reynolds, the dramatist, relates that on one occasion he was sitting in thefront row of the balcony-box at the Haymarket, during the performanceof O'Keeffe's farce of "The Son-in-Law, " Parsons being the Cranky andEdwin the Bowkitt of the night. In the scene of Cranky's refusal tobestow his daughter upon Bowkitt, on the ground of his being such anugly fellow, Edwin coolly advanced to the foot-lights, and said:"Ugly! Now I submit, to the decision of an enlightened British public, which is the ugliest fellow of us three; I, old Cranky, or thatgentleman in the front row of the balcony-box?" Here he pointed toReynolds, who hastened to abandon his position. Parsons wasexceedingly angry at the interruption, but the audience appear to havetolerated, and even enjoyed the gag. As Reynolds himself lenientlywrites: "Many performers before and since the days of Edwin haveacquired the power, by private winks, irrelevant buffoonery anddialogue, to make their fellow-players laugh, and thus confound theaudience and mar the scene; Edwin, disdaining this confined anddistracting system, established a sort of entre-nous-ship (if I mayventure to use the expression) with the audience, and made them hisconfidants; and though wrong in his principle, yet so neatly andskilfully did he execute it, that instead of injuring the business ofthe stage, he frequently enriched it. "

Edwin seems, indeed, to have been an actor of some genius, notwithstanding his "extravasations of whim, " and an habitualintemperance, which probably hastened the close of his professionalcareer--for the man was a shameless sot. "I have often seen him, "writes Boaden, "brought to the stage-door, senseless and motionless, lying at the bottom of a coach. " Yet, if he could but be made toassume his stage-clothes, and pushed towards the lamps, he would rubhis eyes for a moment, and then consciousness and extraordinary humourreturned to him together, and his acting suffered in no way from theexcesses which had overwhelmed him. Eccentricity was his forte, and itwas usually found necessary to have characters expressly written forhim; but there can be no doubt that he was very highly esteemed by theplaygoers of his time, who viewed his loss to the stage as quiteirreparable. 

But of the comedians it may be said, that they not only "gag"themselves, but they are the cause of "gagging" in others. Theirinterpolations are regarded as heirlooms in the Thespian family. It isthe comic actor's constant plea, when charged with adding to somefamous part, that he has only been true to the traditions of previousperformers. One of the most notable instances of established gag isthe burlesque sermon introduced by Mawworm, in the last scene of "TheHypocrite. " This was originated by Mathews, who first undertook thepart at the Lyceum in 1809, and who designed a caricature of anextravagant preacher of the Whitfield school, known as Daddy Berridge, whose strange discourses at the Tabernacle in the Tottenham Court Roadhad grievously afflicted the actor in his youth. Mawworm's sermon metwith extraordinary success; on some occasions it was even encored, andthe comedy has never since been presented without this supreme effortof gag. Liston borrowed the address from Mathews, and gained for it sogreat an amount of fame, that the real contriver of the interpolationhad reason to complain of being deprived of such credit as was due tohim in the matter. The sermon is certainly irresistibly comical, and afair outgrowth of the character of Mawworm; at the same time it mustbe observed that Mawworm is himself an excrescence upon the comedy, having no existence in Cibber's "Non-Juror, " upon which "TheHypocrite" is founded, or in "Tartuffe, " from whence Cibber derivedthe subject of his play. 

In the same way the additions made by the actors to certain ofSheridan's comedies--such as Moses's redundant iterations of "I'lltake my oath of that!" in "The School for Scandal, " and Acres'smisquotation of Sir Lucius's handwriting: "To prevent the trouble thatmight arise from our both undressing the same lady, " in "The Rivals, "are gags of such long standing, that they may date almost from thefirst production of those works. Sheridan himself supervised therehearsals, and took great pains to perfect the representation; but, with other dramatists, he probably found himself much at the mercy ofthe players. He even withheld publication of "The School for Scandal, "in order to prevent inadequate performance of the comedy; but thisprecaution was attended with the worst results. The stage longsuffered from the variety of defective copies of the work thatobtained circulation. The late Mr. John Bernard, the actor, in hisamusing "Retrospections of the Stage, " has confessed that, tempted byan addition of ten shillings a-week to his salary, he undertook tocompile, in a week, an edition of "The School for Scandal" for theExeter Theatre, upon the express understanding that the manuscriptshould be destroyed at the end of the season. Bernard had three partsin his possession, for upon various occasions he had appeared as SirPeter, as Charles, and as Sir Benjamin. Two members of the Exetercompany were acquainted with the speeches of Old Rowley, Lady Teazle, and Mrs. Candour, while actors at a distance, upon his request, senthim by post the parts of Joseph and Sir Oliver. With these materials, assisted by his general knowledge of the play, obtained from hishaving appeared many times in authentic versions of it, the compilerprepared a fictitious and piratical edition of "The School forScandal, " which fully served the purpose of the manager, and drew goodhouses for the remainder of the season. 

Altogether, while few writers have done so much for the stage asSheridan, few have met with less reverent treatment at the hands ofthe actors. "The Critic" has long been known in the theatre as a"gag-piece;" that is, a play which the performers consider themselvesentitled to treat with the most merciless licence. In this respect"The Critic" has followed the fate of an earlier work to which it owesmuch of its origin--"The Rehearsal, " by the Duke of Buckingham. It iscurious how completely Sheridan's own satire has escaped its dueapplication. "This is always the way at the theatre, " says Puff; "givethese fellows a good thing and they never know when to have done withit. " "The Critic" is not very often played nowadays; but everyoccasion of its revival is disfigured by the freedoms and buffooneryof its representatives. Modern costume is usually worn by Mr. Puff andhis friends; and the anachronism has its excuse, perhaps, in the factthat the satire of the dramatist is as sound and relevant now as itwas in the last century. And some modification of the original textmight be reasonably permitted. For instance, the reference by name tothe long-since departed actors, King, Dodd, and Palmer, and the oncefamous scene-painter, Mr. De Loutherbourg, must necessarily now escapethe comprehension of a general audience. But the idioticinterpolations, and the gross tomfoolery the actors occasionallypermit themselves in the later scenes of the play, should not betolerated by the audience upon any plea or pretext whatever. 

One kind of gag is attributable to failure of memory or deficiency ofstudy on the part of the player. "I haven't got my words; I must gagit, " is a confession not unfrequently to be overheard in the theatre. Incledon, the singer, who had been in early life a sailor before themast, in the royal navy, was notorious for his frequent loss of memoryupon the stage. In his time the word "vamp" seems to have prevailed asthe synonym of gag. A contemporary critic writes of him: "He couldnever vamp, to use a theatrical technical which implies thesubstitution of your own words and ideas when the author's areforgotten. Vamping requires some tact, if not talent; and Incledon'sformer occupation had imparted to his manners that genuine salt-watersimplicity to which the artifices of acting were insurmountabledifficulties. " Incledon had, however, a never-failing resource whendifficulty of this kind occurred to him, and loss of memory, andtherefore of speech, interrupted his performances. He forthwithcommenced a verse of one of his most popular ballads! The amazement ofhis fellow-actors at this proceeding was, on its first adoption, verygreat indeed. "The truth is, I forgot my part, sir, " Incledon franklyexplained to the perplexed manager, "and I could not catch the cue. Iassure you, sir, that my agitation was so great, that I was compelledto introduce a verse of 'Black-eyed Susan, ' in order to gain time andrecover myself. " Long afterwards, when the occupants of the green-roomcould hear Incledon's exquisite voice upon the stage, they were wontto ask each other, laughingly: "Is he singing his music, or is hemerely recollecting his words?"

That excellent comedian, the late Drinkwater Meadows, used to relate acurious gagging experience of his early life as a strolling player. Itwas at Warwick, during the race week. He was to play Henry Moreland, in "The Heir-at-Law, " a part he had never previously performed, and ofwhich, indeed, he knew little or nothing. There was no rehearsal, thecompany was "on pleasure bound, " and desired to attend the races withthe rest of Warwickshire. No book of the play was obtainable. A studyof the prompt-book had been promised; but the prompter was not to befound; he was probably at the races, and his book with him. Therepresentative of Henry Moreland could only consult with the actor whowas to play Steadfast--for upon Steadfast's co-operation Moreland'sscenes chiefly depend. "Don't bother about it, " said Steadfast. "Nevermind the book. I'll come down early to the house, and as we're notwanted till the third act we can easily go over our scenes quietlytogether before we go on. We shall be all right, never fear. It's arace-night; the house will be full and noisy. Little of the play willbe heard, and we need not be over and above particular as to the syls"(syllables). 

But Steadfast came down to the theatre very late, instead of early, and troubled with a thickness of speech and an unsteadiness of gaitthat closely resembled the symptoms of intoxication. "Sober!" he said, in reply to some insinuation of his comrade, "I'm sober as a judge. I've been running to get here in time, and that's agitated me. Ishall be all right when I'm on. Take care of yourself, and don't fretabout me. "

The curtain was up, and they had to face the foot-lights. Morelandwaited for Steadfast to begin. Steadfast was gazing vacantly abouthim, silent save for irrepressible hiccups. The audience grewimpatient, hisses became audible, and an apple or two was hurled uponthe stage. Moreland, who had gathered something of the subject of thescene, found it absolutely necessary to say something, and began togag:

"Well, Steadfast" (_aside to him_, "Stand still, can't you?"), "herewe are in England, nay, more, in London, its metropolis, whereindustry flourishes and idleness is punished. " (A pause for thoughtand reply; with little result. ) "Proud London, what wealth!" (Anotherpause, and a hiccup from Steadfast. ) "What constant bustle, whatactivity in thy streets!" (No remark could be extracted fromSteadfast. It was necessary to proceed. ) "And now, Steadfast, myinestimable friend, that I may find my father and my Caroline well andhappy, is the dearest, the sole aspiration of my heart!" Steadfaststared and staggered, then suddenly exclaiming gutturally, "Amen!"reeled from the stage, quickly followed by Henry Moreland, amid thederision and hisses of the spectators. "Treat you cruelly!" saidSteadfast, incoherently in the wings. "Nothing of the sort. You quiteconfounded me with your correctness. You told me you didn't know yourwords, and I'll be hanged if you were not 'letter perfect. ' It wentoff capitally, my dear boy, so now let's go over our next scene. " Butthe manager deemed it advisable to omit from the play all furtherreference to Moreland and Steadfast. 

To performers who gag either wantonly, or by reason of imperfectrecollection of their parts, few things are more distressing than aknowledge that someone among the audience is in possession of a bookof the play to be represented. Even the conscientious andthoroughly-prepared actor is apt to be disconcerted when he hears theflutter of leaves being turned over in the theatre, and discovers thathis speeches are being followed, line for line and word for word, bycritics armed with the author's text. On such occasions his memory ismuch inclined to play him false, and a sudden nervousness will oftenmar his best efforts. But, to the gagging player, a sense that hissins and failings are in this way liable to strict note and discovery, is grievously depressing. Some years ago a strolling company visitedAndover, and courageously undertook to represent an admired comedy, with which they could boast but the very faintest acquaintance. Scarcely an actor, indeed, knew a syllable of his part. It was agreedthat gag must be the order of the night, and that the performance mustbe "got through" anyhow. But the manager, eyeing and counting hishouse through the usual peephole in the curtain, perceived a gentlemanin the boxes holding in his hands a printed copy of the play. Thealarm of the company became extreme. A panic afflicted them, and theirpowers of gag were paralysed. They refused to confront thefoot-lights. The audience grew impatient; the fiddlers were weary ofrepeating their tunes. Still the curtain did not rise. At length themanager presented himself with a doleful apologetic face. "Owing to anunfortunate accident, " he said, "the company had left behind them theprompt-book of the play. The performance they had announced could not, therefore, be presented; unless, " and here the speech was especiallypointed to the gentleman in the boxes, "anyone among the audience, bya happy chance, happened to have brought to the theatre a copy of thecomedy. " The gentleman rose and said his book was much at the serviceof the manager, and it was accordingly handed to him. The playersforthwith recovered their spirits; exposure of their deficiencies wasno longer possible; and the performance passed off to the satisfactionof all concerned. 

It has been suggested that gag is leniently, and even favourablyconsidered by audiences; and it should be added that dramatists oftenconnive at the interpolations of the theatre. For popular actorscharacters are prepared in outline, as it were, with full room for theembellishments to be added in representation. "Only tell me thesituations; never mind about the 'cackle, '" an established comedianwill observe to his author: "I'll 'fill it out, '" or "I shall be ableto 'jerk it in, ' and make something of the part. " It is to be feared, indeed, that gag has secured a hold upon the stage, such as neithertime nor teaching can loosen. More than a century ago, in theepilogue as supplied to Murphy's comedy, Garrick wrote:

 Ye actors who act what our writers have writ, Pray stick to your parts and spare your own wit; For when with your own you unbridle your tongue, I'll hold ten to one you are "all in the wrong!"

But this, with other cautioning of like effect, has availed butlittle. The really popular actor gains a height above the reach ofcensure. He has secured a verdict that is scarcely to be impeached orinfluenced by exceptional criticism. Still it may be worth while tourge upon him the importance of moderation, not so much for his ownart's sake--on that head over-indulgence may have made himobdurate--but in regard to his playfellows of inferior standing. He istheir exemplar; his sins are their excuses; and the licence of onethus vitiates the general system of representation. 

The French stage is far more hedged round with restrictions than isour own, and cultivates histrionic art with more scrupulous care. Inits better works gag is not tolerated, although free range is accordedit in productions of the opera bouffe and vaudeville class. Here thewildest liberty prevails, and the gagging actor is recognised asexercising his privileges and his wit within lawful bounds. TheParisian theatres may, indeed, be divided into the establishmentswherein gag is applauded, and those wherein it is abominated. By wayof a concluding note upon the subject, let an authentic story ofsuccessful French gag be briefly narrated. 

Potier, the famous comedian, was playing the leading part in a certainvaudeville, and was required, in the course of the performance, to sitat the table of a cheap café and consume a bottle of beer. The beerwas brought him by a _figurant_, or mute performer, in the characterof a waiter, charged with the simple duty of drawing the cork from thebottle and filling the glass of the customer. Potier was struck withthe man's neat performance of his task, and especially with a curiouscomical gravity which distinguished his manner, and often bestowedupon the humble actor an encouraging smile or a nod of approval. Theman at length urged a request that he might, as he poured out thebeer, be permitted to say a few words. Potier sanctioned the gag. Itmoved the laughter of the audience. Potier gagged in reply: and therewas more laughter. During later representations the waiter was allowedfurther speeches, relieved by the additional gag of Potier, until atthe end of a week it was found that an entirely new scene had beenadded to the vaudeville, and eventually the conversation betweenPotier and the _garçon_--not a line of which had been invented orcontemplated by the dramatist--became the chief attraction of thepiece. It was the triumph of gag. The _figurant_, from this modest andaccidental beginning of his career as an actor, speedily rose to befamous. He was afterwards known to the world as ARNAL, one of the mostadmirable of Parisian _farçeurs_. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

BALLETS AND BALLET-DANCERS. 

Dr. Barten Holyday, in the notes to his translation of "Juvenal, "published at Oxford in 1673, describes the Roman plays as beingfollowed by an exodium "of the nature of a _jig_ after a play, themore cheerfully to dismiss the spectators"--the word "jig" signifyingin the doctor's time something almost of a _ballet divertissement_, with an infusion of rhyming songs or speeches delivered by the clownof the theatre to the accompaniment of pipe and tabor. Jigs of thiskind commonly terminated the performances upon the Elizabethan stage, which otherwise consisted of one dramatic piece only. Mr. PayneCollier holds that these supplemental exhibitions probably originatedwith, and certainly depended mainly upon, the actors who supported thecharacters of fools and clowns in the regular dramatic representations. He points out that Tarleton, one of Queen Elizabeth's players, much famed for his comicality, obtained great success by hisefforts in jigs, and that, upon the showing of the tract entitledTarleton's "News from Purgatory, " jigs usually lasted for an hour. Theprecise nature of these entertainments cannot now be ascertained; foralthough each jig had what may be called its _libretto_, which wasduly printed and published when the popularity of the work sorequired, yet no specimen of any such performance is now extant. TheStationers' registers, however, contain entries in 1595 of two jigsdescribed respectively as Phillips's "Jig of the Slippers, " andKempe's "Jig of the Kitchen-stuff Woman. " Other jigs referred to bycontemporary writers are "The Jig of the Ship" and "The Jig ofGarlick. " It may be assumed, therefore, that each jig possessedspecial characteristics in the nature of distinct plot and characters;but in what respects "The Jig of the Kitchen-stuff Woman, " let us say, differed from "The Jig of Garlick, " or what was the precise storyeither was supposed to narrate, we must now be content to leave to theconjecture of the curious. 

Probably dancing, as a dramatic entertainment, first came upon ourstage in the form of these jigs. Of course, as a means of recreationamong all ranks of people, it had thriven since a very remote period. Into the question of the state of dancing prior to the invention ofany method of denoting by signs or characters the length or durationof sounds, we need scarcely enter. Doubtless music was felt andappreciated by a sort of instinct long before it was understoodscientifically, or duly measured out and written down upon arecognised system. If dancing is to be viewed as dependent upon itscorrespondence with mensurable music, it must date simply from theinvention of the Cantus Mensurabilis, attributed by some writers toFranco, the scholastic of Liége, who flourished in the eleventhcentury; and by others to Johannes de Muris, doctor of Sorbonne and anative of England, at the beginning of the fourteenth century. 

There were dances of the court and dances of the people. The Morrisdance, which seems to have been an invention of the Moors, had firmlyestablished itself in England in the sixteenth century. The countrydance was even of earlier date. The old Roundel or Roundelay has beendescribed by ancient authorities as an air appropriate to dancing, andwould indicate little more than a circular dance with the handsjoined. Among the nobler and statelier dances in vogue at the court ofthe Tudors, were the Pavan (from _pavo_, a peacock), with the Galliard(a lighter measure, which was probably to the Pavan what in lateryears the Gavotte was to the Minuet), the Passamezzo, the Courant, andthe Saraband. Sir John Elyot, who published in 1531 his book called"The Governor, " wherein he avers that dancing by persons of both sexesis a mystical representation of matrimony, mentions other dances, suchas Bargenettes and Turgyons, concerning which no explanation can beoffered, except perhaps that the former may be derived from Berger, and be something of a shepherd's dance. There was also an esteemeddance called the Braule, in which several persons joining hands dancedtogether in a ring, which was no doubt identical with the Branle orBrantle mentioned by Mr. Pepys in his description of a grand ball atWhitehall: "By-and-by comes the king and queen, the duke and duchess, and all the great ones; and after seating themselves the king takesout the Duchess of York, and the Duke the Duchess of Buckingham; theDuke of Monmouth my Lady Castlemaine; and so other lords other ladies;and they danced the Brantle. After that the king led a lady a singleCoranto; and then the rest of the lords, one after another, otherladies. Very noble it was and great pleasure to see. Then to countrydances; the king leading the first, which he called for.... The mannerwas, when the king dances, all the ladies in the room, and the queenherself, stand up; and indeed he dances rarely and much better thanthe Duke of York. "

Dancing, however, had degenerated in King Charles's time. In his"Table Talk, " Selden writes of the matter in very quaint terms: "Thecourt of England is much altered. At a solemn dancing, first you hadthe grave measures, then the Corantoes and the Galliards, and thiskept with ceremony; and at length to Trenchmore and the cushion-dance;then all the company dances, lord and groom, lady and kitchen-maid, nodistinction. So in our court in Queen Elizabeth's time gravity andstate were kept up. In King James's time things were pretty well. Butin King Charles's time there has been nothing but Trenchmore and thecushion-dance, _omnium gatherum_, tolly polly, hoite cum toite. " TheTrenchmore was a lively dance, mention of which may be found in "ThePilgrim" and "Island Princess" of Beaumont and Fletcher, and in "TheRehearsal" of the Duke of Buckingham. The last editor of Selden, itmay be noted, by altering the word to "Frenchmore, " has considerablyobscured the author's meaning. 

In former times men of the gravest profession did not disdain todance. Even the judges, in compliance with ancient custom, longcontinued to dance annually on Candlemas Day in the hall of Serjeants'Inn, Chancery Lane. Lincoln's Inn, too, had its revels--four in eachyear--with a master duly elected of the society to direct thepastimes. Nor were these "exercises of dancing, " as Dugdale callsthem, merely tolerated; they were held to be "very necessary, and muchconducing to the making of gentlemen more fit for their books at othertimes. " Indeed, it appears that, by an order made in James I. 's time, the junior bar was severely dealt with for declining to dance: "theunder barristers were by decimation put out of commons for example'ssake, because the whole bar offended by not dancing on Candlemas Daypreceding, according to the ancient order of this society, when thejudges were present; with this, that if the like fault were committedafterwards they should be fined or disbarred. "

Gradually jigs disappeared from the stage. Even in 1632, when Shirleywrote his comedy of "Changes, or Love in a Maze, " jigs had beendiscontinued at Salisbury Court Theatre, and probably at other privateplayhouses. Shirley complains that, instead of a jig at the end, adance in the middle of the piece was now required by the spectators. Possibly that dance of all the _dramatis personæ_ with which so manyof the old comedies conclude is due to the earlier fashion ofterminating theatrical performances by a jig. 

With Sir William Davenant as patentee and manager of the Duke'sTheatre, stage dancing and singing acquired a more distinguishedposition among theatrical entertainments. It was Davenant's object, bysubmitting attractions of this nature to the public, to check thesuperiority enjoyed by Killigrew, the patentee of the Theatre Royal, and the comedians privileged to call themselves "His Majesty'sServants. " Davenant, indeed, first brought upon the English stage whatwere then called "dramatic operas, " but what we should now ratherdesignate "spectacles, " including Dryden's version of "The Tempest, "the "Psyche" of Shadwell, and the "Circe" of Charles Davenant, "allset off, " as Cibber writes of them, "with the most expensivedecorations of scenes and habits, with the best voices and dancers. "Sir John Hawkins describes these productions as "musical dramas, " or"tragedies with interludes set to music. "

But as yet the ballet, or rather the ballet of action--which may bedefined to be a ballet with a plot or story of some kind told by meansof dancing dumb motions, and musical accompaniments--was not knownupon our stage; and when an entertainment of this kind did make itsappearance it was promptly designated a pantomime, and so has becomeconfused with the distinct kind of performances still presented underthat name at our larger theatres at Christmas time. "When one companyis too hard for another, " writes Cibber, "the lower in reputation hasalways been forced to exhibit some new-fangled foppery to draw themultitude after them;" which is, however, only a way of saying thatmanagers need the stimulus of opposition to induce them to provide newentertainments. In 1721 there was great rivalry between DruryLane--Cibber being one of its managers--and the theatre then newlyerected in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Of the "new-fangled foppery, " whichit now became necessary for the one theatre to resort to as a weaponof offence against its rival, singing and dancing had been effectualinstances. But singing was not to be thought of under thecircumstances; as Cibber writes: "At the time I am speaking of, ourEnglish music had been so discountenanced since the taste of Italianoperas prevailed, that it was to no purpose to pretend to it. Dancing, therefore, was now the only weight in the opposite scale, and as thenew theatres sometimes found their account in it, it could not be safefor us wholly to neglect it. To give even dancing, therefore, someimprovement, and to make it something more than motion withoutmeaning, the fable of Mars and Venus was formed into a connectedpresentation of dances in character, wherein the passions were sohappily expressed, and the whole story so intelligibly told by a mutenarrative of gesture only, that even thinking spectators allowed itboth a pleasing and a rational entertainment. " This was certainly aballet of action, and it is remarkable that the production involvedbut a small outlay; the managers, distrusting its reception, did notventure "to decorate it with any extraordinary expense of scenes orhabits. " Great success, however, attended the performance, and from itis to be dated the establishment both of ballet and pantomime upon ourstage. "From this original hint, then, but every way unequal to it, sprang forth that succession of monstrous medleys that have so longinfested the stage, and which arose upon one another alternately atboth houses, outvying in expense, like contending bribes on both sidesat an election, to secure a majority of the multitude. " Cibber indeedwaxes very wrath over the matter, and appears to desire that lawfulauthority should "interpose to put down these poetical drams, thesegin-shops of the stage, that intoxicate its auditors and dishonourtheir understanding with a levity for which I want a name. " ButCibber's anger is in truth very much that of a manager vying with theliberal outlay of a rival, and in such wise forced to expend largesums in costly entertainments. 

At an earlier date ballet-dancers had been imported from France. Sometime about 1704 the great Mr. Betterton and his company, sufferingfrom insufficient patronage at the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, had been reduced to resort to "foreign novelties. " Three of the mostfamous dancers of the French Opera, L'Abbée, Balon, and MademoiselleSubligny, were at several times brought over at extraordinary rates torevive that sickly appetite which plain sense and nature had satiated. In Paris, indeed, the ballet was very securely instituted. TheAcadémie Royale de Musique et de Danse had been founded in 1669, andfrom that date the ballet, as an entertainment of dancing only, may besaid to have come into being. There had been earlier ballets, butthese were of the nature of old English masques, and consisted ofsongs and spoken dialogues in addition to dances; the term _ballet_, it need hardly be explained, being derived from the Italian _ballata_, the parent of our own _ballad_. At first the French Opera or Academysuffered from the smallness of its troop; vocalists could be obtainedfrom the church choirs, but for the ballet it was hard to findrecruits; and sometimes young boys were pressed into the service, andconstrained to personate nymphs, dryads, and shepherdesses--"_danseurs_, "writes a French historian of the Opera, "_qui sous un masque et desvêtements féminins, les formes arrondies par l'art et le coton, n'excitaient qu'un enthousiasme modéré_. " At court therewas no lack of dancers of the gentler sex, however, and at courtthe ballet prospered greatly. A ballet performed in 1681 was atany rate strongly cast, since there appeared among the dancers Madamela Dauphine, the Princesse de Conti, and Mdlle. De Nantes, supportedby the Dauphin, the Prince de Conti, and the Duc de Vermandois; butthese distinguished personages probably sang more than they danced. Louis XIV. Frequently figured in ballets, one of his favouritecharacters being the Sun in "Flora, " said to be the eighteenth balletin which he had played a part. Lulli, the composer, director of theOpera, paid great attention to the ballet, occasionally appearing as adancer; as a singer and comic actor he had already acquired fame. ToLulli has been attributed the introduction of rapid dancing, inopposition to the solemn and deliberate steps favoured by the courtduring the early part of the reign of Louis XIV. It may be added, thatthe king held out a measure of encouragement to such of his nobilityand courtiers as were disposed to follow his example and exhibit uponthe scene. "It is our pleasure, " he says in the patent granted to theAbbé Perrin, the first director of the French Opera, 1669, "that allgentlemen and ladies may sing in the said pieces and representationsof our Royal Academy, without being considered on that account toderogate from their letters of nobility or from their privileges, rights, and immunities. " The dramatic ballet, or ballet of action, issaid to have been invented by the Duchesse du Maine, whose theatricalentertainments at Sceaux rivalled the festivities of Versailles, andobtained the preference of many nobles of the court. The lady, however, unfortunately meddled with the Spanish conspiracy--she shouldhave confined herself to the plots of ballets--and forthwith theestablishment at Sceaux was broken up. In this way Mouret, her musicaldirector, who also composed several operas and ballets for theAcademy, suffered severe loss; eventually he went mad and died in thelunatic asylum at Chârenton. 

Mademoiselle de Subligny came to England armed with letters ofintroduction from Thiriot and the Abbé Dubois to John Locke of allpeople! Locke probably was not very sympathetic in regard to thelady's art, yet respect for his friends led him to bestow upon her duecivility and attention; according to Fontenelle, he constitutedhimself her _homme d'affaires_. Another dancer, Mademoiselle Sallé, whose charms and graces Voltaire had celebrated in verse, appeared inLondon with letters of introduction from Fontenelle to Montesquieu, then ambassador at the court of St. James's. It is clear that theballet-dancers were becoming personages of real importance. 

Mdlle. Sallé, it seems, achieved extraordinary success in the year1734 at Covent Garden Theatre, which a French journal of that datedescribes curiously as the _Théâtre du Commun Jardin_. The lady was anadmirable dancer, and brought with her complete dramatic ballets, thecharacters in which were appropriately dressed according to the timeand place of the story they related; for Mdlle. Sallé was a reformerin the matter of stage costumes. She discarded paniers and hoops andfalse hair. As Galatea in a ballet upon the story of Pygmalion, shewore nothing, we are told, "in addition to her bodice and underpetticoats, but a simple robe of muslin draped after the manner of aGreek statue. " She won great applause, too, by her performance ofAriadne in a ballet called "Bacchus and Ariadne, " the beauty of herdances, attitudes, and gestures, and her skill in depicting bymovements without words, grief, anger, love, and despair, obtainingthe warmest approval. She was patronised by the king, queen, and theroyal family, and her benefit produced an "overflow" and somethingmore; tickets were sold at most exorbitant prices, and the peoplefought for places both with swords and fists. There are stories, too, of purses full of gold being flung upon the stage, with showers ofbonbons--not ordinary sugar-plums, but rouleaux of guineas tightlywrapped up in bank-notes. The dancer is said to have profited by herbenefit to the extent of some £10, 000. It must be owned, however, thatthe story of Mdlle. Sallé's success is of a very highly-coloureddescription, and can only be credited absolutely by persons largelyendowed with credulity. 

Satire, of course, found occupation in the successes of theballet-dancers. In 1742 Hogarth published his "Charmers of the Age, " acaricature of the aspects and attitudes of M. Desnoyer and the SignoraBarberina, then performing at Drury Lane Theatre. A grotesque air wasgiven to these artists, popularly regarded as personifications ofgrace and elegance, and a measured line was added to the drawing thattheir leaps and bounds might be fairly estimated. 

It was in France, however, that the _ballerina_ secured her greatesttriumph, and the _ballet d'action_ attained its fullest vitality. Thedancer became a power in the State, influencing princes, ministers, and people. Poets were her slaves, and oftentimes philosophers werecaught in her toils. From Mdlle. La Fontaine of two centuries since, "_la première des premières danseuses_, " who received the title of "LaReine de la Danse, " there being at the time, however, but three otherprofessional dancers in Paris, through a long line of mostdistinguished artists, the _ballerina_ of to-day may trace herdescent. But now, however, there is pause in her success, a cloud overher career. Indeed, it must be said, that for a generation almostthere has been no new triumph registered of the ballet and itsartists. Here the "opera-dancers, " as they were once called, havecertainly ceased to be. Once standing, as it were, on the tips oftheir toes, they supported opera upon their shoulders. But now thereare no dancers at the opera. Euterpe has dispensed with the aid ofTerpsichore; the ballet has fled from the boards of our lyrictheatres. It has been said, indeed, that the _ballet d'action_ hasnever been really naturalised in this country; that although it hasthrived for a while, it was but an exotic, needing careful watchingand tending. Still it was for many years a most prosperousentertainment, especially at our Italian opera-house; and it is to benoted that its decline has not been confined to this country. Even inFrance, its natural home and headquarters, ballet is by no means whatit once was. It lives, perhaps, but in a fallen state. There is no_danseuse_ now really of the first class. Has the ballet declined onthis account, or is this to be ascribed to the decline of the ballet?Or can it be that the dances of the streets have overcome and oustedfrom their due position the dances of the stage?

After Mdlle. La Fontaine came Mdlles. Roland and Prévost; the famousCamargo and her rival Sallé, of whom some mention has already beenmade; Mdlle. Marie Madeleine Guimard, exquisitely graceful andfascinating, but of such slender proportions that she obtained thesurname of "_le squelette des Grâces_, " while witty but malicious, perhaps jealous, Sophie Arnould described her as "the spider;"Mafleuroy, who married Boeldieu, and Mercandotti, who married Mr. BallHughes, otherwise "Golden Ball, " the greatest gambler of his time, which is saying a good deal; Noblet and the Ellslers; Pauline Leroux, who became the wife of Lafont, the most elegant actor of the moderntheatre; Duvernay and Taglioni--to name no more, for we have now cometo surviving artists--these are among the more famous of the "Reinesde la Danse" who have ruled absolutely at the Académie Royale of Parisand elsewhere. 

In England ballet has enjoyed many triumphs, while it hasnevertheless experienced sundry disasters. There was great trouble, for instance, at Drury-lane Theatre in 1755, when Mr. Garrick's"Chinese Festival" with its French dancers was sternly, even savagely, condemned by the audience. The manager was over-fond of spangles andspectacles, or inclined to over-estimate his public's regard for suchmatters, and a sharp but necessary lesson was read to him upon thatoccasion. Then he was very obstinate, and in such wise roused theBritish lion inordinately. He would not withdraw the play from hisstage; promptly the audience determined that no stage should be lefthim upon which to represent either the "Chinese Festival" or anythingelse. Of course he had to yield at last, as managers must whenplaygoers are resolute; he had to live by pleasing, not displeasing. But he did not give way until there had been some six nights of uproarand riot. In vain did various noble lords and gentlemen, friends ofthe management, and supporters of spectacle and the ballet, draw theirswords, endeavouring to awe malcontents, to restore order, and todefend the theatre from outrage. The mob would have its way. Thebenches were torn up, the decorations torn down, chandeliers smashed, even scenes and properties were ruthlessly destroyed. There was, indeed, a wild proposition rife at one time to fire the house and burnit to the ground. Garrick could but strike his flag, and yield up his"Chinese Festival. " Still it was agreed that he had hesitated toolong. The mob therefore repaired to Southampton Street, and smashedhis window-panes, doing other mischief to his property there. He beganeven to tremble for his life, and from his friends in power obtained aguard of soldiery to protect him. Strange to say, on two of the nightsof riot the king was present--a fact that did not in the least hinderor mitigate the violent demonstrations of the audience. 

But it was not so much the ballet that gave offence as theballet-dancers whom Garrick had brought from Paris. They were chieflySwiss, but the audience believed them to be French, and at that time avery strong anti-Gallican feeling prevailed in the land. The relationsbetween England and France were of an unfriendly kind; the twocountries were, indeed, on the eve of war. The French, by theirconduct in America, had incurred the bitterest English enmity. It istrue that Garrick had projected his spectacle months before thisfeeling had arisen. He was careful so to inform the public, andfurther to state that his ballet-master, M. Noverre, and his sisterswere Swiss and of a Protestant family; his wife and her sister, Germans; and that of the whole _corps de ballet_, sixty in number, forty were English. But this availed not. The pit would not regard it, holding fast to their opinion that no management should bring overparley-voos and frog-eaters to take the bread out of English mouths. Peace was at length restored in Drury Lane, and the dancers sent back. The management lost £4000; Garrick purchasing knowledge of his publicat rather a high rate. 

And in England the ballet had other enemies than those who concernedthemselves in regard to the nationality of its professors. It was heldby many to be, if an art at all--why, then, an art of a shocking kind;they could see nothing in it but gross impropriety and unseemliness. Now, of course, the ballet has its vulnerable side--it almost needs, at any rate it has always assumed, a scantier style of dress than isotherwise in ordinary use. And then the movements of the dancer ofnecessity involve greater display of the human form than is requiredby the simpler acts of riding, walking, or sitting. In dancing it isinevitable that there should be swaying and bending of the figure, possibly waving to and fro of the arms, certainly some standing uponthe toes, and raising of the nether limbs more or less high in theair. Bereft of these measures dancing could not be; still here werematters upon which moralists, or persons who so styled themselves, were able greatly to enlarge, and concerning which Pharisees, who didnot so style themselves, but were such nevertheless, had much to say. Now just at the close of the last century the world was in very sadcase; society had gone on from bad to worse: low life was of courselower than it had ever before been known to be, and high life was notnearly so high as it should have been. There was profligacy in veryexalted places, and, indeed, dissoluteness and immorality everywhere. Thereupon, in 1798, a certain Bishop of Durham made a speech from hisplace in Parliament in regard to the wickedness of the period; andespecially he drew attention to the dancers of the opera-house. Theexcuse for the prelate's speech was a divorce bill; for in those daysthe peers spiritual and temporal were much occupied in discussing andpassing divorce bills--an employment of which they have only beendeprived during quite recent years. His Grace took occasion tocomplain of the frequency of such bills, and, being a true patriot, charged the French Government with the despatch of agents to thiscountry especially to corrupt our manners. "He considered it aconsequence of the gross immoralities imported of late years into thiscountry from France, the Directory of which country, finding that theywere not able to subdue us by their arms, appeared as if they weredetermined to gain their ends by destroying our morals; they had sentover persons to this country who made the most improper exhibitions inour theatres. " Now it was true that the manager of the opera-house atthis time relied greatly upon the attractions of his ballet; operasand opera-singers having for a while lost favour with the impresario'ssubscribers and supporters. A leading dancer at this time, however, was an Englishwoman--an exception to the rule that makes every_première danseuse_ of French origin--Miss Rose, reported to be ofplain features, but of exquisite figure, and gifted with singular easeand grace of movement. It is possible that Miss Rose had adopted ascantier and lighter method of attire than had prevailed withpreceding dancers. She had been caricatured, yet not very unkindly, byGillray, the drawing bearing the motto, "No flower that blows is likethe Rose. " The bishop's speech was not without effect. Indeed, he hadannounced his intention upon some future day to move an address to theking praying that all opera-dancers might be ordered out of thekingdom, as people likely to destroy our morality and religion, and asvery probably in the pay of France. The manager of the opera-housedeemed it advisable to postpone his ballet of "Bacchus and Ariadne"until new and improved dresses could be prepared for it. Upon theentertainment being reproduced, it was found that there had beenenlargement and elongation of the skirts of the performers, with thesubstitution of inoffensive white silk stockings for the reprehensiblehose of flesh-colour that had originally been assumed. Of course muchtalk followed upon this, with great laughter and ridicule; caricaturesof the spiritual peers and the opera-dancers abounded. In a drawing byGillray, Miss Rose, with other _danseuses_, is depicted performingwhat is called "_La Danse à l'Évêque_;" the ladies have assumed, outof excessive regard for decorousness and the bishop's arguments, thatapron of black silk which has long been thought peculiar to prelates. Another satirical illustration bore the title of "EcclesiasticalScrutiny; or, The Durham Inquest on Duty. " Bishops were represented asattending in the dressing department of the opera-house; one is seento be measuring the dancers' skirts with a tailor's yard; anotherarranges their stockings in an ungraceful fashion; while a thirdinspects their corsets, decreeing some change in the form of thosearticles of attire. The Bishop of Durham was further portrayed inanother broadsheet as armed with his pastoral staff, and sturdilycontesting hand to hand with the Spirit of Evil arrayed in balletcostume. In short, this subject of the bishops and the ballet-girlsoccupied and amused the public very considerably, and doubtless provedprofitable, as an advertisement of his wares, to the manager of theopera-house. 

Still the bishops kept a watchful eye upon the proceedings of thetheatre. In 1805 there is record of a riot at the opera-house, "somereforming bishops having warned the managers that if the performanceswere not regularly brought to a close before twelve o'clock onSaturday evenings, prosecutions would be commenced. " Accordingly, theperformances were shortened by the omission of an act of the ballet of"Ossian, " greatly to the dissatisfaction of the audience, whoassaulted Mr. Kelly, the manager, commenced an attack upon thechandeliers, benches, musical instruments, &c. , and indeed threatenedto demolish the theatre. The curtain had fallen at half-past eleven, which the audience thought much too early. Of a certain prelate it wasrecorded that he frequently attended the Saturday-night performancesat the opera-house, and that upon the approach of midnight he was wontto stand up in his box holding out his watch at arm's length, by wayof intimating to the spectators that it was time for them to departand for the theatre to close. Of course this bishop could hardly haveavoided seeing the ballet; but for whatever distress he may haveendured on that account, a sense of his efforts to benefit hisspecies, including of course the opera-dancers, no doubt afforded hima sufficient measure of compensation. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

CORRECT COSTUMES. 

The question of dress has always been of the gravest importance to thetheatrical profession. It was a charge brought against the actors ofElizabeth's time, that they walked about the town in gaudy andexpensive attire. The author of "The Return from Parnassus, " firstpublished in 1606, but held to have been written at an earlier date, specially refers to the prosperity, and the consequent arrogance ofthe players. He is believed to have had in view Alleyn or evenShakespeare:

 Vile world that lifts them up to high degree, And treads us down in grovelling misery! England affords these glorious vagabonds, That carried erst their fardels on their backs, Coursers to ride on through the gazing streets, Sweeping it in their glaring satin suits, And pages to attend their masterships. 

But it is clear that these "glorious vagabonds" were regardful thattheir dress should be splendid merely. There was no thought then as tothe costumes of the stage being appropriate to the charactersrepresented, or in harmony with the periods dealt with by thedramatists. Nor did the spectators find fault with this arrangement. It did not disturb them in the least to find Brutus and Cassius, forinstance, wearing much the same kind of clothes as Bacon and Raleigh. And in this way anachronisms of other kinds readily obtained pardon, if indeed they ever moved attention at all. Certainly the hero of anearly Roman story should not have spoken of gunpowder, much less haveproduced a pistol from his belt; but his conduct in this wise becamealmost reasonable, seeing that he did not wear a toga, but doublet andhose--the dress indeed of a gallant of Elizabeth's time. 

It is only in quite recent times that the correctness of stagecostumes has undergone systematic consideration, and been treated as amatter of real urgency, although occasional experiments in thedirection of reform are to be found recorded in early accounts of thedrama. Mr. Pepys describes his visit to the theatre in 1664, to see"Heraclius, or the Emperor of the East, " Carlell's translation ofCorneille, and notes, "the garments like Romans very well ... At thebeginning, at the drawing up of the curtain, there was the finestscene of the emperor and his people about him, standing in their fixedand different postures, in their Roman habits, above all that I eversaw at any of the theatres. " But attempts to be accurate in this waywere only of an intermittent kind; any enduring amendment can hardlybe found until we approach a period that is within the recollection ofliving playgoers. Mr. Donne, lately the Examiner of Plays, writes inone of his essays on the drama: "We have seen 'The Rivals' performedin a sort of chance-medley costume--a century intervening between therespective attires of Sir Anthony and Captain Absolute;" and he adds, "we have seen the same comedy dressed with scrupulous attention to thedate of the wigs and hoops; but we doubt whether in any essentialrespect that excellent play was a gainer by the increased care andexpenditure of the manager. " Sir Walter Scott had previously written:"We have seen 'Jane Shore' acted with Richard in the old Englishcloak, Lord Hastings in a full court dress, with his white rod like aLord Chamberlain of the last reign, and Jane Shore and Alicia in staysand hoops. We have seen Miss Young act Zara, incased in whalebone, toan Osman dressed properly enough as a Turk, while Nerestan, aChristian knight, in the time of the Crusades, strutted in the whiteuniform of the old French guards!"

Even as late as 1842 a writer in a critical journal, reviewing aperformance of "She Stoops to Conquer" at the Haymarket Theatre, reminds the representatives of Young Marlow and Hastings that thecostumes they wear being "of the year 1842 accord but ill with thoseof 1772, assumed by the other characters. " "The effect of the scene ismarred by it, " writes the critic. And ten years before Leigh Hunt hadadmitted into the columns of his _Tatler_ many letters dwelling uponthe defects of stage costume in regard to incongruousness and generallack of accuracy. One correspondent complains of a performance of "TheMerry Wives of Windsor" at Covent Garden, in which Bartley had playedFalstaff "in a dress belonging to the age of the first Charles;" Caiushad appeared as "a doctor of the reign of William and Mary, with aflowing periwig, cocked hat, large cuffs, and ruffles;" while JohnRugby's costume was that "of a countryman servant of the present day. "Another remonstrant describes Kean as dressing Othello "more in thegarb of an Albanian Greek than a Moor; Richard goes through the battlewithout armour, while Richmond is armed _cap-à-pie_; and Young playsMacbeth in a green and gilded velvet jacket, and carries a shielduntil he begins to fight, and then throws it away. " A thirdcorrespondent draws attention to "The School for Scandal" and Mr. Farren's performance of Sir Peter Teazle in a costume appropriate tothe date of the comedy, the other players wearing dresses of thenewest vogue. "Even Sir Oliver, " it is added, "appeared in afashionable modern drab greatcoat. " In a note Leigh Hunt records hisopinion that Mr. Farren was right, and that it was "the business ofall the other performers to dress up to his costume, not for him to_wrong_ himself into theirs, " and adds, "there is one way of settlingthe matter which puts an end to all questions except that of immediateconvenience and economy; and this is to do as the French do, whorigidly adhere to the costume of the period in which the scene issupposed to take place. Something of immediate sympathy is lost, perhaps, by this system, for we can hardly admire a young beauty somuch in the dress of our grandmothers as in such as we see our owncharmers in; but this defect is compensated by a sense of truth andpropriety, by the very quaintness and novelty of the ancient aspect, and even by the information it conveys to us. "

The condition of the Parisian stage in regard to its improved andsplendid scenery, decorations, and accessories owed much to thespecial intervention and patronage of Louis XIV. Sir Walter Scottascribes to Voltaire "the sole merit of introducing natural andcorrect costumes. Before his time the actors, whether Romans orScythians, appeared in the full dress of the French court; andAugustus himself was represented in a huge full-bottomed wigsurmounted by a crown of laurel. " Marmontel, however, claims to havehad some share in this innovation, and also in the reform of the stagemethod of declamation, which had previously been of a very pompouskind. Following his counsels, Mdlle. Clairon, the famous tragicactress, had ventured to play Roxana, in the Court Theatre atVersailles, "dressed in the habit of a Sultana, without hoop, her armshalf naked, and in the truth of Oriental costume. " With this attireshe adopted a simpler kind of elocution. Her success was mostcomplete. Marmontel was profuse in his congratulations. "But it willruin me, " said the actress. "Natural declamation requires correctnessof costume. My wardrobe is from this moment useless to me; I losetwelve hundred guineas' worth of dresses! However, the sacrifice ismade. Within a week you shall see me play Electra after nature, as Ihave just played Roxana. " Marmontel writes: "From that time all theactors were obliged to abandon their fringed gloves, their voluminouswigs, their feathered hats, and all the fantastic paraphernalia thathad so long shocked the sight of all men of taste. Lekain himselffollowed the example of Mdlle. Clairon, and, from that moment, theirtalents thus perfected, excited mutual emulation and were worthyrivals of each other. "

Upon the English stage reform in this matter was certainly a matter ofslow growth. A German gentleman, Christian Augustus Gottlieb Goede byname, who published, in 1821, a long account of a visit he hadrecently made to England, expresses in strong terms his opinions oncertain peculiarities of its theatre. "You will never behold, " hewrites, "foreign actors dressed in such an absurd style as upon theLondon stage. The English, of all other nations the most superstitiousworshippers of fashion, are, nevertheless, accustomed to manifest astrange indulgence for the incivilities which this goddess encountersfrom their performers. I have seen Mr. Cooke personating the characterof Sir Pertinax McSycophant in 'The Man of the World, ' in a buff coatof antique cut, and an embroidered waistcoat which might have figuredin the court of Charles II. ; though this play is of modern date andthe actor must of course have been familiar with the current costume. In 'The Way to Keep Him, ' Mr. C. Kemble acted the part of SirBrilliant Fashion, a name which ought to have suggested to him aproper style of dress, in a frock absolutely threadbare, an obsoletedoublet, long pantaloons, a prodigious watch-chain of steel, and ahuge _incroyable_ under his arm. This last article, indeed, was anappendage of 1802, but all the rest presented a genuine portrait of anindigent and coxcombical journeyman tailor. He must have known thatpantaloons and an _incroyable_ rumpled and folded together areincongruous articles of apparel--that no gentleman, much less SirBrilliant Fashion, would make his appearance in a threadbare coat; andthat steel watch-chains, as the chronicles of the Birminghammanufactories plainly evince, have been out of date these fourscoreyears. Neither would he, I am perfectly convinced, parade in such acostume off the boards of the theatre. Why then should he choose toexhibit such a whimsical figure upon them? May I venture to offer myown conjecture on the subject? The real cause probably is that anabsurd costume is perfectly fashionable upon the English stage!"

In reply to these and similar strictures there is nothing much to besaid, unless it be that actors and audience alike were content withthings as they were, and that now and then reforms had been attempted, without however resulting in any particular success. Garrick hadrendered the theatre invaluable services both as actor and asstage-manager, but he had been unable to effect any very beneficialchange in the matter of dress. Indeed, it seems probable that hisattempt to appear as Othello had failed chiefly because he hadfollowed Foote's example and attired the character after a Moorishfashion, discarding the modern military uniforms in which Quin andBarry had been wont to play the part. The actor's short stature, blackface, and Oriental dress had reminded the audience of the turbanednegro pages in attendance upon ladies of quality at that period:"Pompey with the teakettle, " as Quin had said, having possibly a plateof Hogarth's present in his mind; and the innovation, which wascertainly commendable enough, was unfavourably received, even toincurring some contempt. Garrick's dress as Hotspur, "a laced frockand a Ramilies wig, " was objected to, not for the good reason that itwas inappropriate, but on the strange ground that it was "tooinsignificant for the character. " A critic writing in 1759, whiletimidly advocating the amendment of stage dress, proceeds to doubtwhether the reform would be "well received by audiences who have beenso long habituated to such glaring impropriety and negligence in theother direction. " Clearly alteration was a matter of some difficulty, and not to be lightly undertaken. 

It is well known that Garrick, in the part of Macbeth, wore a courtsuit of scarlet and gold lace, with, in the latter scenes of thetragedy, "a wig, " as Lee Lewes the actor says in his Memoirs, "aslarge as any now worn by the gravest of our Barons of theExchequer"--a similar costume being adopted by other Macbeths of thattime--Smith and Barry for instance. When the veteran actor Macklinfirst played Macbeth in 1774, however, he assumed a "Caledonianhabit, " and although it is said the audience, when they saw "a clumsyold man, who looked more like a Scotch piper than a general and aprince of the blood, stumping down the stage at the head of an army, were generally inclined to laugh, " still the attempt at reform wonconsiderable approbation. At that time it was held to beunquestionable that the correct costume of Macbeth should be that ofthe Highlander of the snuff-shop; but in later days it was discoveredthat even the tartan was an anachronism in such case, and that Macbethand his associates must be clad in stripes, or plain colours. Even thebonnet with the eagle's feather, which Sir Walter Scott induced Kembleto substitute for his "shuttlecock" headdress of ostrich plumes, washeld to be inadmissible: the Macbeth of the antiquaries wore a conicaliron helmet, and was otherwise arrayed in barbaric armour. But whenGarrick first played Macbeth there were good reasons why the reform tobe introduced by Macklin at a later date could not be attempted. Mr. Jackson, the actor from Edinburgh, who wrote a history of the Scottishstage, records that, being engaged at Drury Lane, he had resolved tomake his first appearance in the part of Young Norval, in the tragedyof "Douglas. " He writes: "I had provided for the purpose, before Ileft Edinburgh, a Highland dress, accoutred _cap-à-pie_ with abroadsword, shield, and dirk, found upon the field of Culloden. Buthere, as usual, fresh impediment arose Lord Bute's administration, from causes unnecessary here to enter upon, was become so unpleasingto the multitude, that anything confessedly Scotch awakened the embersof discussion, and fed the flame of party. Mr. Garrick therefore put adirect negative at once upon my appearance in 'Douglas;' 'Oroonoko'was substituted in its place; for even to have performed the play of'Douglas' would have been hazardous, and to have exhibited theHighland dress upon the stage, imprudence in the extreme. Could I havesupposed, at that period, " asks Mr. Jackson--his book bears date1793--"that I should live to see the tartan plaid universally worn inthe politest circles, and its colours the predominating fashion amongall ranks of the people in the metropolis?" What with thepredisposition of the audience in favour of the conventional courtsuit, and afterwards their prejudice against the Scotch, on account ofthe '45 and Lord Bute, Garrick could hardly have assumed tartan in"Macbeth. " A picture by Dawes represents him in the battle-scenes ofthe play as wearing a sort of Spanish dress--slashed trunks, abreastplate, and a high-crowned hat!

Macbeth, indeed, was never "dressed" agreeably to the taste ofantiquarian critics, until the ornate revivals of the tragedy by Mr. Phelps, at Sadler's Wells, in 1847, and by Mr. Charles Kean, at thePrincess's Theatre, some five years later. The costumes were of theeleventh century on each of these occasions, Mr. Phelps's version ofthe play being so strictly textual, that the musical embellishments, usually attributed to Locke, but in truth supplied by Leveridge, werediscarded for the first time for very many years. Lady Macduff wasrestored to the list of _dramatis personæ_, from which she had so longbeen banished, and the old stage direction in the last scene--"enterMacduff with Macbeth's head upon a pole, " was implicitly followed. Butthese revivals were a consequence of earlier reproductions ofShakespeare, with rigid regard to accuracy of costume, and generalcompleteness of decoration. John Kemble had taken certain importantsteps in this direction, and his example had been bettered by hisbrother Charles, under whose management of Covent Garden, "King John"was produced, the costumes being supervised by Mr. Planché, and everydetail of the representation receiving most attentive study. Greatsuccess attended this experiment, although, in the first instance, there had prevailed a strong inclination to deride as "stewpans" theflat-topped helmets worn by King John and his barons. After this, accuracy of costume, especially in relation to the plays ofShakespeare, became the favourite pursuit of managers. Mr. Macreadyventured upon various revivals, archaic and decorative, at CoventGarden and Drury Lane; Mr. Phelps followed suit at Sadler's Wells, andMr. Charles Kean at the Princess's, until it seemed that correctnessof attire, and splendour of scenery and appointments, could no furtherbe carried; indeed, alarm arose lest the drama should perishaltogether under the weight of upholstery and wardrobe it was doomedto bear. Already the art of acting, in its more heroic aspects, hadundergone decline; there was danger of the player sinking to the levelof a mere dummy or lay-figure for the exhibition of costly raiment. 

Still, these luxurious illustrated editions of Shakespeare wereattractive and popular, although it is probable that the audienceesteemed them less for their archæological merits than on account oftheir charms as spectacles. Indeed, few in the theatre could really besupposed to prize the cut of a tunic, or the shape of a headdress, orto possess such minute information as enabled them to appraise theworth, in that respect, of the entertainment set before them. However, pages from the history of costume were displayed, indisputable intheir correctness, and those who listed might certainly gatherinstruction. Here was to be seen King John in his habit as he lived;here appeared the second and third Richards, King Henry, QueenKatherine, and Wolsey; now was presented London, with its inhabitantsin the Middle Ages; now, the Venice of Shylock; and, anon, theBithynia of the days of King Leontes. The spectators applauded thefinery and the skill of the embellishments; and their favourableverdict upon these counts carried with it, presumably, approval of theplayers, and, perhaps, a measure of homage to Shakespeare. 

The passion for extreme decoration, in relation both to scenery anddresses, has not known abatement of late years, though it has soughtother subjects than those supplied by Shakespeare--most unwittingly;for never could the poet have even dreamed of such a thing as "acorrect and superb" revival. But the question, as to the benefit doneto histrionic art by these representations, remains much where itwas. To revert to the shortcomings of the Elizabethan stage would be, of course, impossible; the imaginations of the audience would nowsteadily refuse to be taxed to meet the absence of scenery, theincongruity of costumes, and the other deficiencies of the earlytheatre. Some degree of accuracy our modern playgoers would demand, ifthey disdained or disregarded minute correctness. Certainly, therewould be dissatisfaction if a player, assuming the part of King HenryVIII. , for instance, neglected to present some resemblance to thefamiliar portraits of the king by Holbein. Yet the same audience wouldbe wholly undisturbed by anachronisms touching the introduction ofsilken stockings, or velvet robes, the pattern of plate armour, or thefashion of weapons. After all, what is chiefly needed to preservetheatrical illusion is a certain harmony of arrangement, which shallbe so undemonstratively complete as to escape consideration; no falsenotes must be struck to divert attention from the designs of thedramatist and from his interpreters, the players; and to these thehelp derived from scenery and dresses should always be subordinated. Yet, when has the theatre been thus ordered, or have audiences been sodisciplined? Beaumont, probably, had good reason for writing toFletcher, concerning a performance of his "Faithful Shepherdess"--

 Nor want they those who as the boy doth dance Between the acts, will censure the whole play; Some like if the wax lights be new that day; But multitudes there are whose judgment goes Headlong according to the actors' clothes. 

The playgoers of Garrick's time, and long afterwards, were habituatedto the defective system of theatrical costume--had grown up with it. To them it was part of the stage as they had always known it, and theysaw no reason for fault-finding. And it is conceivable that many playswere little affected by the circumstance that the actors wore courtsuits. It was but a shifting of the period of the story represented, achange of venue; and Romeo, in hair-powder, interested just as much asthough he had assumed an auburn wig. The characters were, doubtless, very well played, and the actors appeared, at any rate, as "persons ofquality. " In historical plays one would think the objection toanachronism much more obvious; for there distinct events andpersonages and settled dates were dealt with. But there was anunderstanding that stage costume was purely a conventional matter--andso came to be tolerated most heterogeneous dressing: the mixingtogether of the clothes of almost all centuries and all countries, ina haphazard way, just as they might be discovered heaped up in atheatrical wardrobe. It was not a case of simple anachronism; it wascompound and conflicting. Still, little objection was offered. 

And even a critic above quoted, writing in 1759, and proposing greateraccuracy in the costumes of historical plays, refrains from suggestingthat comedy should be as strictly treated. He even advances theopinion that the system of dress in vogue at the date of the play'sproduction should be disregarded according to "the fluctuations offashion. " "What should we think, " he demanded, "of a Lord Foppingtonnow dressed with a large full-bottomed wig, laced cravat, buttons aslarge as apples, or a Millament with a headdress four storeys high?"And there is something to be said for this view. The writer of comedypictures manners, and these do not change immediately. His portraitsremain recognisable for a generation, probably. Lord Foppington haddescendants, and his likeness, with certain changes of dress, mightfairly pass for theirs for some time. But, of course, the day mustarrive when the comedy loses value as a reflection of manners; it isinteresting as a transcript of the past, but not of the present. It isdoubtless difficult to fix this date with preciseness; but when thathas been accomplished the opportunity of the antiquarian costumier hasarrived. 

Macklin, who reformed the costume of Macbeth, also, it should berecorded, was the first actor who "dressed Iago properly. " It seemsthat formerly the part was so attired, or "made up, " that Iago's evilnature was "known at first sight; but it is unnatural to suppose thatan artful villain like him would choose a dress which would stigmatisehim to everyone. I think, " adds the critic, "that as Cassio and hebelong to one regiment they should both retain the same regimentals. "By way of final note on the subject is subjoined the opinion of theauthor of "Vivian Grey, " recorded in that work touching the dress thatshould be worn by Othello. "In England we are accustomed to deck thisadventurous Moor in the costume of his native country--but is thiscorrect? The Grand Duke of Reisenberg thought not. Othello was anadventurer; at an early age he entered, as many foreigners did, intothe service of Venice. In that service he rose to the highestdignities--became general of her armies and of her fleets; and finallythe viceroy of her favourite kingdom. Is it natural to suppose thatsuch a man should have retained, during his successful career, themanners and dress of his original country? Ought we not rather toadmit that, had he done so, his career would in fact not have beensuccessful? In all probability he imitated to affectation the mannersof the country which he had adopted. It is not probable that in such, or in any age, the turbaned Moor would have been treated with greatdeference by the common Christian soldier of Venice--or, indeed, thatthe scandal of a heathen leading the armies of one of the mostpowerful of European states, would have been tolerated for an instantby indignant Christendom.... Such were the sentiments of the GrandDuke of Reisenberg on this subject, a subject interesting toEnglishmen; and I confess I think they are worthy of attention. Inaccordance with his opinion, the actor who performed Othello appearedin the full dress of a Venetian magnifico of the Middle Ages: a fitcompanion for Cornaro, or Grimani, or Barberigo, or Foscari. "

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

HARLEQUIN AND CO. 

What is called the "legitimate drama" has always found in pantomimejust such a rival and a relative as Gloucester's lawfully-begotten sonEdgar was troubled with in the person of his base-born brother Edmund. The authentic professor of histrionic art may even have been addressedoccasionally by his illicit opponent in something like Edmund's verywords:

 Why bastard? wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? with bastardy? base, base? Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land; Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate: fine word "legitimate. "

The antagonism between the two forms of entertainment is by no meansof to-day merely. Shakespeare noted with an air of regret that"inexplicable dumb shows and noise" enjoyed public admiration in hisday, and, centuries before, the audiences of the ancient actorsunderwent reduction by reason of the rival performances of thedancers, mimes, and mountebanks of the period. The Roman people beganin time to care less for the comedians than for the mimes. Some ofthese had the art to represent an entire play, such as the "HerculesFurens, " to the delight and astonishment of the spectators. Augustusis said to have reconciled the Romans to many severe imposts byrecalling their favourite mime and dancer, Pylades, who had beenbanished for pointing with his finger at a spectator who had offendedhim. The "dumb shows" referred to by Hamlet, however, were not so muchdistinct entertainments as excrescences upon the regular performancesof the theatre, interpolations to win the applause of the groundlings. Pantomime proper was a development of ballet; the result of anendeavour to connect one dance with another by means of a slightstring of story. In England systematised entertainments of dancing andsinging were brought upon the English stage by Davenant, "to check, "we are told, "the superiority enjoyed by the royal comedians in theirexhibition of the regular drama. " English singing, however, haddeclined in public favour when the taste for Italian opera arose hereabout the close of the seventeenth century, and dancing became thenthe only feasible counter-attraction to the regular drama. The firstballets were produced at small cost; but by-and-by the managersincreased more and more their expenditure on account of the dancers, until the rival theatres were compared to candidates at an election, competing in bribery to secure "a majority of the multitude. " Cibber, while defending himself against Pope's attack upon him in "TheDunciad, " admitted that he had not virtue enough to starve by opposingthe public, and pleaded guilty to the charge of having as a managerproduced very costly ballets and spectacles. At the same time hecondemned the taste of the vulgar, avowed himself as really on theside of truth and justice, and compared himself to Henry IV. Of Francechanging his religion in compliance with the wishes of his people!

Hitherto the ballets had dealt exclusively with mythological subjects, and nothing of the Italian element comprised in modern pantomime hadbeen apparent in our stage performances. It is probable that even upontheir first introduction to our theatre the real significance of thecharacters of ancient Italian comedy was never wholly comprehended bythe audience. Few could have then cared to learn that types ofnational or provincial peculiarity, representatives of Venice, Bologna, Naples, and Bergamo, respectively, were intended by thecharacters of Pantaloon, the Doctor, Scapin, and Harlequin. Yet, inthe first instance, the old Italian comedy was brought upon theEnglish stage with some regard for its original integrity, and thecharacters were personated by regular actors rather than by mimes. Sofar back as 1687 Mrs. Behn's three-act farce of "The Emperor of theMoon" was produced, and in this appeared the characters of Harlequinand Scaramouch, who play off many tricks and antics, while there areparts in the play corresponding with the pantaloon, the lover, and thecolumbine of more modern pantomime. But at this date, and for someyears, harlequin was not merely the sentimentalist, attitudiniser, anddancer he has since become. He was true to his Italian origin, andvery much the kind of harlequin encountered on his native soil anddescribed by Addison: "Harlequin's part is made up of blunders andabsurdities; he is to mistake one name for another, to forget hiserrands, and to run his head against every post that appears in hisway. " Marmontel describing, however, the harlequin of the Frenchstage, writes: "His character is a mixture of ignorance, simplicity, cleverness, stupidity, and grace; he is a kind of sketch of a man, atall child, yet with gleams of reason and wit, and all whose mistakesand follies have something arch about them. The true mode ofrepresenting him is to give him suppleness, agility, the playfulnessof a kitten, with a certain grossness of appearance, which renders hisconduct more absurd; his part is that of a patient, faithful valet, always in love, always in hot water, either on his master's or his ownaccount, troubled and consoled as easily as a child, and whose griefis as entertaining as his joy. "

It will be observed that the character thus described more nearlyresembles the modern clown than the modern harlequin, and the earlyharlequins of the English stage were therefore naturally played by thelow comedians of the time. The harlequin of Mrs. Behn's farce waspersonated by an actor named Jevon, who was followed in the part byPinkethman, a comedian much commended by Steele in "The Tatler. "Pinkethman was found so amusing in his motley coat, and what Cibbercalls "that useless unmeaning mask of a black cat, " that certain ofhis admirers fancied that much of the drollery and spirit of hisgrimace must be lost by the concealment of his face. Yielding to theirrequest, therefore, he played one night without his mask. But theresult was disappointing. "Pinkethman, " it is recorded, "could nottake to himself the shame of the character without being concealed; hewas no more harlequin; his humour was quite disconcerted; hisconscience could not with the same effrontery declare against naturewithout the cover of that unchanging face. Without that armour hiscourage could not come up to the bold strokes that were necessary toget the better of common-sense. "

Early in the eighteenth century the characters of the Italian comedywere introduced into ballets. Harlequin ceased to speak, and assumedby degrees a more romantic, a less comic air, and the peculiarities ofmodern pantomime were gradually approached. Rich, the manager of thetheatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields and afterwards of Covent Garden--the"immortal Rich" of "The Dunciad"--became famous for his pantomimes, and under the name of Lun acquired great distinction as a harlequin. Pope handles severely the taste of the town in regard to pantomimes, and the excessive expenditure incurred on account of them. "Persons ofthe first quality in England" were accused of attending at theserepresentations twenty and thirty times in a season. The line "Lo! onevast egg produces human race, " had reference to the trick, introducedby Rich, of hatching harlequin out of a large egg. This was regardedas a masterpiece of dumb show, and is described in glowing terms by acontemporary writer. "From the first clipping of the egg, hisreceiving motion, his feeling the ground, his standing upright, to hisquick harlequin trip round the empty shell, through the wholeprogression, every limb had its tongue and every motion a voice. " Richwas also famed for his "catching a butterfly" and his "statue scene;"his "taking leave of columbine" was described as "graceful andaffecting;" his trick of scratching his ear with his foot like a dogwas greatly admired; while in a certain dance he was said to execute300 steps in a rapid advance of three yards only. A writer in _TheWorld_ (1753) ironically recommended the managers to dispense entirelywith tragedy and comedy, and to entertain the town solely withpantomime, people of taste and fashion having given sufficient proofthat they thought it the highest entertainment the stage was capableof affording--"the most innocent we are sure it is, for where nothingis said and nothing meant very little harm can be done. " Garrick, itwas fancied, might start a few objections to this proposal; "but, " itwas added, "with those universal talents which he so happilypossesses, it is not to be doubted but he will in time be able tohandle the wooden sword with as much dignity and dexterity as hisbrother Lun. "

Possibly harlequin became a mute, in the first instance, to suit thelimited capacity in the matter of elocution of some such performer asRich; or the original dumbness of the harlequinade figures may beattributable to the strictness with which of old the theatres, unprotected by patents, were prohibited from giving _spoken_entertainments. What were then called the "burletta houses" werepermitted performances of dancing, singing, tumbling, juggling--anything, indeed, but _speech_ unaccompanied by music. The popularityof these performances was beyond question, however, and, in time, the mute drove the speaking harlequin from the stage: the greattheatres probably copying the form of pantomimes of the minor houses, as they were by-and-by also induced to follow the smaller stages inthe matter of their melodramas and burlettas. 

The comic "openings" known to modern times had no place in Rich'spantomimes. These were divided into two parts, the first being devotedto scenic surprises and magical transformations of a serious nature, and the last to all kinds of comic antics, tumbling and dancing. Noallusions to passing events or the follies of the day were, however, introduced. 

Harlequin lost his place as the chief member of the pantomime troop, when the part of clown was entrusted to the famous Grimaldi, "theGarrick of clowns, " as Theodore Hook called him. This great comicartist devised the eccentric costume still worn by clowns--theoriginal whiteness of the Pierrot's dress being used as a groundworkupon which to paint variegated spots, stars, and patches; and nearlyall the "comic business" of modern harlequinades is of his invention. The present dress of the harlequin dates from the beginning of thecentury only. Until then the costume had been the loosely fittingparti-coloured jacket and trousers to be seen worn by the figures inWatteau's masquerade subjects. In the pantomime of "Harlequin Amulet;or, The Magic of Mona, " produced at Drury Lane in 1800, Mr. JamesByrne, the ballet-master, the father of the late Mr. Oscar Byrne, appeared as harlequin in "a white silk shape, fitting without awrinkle, " into which the coloured silk patches were woven, the wholebeing profusely covered with spangles, and presenting a very sparklingappearance. The innovation was not resisted, but was greatlyapplauded, and Mr. Byrne's improved attire is worn by all modernharlequins. 

Some eighty years ago John Kemble, addressing his scene-painter inreference to a forthcoming pantomime, wrote: "It must be _very short, very laughable_, and _very cheap_. " If the great manager-actor'srequirements were fairly met, it is certain that the entertainment inquestion was of a kind very different to the pantomime of our day--aproduction that is invariably very long, rarely laughable, and alwaysof exceeding costliness. Leigh Hunt complained in 1831 that pantomimeswere not what they had been, and that the opening, "which used to formmerely a brief excuse for putting the harlequinade in motion, " hadcome to be a considerable part of the performance. In modern pantomimeit may be said that the opening is everything, and that theharlequinade is deferred as long as possible. "Now the fun begins, "used to be the old formula of the playbills announcing thecommencement of the harlequinade, or what is still known in thelanguage of the theatre as the "comic business. " Perhaps experienceproved that in point of fact "the fun" did not set in at the timestated; at any rate the appearance of harlequin and clown is nowregarded by many of the spectators as a signal for the certaincommencement of dreariness, and as a notice to quit their seats. Thepantomime Kemble had in contemplation, however, was of the fashionLeigh Hunt looked back upon regretfully. Harlequin was to enter almostin the first scene. "I have hit on nothing I can think of better, "writes Kemble, "than the story of King Arthur and Merlin, and theSaxon Wizards. The pantomime might open with the Saxon witcheslamenting Merlin's power over them, and forming an incantation bywhich they create a harlequin, who is supposed to be able tocounteract Merlin in all his designs for the good of King Arthur. Ifthe Saxons came on in a dreadful storm, as they proceeded in theirmagical rites, the sky might brighten and a rainbow sweep across thehorizon, which, when the ceremonies are completed, should contractitself from either end and form the figure of harlequin in theheavens; the wizards may fetch him down how they will, and the soonerhe is set to work the better. If this idea for producing a harlequinis not new do not adopt it. "

The main difficulty of pantomime-writers at this time seems to havebeen the contriving of some new method of bringing harlequin upon thescene. Now he was conjured up from a well, now from a lake, out of abower, a furnace, &c. ; but it was always held desirable to introducehim to the spectators as early as might be. In Tom Dibdin's pantomimeof "Harlequin in his Element; or, Fire, Water, Earth, and Air, "produced at Covent Garden in 1807, the first scene represents "abeautiful garden, with terraces, arcades, fountains, " &c. The curtain"rises to a soft symphony. " Aurino, the Genius of Air, descends on alight cloud; Aquina, the Spirit of Water, rises from a fountain;Terrena, the Spirit of Earth, springs up a trap; and Ignoso, theGenius of Fire, descends amid thunder from the skies. These charactersinterchange a little rhymed dialogue, and discuss which of them is themost powerful. Ignoso is very angry, and threatens his associates. Terrena demands:

 Fire, why so hot? Your bolts distress not me, But injure the fair mistress of these bowers, Whose sordid guardian would her husband be, For lucre, not for love. Rather than quarrel, let us use our powers, And gift with magic aid some active sprite, To foil the guardian and the girl to right. 

The proposition is agreed to, and thereupon, according to stagedirection, "Harlequin is produced from a bed of parti-colouredflowers, and the magic sword is given to him. " He is addressed by eachof the spirits in turn. Then we read: "Ignoso sinks. Aquina strikesthe fountains; they begin playing. Terrena strikes the ground; a bedof roses appears. Harlequin surveys everything, and runs round thestage. Earth sinks in the bed of roses, and Water in the fountains. Air ascends in the car. Columbine enters dancing; is amazed at thesight of Harlequin, who retires from her with equal surprise; theyfollow each other round the fountain in a _pas de deux_. They aresurprised by the entrance of Columbine's guardian, who comes inpreceded by servants in rich liveries. Clown, as his running footman, enters with a lap-dog. Old man takes snuff; views himself in apocket-glass. Clown imitates him; old man sees Harlequin andColumbine, and pursues them round the fountains, but the lovers gooff, followed by Sir Amoroso and servants. " The lovers are pursuedthrough some sixteen scenes, till the fairies unite them in the Templeof the Elements. At this time, it is to be noted, the last scene heldthat place as a spectacle which is now enjoyed by the transformationscene. Throughout the pantomime the relations of Clown and Pantaloon, or Sir Amoroso, the guardian (he is called by these titlesindifferently), as master and servant are carefully preserved. 

Although in "Harlequin in his Element" there appears little answeringto the modern "opening, " and no "transformation" of the characters, yet both these peculiarities are to be discovered in the famouspantomime of "Mother Goose, " which was presented to the town a yearsooner, and was the work of the same author. In "Mother Goose" thereare four opening scenes and fifteen of harlequinade--the pantomime ofto-day generally reversing this arrangement of figures. Colin, a youngpeasant, is changed to Harlequin; Collinette, his mistress, toColumbine; Squire Bugle to Clown; and Avaro, an old miser, toPantaloon. In the harlequinade are scenes of Vauxhall Gardens, and theexterior of St. Dunstan's Church, Fleet Street, with a crowd assembledto see the figures strike the bell (these figures were subsequentlyremoved to the Marquis of Hertford's villa, in the Regent's Park), agrocer's shop and post-office, an inn, a farm-yard, &c. ; while many ofthe tricks are identical with those still delighting holidayaudiences; but the allusions to political events and current topics, so dear to modern purveyors of burlesque and pantomime, have no placein the entertainment. The doggerel and songs of the opening arewithout puns or pretensions of a comic kind, and must certainly bedescribed as rather dull reading. 

Without doubt the modern pantomime opening owes much of its form tomodern burlesque and extravaganza, of which the late Mr. Planché maybe regarded as the inventor. Mr. Planché's first burlesque wasproduced at Drury Lane in 1818, and was called "Amoroso, King ofLittle Britain. " "The _author_!" wrote a fierce critic in"Blackwood"--"but even the shoeblacks of Paris call themselves_marchands de cirage_!" Mr. Planché had compensation, however. Hisburlesque was quoted in a leading article in _The Times_; the King ofLittle Britain's address to his courtiers, "My lords andgentlemen--get out!" was alluded to in relation to a royal speechdissolving Parliament. "Amoroso" was a following of "BombastesFurioso. " But, by-and-by, Mr. Planché was to proceed to "Pandora, ""Olympic Revels, " "Riquet with the Tuft, " and other productions, themanner and character of which have become identified with his name. Gradually he created a school of burlesque-writers indeed; but hisscholars at last rebelled against him and "barred him out, " a fate towhich schoolmasters have been often liable. Still burlesque of theworthy Planché form, and of the spuriously imitative kind, whichcopied, and at the same time degraded him, grew and throve, and atlast invaded the domains of pantomime. "Openings" fell into the handsof burlesque-writers, their share in the pantomime work ceasing withthe transformation scene; punning rhymes and parodies, and comicdances, delayed the entrance of clown and harlequin, till at lasttheir significance and occupation seem almost to have gone from them. The old language of gesture, with perhaps the occasional resort to aplacard to supplement and interpret the "dumb motions" of theperformers (a concession to, or an evasion of the old prohibition ofspeech in the "burletta houses"), vanished from the stage. Theharlequinade characters ceased to take part in the opening, and thatjoy to youthful cunning of detecting the players of the later scenesin the disguises of their earlier presentment--harlequin, by theaccidental revelation of parti-colour and spangles, and clown by thechance display of his motley trunk and hose--was gone for ever. Smartyoung ladies in the blonde wigs, the very curt tunics, the fleshingsand the high heels of burlesque, appeared in lieu of these; and thespectacle of the characters in the opening loosening tapes and easingbuttons in good time to obey the behest of the chief fairy, andtransform themselves for harlequinade purposes, became an obsolete andwithdrawn delight. 

Yet what were called "speaking pantomimes, " that is, pantomimessupplied to an unusual extent with spoken matter, were occasionallyproduced in times not long past. Hazlitt mentions, only to condemnhowever, an entertainment answering to this description. It was called"Shakespeare _versus_ Harlequin, " and was played in 1820. It wouldseem to have been a revival of a production of David Garrick's. "It iscalled a speaking pantomime, " writes Hazlitt; "we had rather it hadsaid nothing. It is better to act folly than to talk it. The essenceof pantomime is practical absurdity keeping the wits in constantchase, coming upon one by surprise, and starting off again before youcan arrest the fleeting 'phantom:' the essence of this piece wasprosing stupidity remaining like a mawkish picture on the stage, andovercoming your impatience by the force of _ennui_. A speakingpantomime such as this one is not unlike a flying waggon, " &c. &c. 

"Harlequin _versus_ Shakespeare" was generally voted dreary and afailure. Of another "speaking pantomime, " called "Harlequin Pat andHarlequin Bat; or, The Giant's Causeway, " produced at Covent Garden in1830, Leigh Hunt writes: "A speaking pantomime is a contradiction interms. It is a little too Irish. It is as much as to say: 'Here youhave all dumb-show talking. ' This, to be sure, is what made Grimaldi'stalking so good. It was so rare and seasonable that it only proved therule by the exception. The clowns of late speak too much. To keep onsaying at every turn, 'Hallo!' or 'Don't!' or 'What do you mean?' onlymakes one think that the piece is partly written and not writtenwell. " We may note that Mr. Tyrone Power, the famous Irish comedian, appeared as harlequin in this pantomime, assisted by a skilled"double" to accomplish the indispensable attitudinising, dancing, andjumping through holes in the wall. Power abandoned his share in theperformance after a few nights, however, and the part was thenundertaken by Mr. Keeley, and subsequently by Mr. F. Matthews. 

Gradually, speaking was to be heard more and more in pantomimes; andsome forty years ago an attempt was made to invest this form oftheatrical entertainment with peculiar literary distinction. In 1842the staff of _Punch_, at that time very strong in talent, providedCovent Garden with a pantomime upon the subject of King John and MagnaCharta. The result, however, disappointed public expectation. _Punch_was not seen to advantage in his endeavour to assume the guise ofharlequin. At a later date, Mr. Keeley, at the Lyceum, produced afairy extravaganza of the Planché pattern, called "The Butterfly'sBall, " and tacked on to it several "comic scenes" for clown andpantaloon. The experiment was not wholly successful in the firstinstance; but by degrees the burlesque leaven affected the pantomimicconstitution, and pantomimes came to be what we find them at present. The custom of interrupting the harlequinade by the exhibition ofdioramic views, at one time contrived annually by Clarkson Stanfield, expired about thirty years ago; as a substitute for these came thegorgeous transformation scenes, traceable to the grand displays whichwere wont to conclude Mr. Planché's extravaganzas at the LyceumTheatre, when under the management of Madame Vestris. Mr. Planché hashimself described how the scene-painter came by degrees to take thedramatist's place in the theatre. "Year after year Mr. Beverley'spowers were taxed to outdo his former outdoings. The last scene becamethe first in the estimation of the management. The most complicatedmachinery, the most costly materials were annually put intorequisition, until their bacon was so buttered it was impossible tosave it. As to me, I was positively painted out. Nothing wasconsidered brilliant but the last scene. Dutch metal was in theascendant. " This was some years ago. But any change that may haveoccurred in the situation has hardly been for the better. The authorousted the mute; and now the author, in his turn, is overcome by thescene-painter, the machinist, and the upholsterer. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

"GOOSE. "

The bird which saved the Capitol has ruined many a play. "Goose, " "tobe goosed, " "to get the big-bird, " signifies to be hissed, says the"Slang Dictionary. " This theatrical cant term is of ancient date. Inthe induction to Marston's comedy of "What You Will, " 1607, it isasked if the poet's resolve shall be "struck through with the blirt ofa goose breath?" Shakespeare makes no mention of goose in this sense, but he refers now and then to hissing as the playgoers' method ofindicating disapproval. "Mistress Page, remember you your cue, " saysFord's wife in "The Merry Wives of Windsor. " "I warrant thee, " repliesMistress Page, "if I do not act it, hiss me!" In the Roman theatres itis well known that the spectators pronounced judgment upon the effortsof the gladiators and combatants of the arena by silently turningtheir thumbs up or down, decreeing death in the one case and life inthe other. Hissing, however, even at this time, was the usual methodof condemning the public speaker of distasteful opinions. In one ofCicero's letters there is record of the orator Hortensius, "whoattained old age without once incurring the disgrace of being hissed. "The prologues of Ben Jonson and Beaumont and Fletcher frequentlydeprecate the hissing of the audience. 

But theatrical censure, not content with imitating the goose, condescended to borrow from another of the inferior animals--the cat. Addison devoted one of his papers in "The Spectator" to a Dissertationupon Catcalls. In order to make himself master of his subject, heprofessed to have purchased one of these instruments, though notwithout great difficulty, "being informed at two or three toy-shopsthat the players had lately bought them all up. " He found thatantiquaries were much divided in opinion as to the origin of thecatcall. A fellow of the Royal Society had concluded, from thesimplicity of its make and the uniformity of its sound, that it wasolder than any of the inventions of Jubal. "He observes very well thatmusical instruments took their first rise from the notes of birds andother melodious animals, 'and what, ' says he, 'was more natural thanfor the first ages of mankind to imitate the voice of a cat that livedunder the same roof with them?' He added that the cat had contributedmore to harmony than any other animal; as we are not only beholden toher for this wind instrument, but for our string music in general. "The essayist, however, is disposed to hold that the catcall isoriginally a piece of English music. "Its resemblance to the voice ofsome of our British songsters, as well as the use of it, which ispeculiar to our nation, confirms me in this opinion. " He mentions thatthe catcall has quite a contrary effect to the martial instrument thenin use; and instead of stimulating courage and heroism, sinks thespirits, shakes the nerves, curdles the blood, and inspires despairand consternation at a surprising rate. "The catcall has struck a dampinto generals, and frightened heroes off the stage. At the first soundof it I have seen a crowned head tremble, and a princess fall intofits. " He concludes with mention of an ingenious artist who teaches toplay on it by book, and to express by it the whole art of dramaticcriticism. "He has his bass and his treble catcall: the former fortragedy, the latter for comedy; only in tragi-comedies they may bothplay together in concert. He has a particular squeak to denote theviolation of each of the unities, and has different sounds to showwhether he aims at the poet or the player, " &c. 

The conveyance of a catcall to the theatre evidences a predispositionto uproarious censure. Hissing may be, in the nature of impromptucriticism, suddenly provoked by something held to be offensive in therepresentation; but a playgoer could scarcely have armed himself witha catcall without a desire and an intention of performing upon hisinstrument in any case. Of old, audiences would seem to havedelighted in disturbance upon very light grounds. Theatrical riotingwas of common occurrence. The rioters were in some sort a disciplinedbody, and proceeded systematically. Their plan of action had beenpreviously agreed upon. It was a rule that the ladies should bepolitely handed out of the theatre before the commencement of anyviolent acts of hostility; and this disappearance of the ladies fromamong the audience was always viewed by the management as rather analarming hint of what might be expected. Then wine was sent for intothe pit, the candles were thrown down, and the gentlemen drew theirswords. They prepared to climb over the partitions of the orchestraand to carry the stage by assault. Now and then they made havoc of thedecorations of the house, and cut and slashed the curtains, hangings, and scenery. At Drury Lane, in 1740, when a riot took place inconsequence of the non-appearance of Madame Chateauneuf, a favouriteFrench dancer, a noble marquis deliberately proposed that the theatreshould be fired, and a pile of rubbish was forthwith heaped upon thestage in order to carry into effect this atrocious suggestion. At theHaymarket Theatre, in 1749, the audience, enraged at the famous BottleConjurer hoax, were incited by the Culloden Duke of Cumberland to pulldown the house! The royal prince stood up in his box waving his drawnsword, which someone, however, ventured to wrest from his grasp. Theinterior fittings of the theatre were completely destroyed; thefurniture and hangings being carried into the street and made abonfire of, the curtain surmounting the flaming heap like a giganticflag. A riot at the Lincoln's Inn Fields, in 1721, led to George I. 'sorder that in future a guard should attend the performances. This wasthe origin of the custom that long prevailed of stationing sentries oneither side of the proscenium during representations at the patenttheatres. Of late years the guards have been relegated to the outsideof the buildings. On the occasion of state visits of royalty to thetheatre, however--although these are now, perhaps, to be counted amongthings of the past--Beefeaters upon the stage form an impressive partof the ceremonial. 

Theatrical rioting has greatly declined in violence, as well it might, since the O. P. Saturnalia of disturbance, which lasted some sixty-sixnights at Covent Garden Theatre in 1809. Swords were no longer worn, but the rioters made free use of their fists, called in professionalpugilists as their allies, and in addition to catcalls, armedthemselves with bells, post-horns, whistles, and watchmen's rattles. The O. P. Riots may be said to have abolished the catcall, but theyestablished "goose. " Captures of the rioters were occasionally made byBrandon, the courageous box-office keeper, and they were charged atBow Street Police Court with persistent hissing, with noisily crying"Silence!" and with "unnatural coughing. " The charges were notproceeded with, but one of the accused, Mr. Clifford, a barrister, brought an action against Brandon for false imprisonment. In this casethe Court of King's Bench decided that, although the audience in apublic theatre have a right to express the feelings excited at themoment by the performance, and in this manner to applaud or hiss anypiece which is represented, or any performer; yet if a number ofpersons, having come to the theatre with a predetermined purpose ofinterrupting the performance, for this end make a great noise so as torender the actors inaudible, though without offering personal violenceor doing injury to the house, they are in law guilty of a riot. Serjeant Best, the counsel for the plaintiff, urged that, as plays andplayers might be hissed, managers should be liable to their share;they should be controlled by public opinion; Garrick and others hadyielded cheerfully to the jurisdiction of the pit without a thought ofappealing to Westminster Hall. "Bells and rattles, " added theserjeant, "may be new to the pit; but catcalls, which are equallystunning, are as old as the English drama. " Apparently, however, thecatcall, its claim to antiquity notwithstanding, was not favourablyviewed by the court. In summing up, Chief Justice Mansfield observed:"I cannot tell on what grounds many people think they have a right, ata theatre, to make such a prodigious noise as to prevent othershearing what is going forward on the stage. Theatres are not absolutenecessaries of life, and any person may stay away who does not approveof the manner in which they are managed. If the prices of admissionare unreasonable, the evil will cure itself. People will not go, andthe proprietors will be ruined, unless they lower their demand. If theproprietors have acted contrary to the conditions of the patent, thepatent itself may be set aside by a writ of _scire facias_ in theCourt of Chancery. " To the great majority of playgoers it probablyoccurred that hissing was a simpler and more summary remedy of theirgrievances and relief to their feelings than any the Court of Chancerywas likely to afford. In due time, however, came free trade in thedrama and the abolition of the special privileges and monopolies toolong enjoyed by the patent theatres. 

After the failure of his luckless farce, "Mr. H. , " Charles Lamb wroteto Wordsworth: "A hundred hisses (hang the word! I wrote it like_kisses_--how different!), a hundred hisses outweigh a thousand claps. The former come more directly from the heart. " The reception of thelittle play had been of a disastrous kind, and Lamb, sitting in thefront row of the pit, is said to have joined in condemning his ownwork, and to have hissed and hooted as loudly as any of hisneighbours. "I had many fears; the subject was not substantial enough. John Bull must have solider fare than a letter. We are pretty stoutabout it; have had plenty of condoling friends; but, after all, we hadrather it should have succeeded. You will see the prologue in most ofthe morning papers. It was received with such shouts as I neverwitnessed to a prologue. It was attempted to be encored.... Thequantity of friends we had in the house--my brother and I being inpublic offices, &c. --was astonishing, but they yielded at last to afew hisses. " "Mr. H. " could probably in no case have achieved anygreat success, but it may be that its failure was precipitated by theindiscreet cordiality of its author's "quantity of friends. " They weretoo eager to express approbation, and distributed their applauseinjudiciously. The pace at which they started could not be sustained. As Monsieur Auguste, the famous _chef des claqueurs_ at the ParisOpera House, explained to Doctor Véron, the manager, "_Il ne fallaitpas trop chauffer le premier acte; qu'on devait, au contraire, réserver son courage et ses forces pour enlever le dernier acte et ledénoûment_. " He admitted that he should not hesitate to award threerounds of applause to a song in the last act, to which, if it hadoccurred earlier in the representation, he should have given one roundonly. Lamb's friends knew nothing of this sound theory of systematisedapplause. They expended their ammunition at the commencement of thestruggle, and when they were, so to say, out of range. It was one ofMonsieur Auguste's principles of action that public opinion shouldnever be outraged or affronted; it might be led and encouraged, butthere should be no attempt to drive it. "Above all things, respect thepublic, " he said to his subordinates. Nothing so much stimulates thedisapprobation of the unbiassed as extravagant applause. Reactioncertainly ensues; men begin to hiss by way of self-assertion, and outof self-respect. They resent an attempt to coerce their opinion, andto compel a favourable verdict in spite of themselves. The attempt toencore the prologue to "Mr. H. " was most unwise. It was a strongprologue, but the play was weak. The former might have been left tothe good sense of the general public; it was the latter thatespecially demanded the watchful support of the author's friends. Theinfirm need crutches, not the robust. The playbills announced, "Thenew farce of 'Mr. H. , ' performed for the first time last night, wasreceived by an overflowing audience with universal applause, and willbe repeated for the second time to-morrow. " Such are playbills. "Mr. H. " never that morrow saw. "'Tis withdrawn, and there's an end of it, "wrote Lamb to Wordsworth. 

Hissing is no doubt a dreadful sound--a word of fear unpleasing to theear of both playwright and player. For there is no revoking, noarguing down, no remedying a hiss; it has simply to be endured. Playgoers have a giant's strength in this respect; but it must be saidfor them, that of late years at any rate, they have rarely used ittyrannously, like a giant. Of all the dramatists, perhaps Fieldingtreated hissing with the greatest indifference. In 1743, his comedy of"The Wedding Day" was produced. Garrick had in vain implored him tosuppress a scene which he urged would certainly endanger the successof the piece. "If the scene is not a good one, let them find it out, "said Fielding. As had been foreseen, an uproar ensued in the theatre. The actor hastened to the green-room, where the author was cheeringhis spirits with a bottle of champagne. Surveying Garrick's ruefulcountenance, Fielding inquired: "What's the matter? Are they hissingme now?" "Yes, the very passage I wanted you to retrench. I knew itwouldn't do. And they've so horribly frightened me I shall not beright again the whole night. " "Oh, " cried the author, "I did not givethem credit for it. So they have found it out, have they?" Upon thefailure of his farce of "Eurydice, " he produced an occasional pieceentitled "Eurydice Hissed, " in which Mrs. Charke, the daughter ofColley Cibber, sustained the part of Pillage, a dramatic author. Pillage is about to produce a new play, and one of his friendsvolunteers to "clap every good thing till I bring the house down. ""That won't do, " Pillage sagaciously replies; "the town of its ownaccord will applaud what they like; you must stand by me when theydislike. I don't desire any of you to clap unless when you hear ahiss. Let that be your cue for clapping. " Later in the play threegentlemen enter, and in Shakespearean fashion discuss in blank versethe fate of Pillage's production. 

 THIRD GENTLEMAN. Oh friends, all's lost! Eurydice is damned. 

 SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ha! damned! A few short moments past I came From the pit door and heard a loud applause. 

 THIRD GENTLEMAN. 'Tis true at first the pit seemed greatly pleased, And loud applauses through the benches rang; But as the plot began to open more (A shallow plot) the claps less frequent grew, Till by degrees a gentle hiss arose; This by a catcall from the gallery Was quickly seconded: then followed claps; And 'twixt long claps and hisses did succeed A stern contention; victory being dubious. So hangs the conscience, doubtful to determine When honesty pleads here, and there a bribe. 

 * * * * *

 But it was mighty pleasant to behold When the damnation of the farce was sure, How all those friends who had begun the claps With greatest vigour strove who first should hiss And show disapprobation. 

Surely no dramatist ever jested more over his own discomfiture. Inpublishing "Eurydice" he described it as "a farce, as it was d--d atthe Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. " This was a following of Ben Jonson'sexample, who, publishing his "New Inn, " makes mention of it as acomedy "never acted, but most negligently played by some of the king'sservants, and more squeamishly beheld and censured by others theking's subjects, 1629; and now, at last, set at liberty to thereaders, his majesty's servants and subjects, to be judged of, 1631. "

There is something pathetic in the way Southerne, the veterandramatist, in 1726, bore the condemnation of his comedy of "Money theMistress, " at the Lincoln's Inn Fields Theatre. The audience hissedunmercifully. Rich, the manager, asked the old man, as he stood in thewings, "if he heard what they were doing?" "No, sir, " said Southernecalmly, "I'm very deaf. " On the first representation of "She Stoops toConquer, " a solitary hiss was heard during the fifth act at theimprobability of Mrs. Hardcastle, in her own garden, supposing herselfforty miles off on Crackskull Common. "What's that?" cried Goldsmith, not a little alarmed at the sound. "Psha! doctor, " replied Colman, "don't be afraid of a squib when we have been sitting these two hourson a barrel of gunpowder. " Goldsmith is said never to have forgivenColman his ill-timed pleasantry. The hiss seems to have been really asolitary and exceptional one. It was ascribed by one journal toCumberland, by another to Hugh Kelly, and by a third, in a parody on"Ossian, " to Macpherson, who was known to be hostilely inclinedtowards Johnson and all his friends. The disapprobation excited by thecapital scene of the bailiffs in Goldsmith's earlier comedy, "TheGood-natured Man, " had been of a more general and alarming kind, however, and was only appeased by the omission of this portion of thework. Goldsmith suffered exquisite distress. Before his friends, atthe club in Gerrard Street, he exerted him greatly to hide the fact ofhis discomfiture; chatted gaily and noisily, and even sang hisfavourite comic song with which he was wont to oblige the company onlyon special occasions. But alone with Johnson he fairly broke down, confessed the anguish of his heart, burst into tears, and swore hewould never write more. The condemnation incurred by "The Rivals, " onits first performance, led to its being withdrawn for revision andamendment. In his preface to the published play Sheridan wrote: "I seeno reason why an author should not regard a first-night's audience asa candid and judicious friend attending, in behalf of the public, athis last rehearsal. If he can dispense with flattery, he is sure atleast of sincerity, and even though the annotation be rude, he mayrely upon the justness of the comment. " This is calm and complacentenough, but he proceeds with some warmth: "As for the little punycritics who scatter their peevish strictures in private circles, andscribble at every author who has the eminence of being unconnectedwith them, as they are usually spleen-swoln from a vain idea ofincreasing their consequence, there will always be found a petulanceand illiberality in their remarks, which should place them as farbeneath the notice of a gentleman, as their original dulness had sunkthem from the level of the most unsuccessful author. " This reads likea sentence from "The School for Scandal. "

In truth, hissing is very hard to endure. Lamb treated the misfortuneof "Mr. H. " as lightly as he could, yet it is plain he took hisfailure much to heart. In his letter signed Semel-Damnatus, upon"Hissing at the Theatres, " he is alternately merry and sad over hisdefeat as a dramatist. "Is it not a pity, " he asks, "that the sweethuman voice which was given man to speak with, to sing with, towhisper tones of love in, to express compliance, to convey a favour, or to grant a suit--that voice, which in a Siddons or a Braham rousesus, in a siren Catalani charms and captivates us--that the musicalexpressive human voice should be converted into a rival of the noisesof silly geese and irrational venomous snakes? I never shall forgetthe sounds on my night!" He urges that the venial mistake of the poorauthor, "who thought to please in the act of filling his pockets, forthe sum of his demerits amounts to no more than that, " is too severelypunished; and he adds, "the provocations to which a dramatic genius isexposed from the public are so much the more vexatious as they areremoved from any possibility of retaliation, the hope of whichsweetens most other injuries; for the public never writes itself. " Heconcludes with an account, written in an Addisonian vein, of a club towhich he had the honour to belong. "There are fourteen of us, who areall authors that have been once in our lives what is called 'damned. 'We meet on the anniversaries of our respective nights, and makeourselves merry at the expense of the public.... To keep up the memoryof the cause in which we suffered, as the ancients sacrificed a goat, a supposed unhealthy animal, to Æsculapius, on our feast-nights we cutup a goose, an animal typical of the popular voice, to the deities ofCandour and Patient Hearing. A zealous member of the society onceproposed that we should revive the obsolete luxury of viper-broth;but, the stomachs of some of the company rising at the proposition, welost the benefit of that highly salutary and antidotal dish. "

It is to be observed that when a play is hissed there is thisconsolation at the service of those concerned: they can shift theburden of reproach. The author is at liberty to say: "It was the faultof the actors. Read my play, you will see that it did not deserve thecruel treatment it experienced. " And the actor can assert: "I was notto blame. I did but speak the words that were set down for me. My fateis hard--I have to bear the burden of another's sins. " And in eachcase these are reasonably valid pleas. In the hour of triumph, however, it is certain that the author is apt to be forgotten, andthat the lion's share of success is popularly awarded to the players. For the dramatist is a vague, impalpable, invisible personage; whereasthe actor is a vital presence upon the scene; he can be beheld, noted, and listened to; it is difficult to disconnect him from the humours heexhibits, from the pathos he displays, from the speeches he utters. Much may be due to his own merit; but still his debt to the dramatistis not to be wholly ignored. The author is applauded or hissed, as thecase may be, by proxy. But altogether it is perhaps not surprisingthat the proxy should oftentimes forget his real position, andarrogate wholly to himself the applause due to his principal. 

High and low, from Garrick to the "super, " it is probably the actor'sdoom, for more or less reasons, at some time or another, to be hissed. He is, as Members of Parliament are fond of saying, "in the hands ofthe house, " and may be ill-considered by it. Anyone can hiss, and onegoose makes many. Lamb relates how he once saw Elliston, sitting instate, in the tarnished green-room of the Olympic Theatre, whilebefore him was brought for judgment, on complaint of prompter, "one ofthose little tawdry things that flirt at the tails of choruses--thepertest little drab--a dirty fringe and appendage of the lamp'ssmoke--who, it seems, on some disapprobation expressed by a 'highlyrespectable' audience, had precipitately quitted her station on theboards and withdrawn her small talents in disgust. 'And how dare you, 'said the manager, 'how dare you, madam, without a notice, withdrawyourself from your theatrical duties?' 'I was hissed, sir. ' 'And youhave the presumption to decide upon the taste of the town?' 'I don'tknow that, sir, but I will never stand to be hissed, ' was therejoinder of Young Confidence. Then, gathering up his features intoone significant mass of wonder, pity, and expostulatoryindignation--in a lesson never to have been lost upon a creature lessforward than she who stood before him--his words were these: 'Theyhave hissed ME!'"

It is understood that this argument failed in its effect, for, afterall, a hiss is not to be in such wise excused or explained away; itsapplication is far too direct and personal. "Ladies and gentlemen, itwas not I that shot the arrow!" said Braham to his audience, when somebungling occurred in the course of his performance of William Tell, and the famous apple remained uninjured upon the head of the hero'sson. If derision was moved by this bungling, still more did thesinger's address and confession excite the mirth of the spectators. Toanother singer, failure, or the dread of failure, was fraught withmore tragic consequence. For some sixteen years Adolphe Nourritt hadbeen the chief tenor of the Paris Opera House. He had "created" theleading characters in "Robert, " "Les Huguenots, " "La Juive, ""Gustave, " and "Masaniello. " He resigned his position precipitatelyupon the advent of Duprez. The younger singer afflicted the elder witha kind of panic. The news that Duprez was among his audience wassufficient to paralyse his powers, to extinguish his voice. He leftFrance for Italy. His success was unquestionable, but he had lostconfidence in himself; a deep dejection settled upon him, hisapprehension of failure approached delirium. At last he persuadedhimself that the applause he won from a Neapolitan audience was purelyironical, was but scoffing ill-disguised. At five in the morning, onthe 8th of March, 1839, he flung himself from the window of an upperfloor, and was picked up in the street quite dead. Poor Nourrit! hewas a man of genius in his way; but for him there would have been nogrand duet in the fourth act of "Les Huguenots, " no cavatina forEleazar in "La Juive;" and to his inventiveness is to be ascribed theballet of "La Sylphide, " which Taglioni made so famous. 

It is odd to hear of an actor anxious for "goose, " and disappointed atnot obtaining it. Yet something like this happened once during theO. P. Riots. Making sure that there would be a disturbance in thetheatre, Mr. Murray, one of John Kemble's company, thought it needlessto commit his part to memory; he was so certain that he should not belistened to. But the uproar suddenly ceased; there was a lull in thestorm. The actor bowed, stammered, stared, and was what is called inthe language of the theatre "dead stuck. " However, his mind was soonat ease; to do him justice the audience soon hissed him to his heart'scontent, and perhaps even in excess of that measure. Subsequently heresolved, riot or no riot, to learn something of his part. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

EPILOGUES. 

Epilogues went out of fashion with pigtails, the public having at lastdecided that neither of these appendages was really necessary orparticularly ornamental; but a considerable time elapsed before thisopinion was definitively arrived at. The old English moralities ormoral plays usually concluded, as Mr. Payne Collier notes, with anepilogue in which prayers were offered up by the actors for the king, queen, clergy, and sometimes for the commons; the latest instance ofthis practice being the epilogue to a play of 1619, "Two Wise Men andAll the Rest Fools. " "It resteth now, " says the "epiloguiser, " "thatwe render you very humble and hearty thanks, and that all our heartspray for the king and his family's enduring happiness, and ourcountry's perpetual welfare. _Si placet, plaudite. _" So also thedancer entrusted with the delivery of the epilogue to Shakespeare's"Second Part of King Henry IV. " may be understood as referring to thismatter, in the concluding words of his address: "My tongue is weary;when my legs are too, I will bid you good-night: and so kneel downbefore you--but, indeed, to pray for the queen. " And to this oldcustom of loyal prayer for the reigning sovereign has been traced theaddition of the words, "Vivat rex, " or "Vivat regina, " which were wontto appear in the playbills, until quite recent times, when ourprogrammes became the advertising _media_ of the perfumers. 

The main object of the epilogue, however, was as Massinger hasexpressed it in the concluding address of his comedy, "Believe as youList"--

 The end of epilogues is to inquire The censure of the play, or to desire Pardon for what's amiss;

and as Theseus states the matter in "The Midsummer Night's Dream:" "Noepilogue, I pray you, for your play needs no excuse. " Sometimes a sortof bluntness of speech was affected, as in the epilogue to one ofBeaumont and Fletcher's comedies:

 Why there should be an epilogue to a play I know no cause. The old and usual way For which they were made was to entreat the grace Of such as were spectators. In this place And time, 'tis to no purpose; for I know, What you resolve already to bestow Will not be altered, whatsoe'er I say In the behalf of us, and of the play; Only to quit our doubts, if you think fit, You may or cry it up or silence it. 

It was in order, no doubt, the more to conciliate the audience thatepilogues assumed, oftentimes, a playfulness of tone that wouldscarcely have been tolerated in the case of prologues. The delivery ofan epilogue by a woman (i. E. By a boy playing the part of a woman) wasclearly unusual at the time of the first performance of "As You LikeIt. " "It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue, " saysRosalind; "but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord theprologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that agood play needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes;and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. " Therecan be little doubt that all Shakespeare's plays were originallyfollowed by epilogues, although but very few of these have beenpreserved. The only one that seems deficient in dignity, and thereforeappropriateness, is that above quoted, spoken by the dancer, at theconclusion of "The Second Part of King Henry IV. " In no case is directappeal made, on the author's behalf, to the tender mercies of theaudience, although the epilogue to "King Henry VIII. " seems toentertain misgivings as to the fate of the play:

 'Tis ten to one this play can never please All that are here. Some come to take their ease, An act or two; but those we fear, We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear They'll say, 'tis naught: others to hear the city Abused extremely and to cry--_that's witty!_ Which we have not done neither; that, I fear, All the expected good we're like to hear For this play at this time is only in The merciful construction of good women: For such a one we showed them. 

Prospero delivers the epilogue to "The Tempest;" and the concludinglines of "The Midsummer Night's Dream, " and of "All's Well that EndsWell"--which are not described as epilogues, and should, perhaps, rather be viewed as "tags"--are spoken by Puck and the King. Theepilogues to "King Henry V. " and "Pericles" are of course spoken bythe Chorus and Gower, respectively, who, throughout those plays, havefavoured the spectators with much discourse and explanation. "TwelfthNight" terminates with the clown's nonsense song, which may be anaddition due less to the dramatist than to the comic actor who firstplayed the part. 

The epilogues of the Elizabethan stage, so far as they have come downto us, are, as a rule, brief and discreet enough; but, after theRestoration, epilogues acquired greater length and much moreimpudence, to say the least of it, while they clearly had gainedimportance in the consideration of the audience. And now it became thecustom to follow up a harrowing tragedy with a most broadly comicepilogue. The heroine of the night--for the delivering of epiloguesnow devolved frequently upon the actresses--who, but a few momentsbefore, had fallen a most miserable victim to the dagger or the bowl, as the case might be, suddenly reappeared upon the stage, laughing, alive, and, it may be said, kicking, and favoured the audience with anaddress designed expressly, it would seem, so to make their cheeksburn with blushes that their recent tears might the sooner be driedup. It is difficult to conceive now that certain of the prologues andepilogues of Dryden and his contemporaries could ever have beendelivered, at any time, upon any stage. Yet they were assuredlyspoken, and often by women, apparently to the complete satisfaction ofthe playgoers of the time. But, concerning the scandalous condition ofthe stage of the Restoration, there is no need to say anythingfurther. The ludicrous epilogue, which has been described as theunnatural tacking of a comic tale to a tragical head, was certainlypopular, however, and long continued so. It was urged, "that the mindsof the audience must be refreshed, and gentlemen and ladies not sentaway to their own homes with too dismal and melancholy thoughts aboutthem. " Certain numbers of "The Spectator" were expressly devoted tothe discussion of this subject, in the interest, it is now apparent, of Ambrose Philips, who had brought upon the stage an adaptation ofRacine's "Andromaque, " and who enjoyed the zealous friendship ofAddison and Steele. To the tragedy of "The Distressed Mother, " as itwas called, which can hardly have been seen in the theatre since thelate Mr. Macready, as Orestes, made his first bow to a London audiencein 1816, an epilogue had been added which had the good fortune to beaccounted the most admirable production of its class. Steele, underthe signature of "Physibulus, " wrote to describe his visit to DruryLane, in company with his friend Sir Roger, to witness the newperformance. "You must know, sir, that it is always my custom, when Ihave been well entertained at a new tragedy, to make my retreat beforethe facetious epilogue enters; not but that these pieces are oftenvery well written, but, having paid down my half-crown, and made afair purchase of as much of the pleasing melancholy as the poet's artcan afford me, or my own nature admit of, I am willing to carry someof it home with me, and cannot endure to be at once tricked out ofall, though by the wittiest dexterity in the world. " He describes SirRoger as entering with equal pleasure into both parts, and as muchsatisfied with Mrs. Oldfield's gaiety as he had been before withAndromache's greatness; and continues: "Whether this were no more thanan effect of the knight's peculiar humanity, pleased to find that, atlast, after all the tragical doings, everything was safe and well, Ido not know; but, for my own part, I must confess I was sodissatisfied, that I was sorry the poet had saved Andromache, andcould heartily have wished that he had left her stone dead upon thestage. I found my soul, during the action, gradually worked up to thehighest pitch, and felt the exalted passion which all generous mindsconceive at the sight of virtue in distress.... But the ludicrousepilogue in the close extinguished all my ardour, and made me lookupon all such achievements as downright silly and romantic. " To thisletter a reply, signed "Philomedes, " appeared in "The Spectator" a fewdays later, expressing, in the first place, amazement at the attackupon the epilogue, and calling attention to its extraordinary success. "The audience would not permit Mrs. Oldfield to go off the stage thefirst night till she had repeated it twice; the second night, thenoise of the _ancoras_ was as loud as before, and she was obligedagain to speak it twice; the third night it was still called for asecond time, and, in short, contrary to all other epilogues, which aredropped after the third representation of the play, this has alreadybeen repeated nine times. " "Philomedes" then points out that, althoughthe prologue and epilogue were real parts of ancient tragedy, they areon the English stage distinct performances, entirely detached from theplay, and in no way essential to it. "The moment the play ends, " heargues, "Mrs. Oldfield is no more Andromache, but Mrs. Oldfield; andthough the poet had left Andromache 'stone dead upon the stage' ... Mrs. Oldfield might still have spoken a merry epilogue;" and he refersto the well-known instance of Nell Gwynne, in the epilogue to Dryden'stragedy of "Tyrannic Love, " "where there is not only a death but amartyrdom, " rising from the stage upon which she was supposed to belying stone dead--an attempt having been made to remove her by thosegentlemen "whose business it is to carry off the slain in our Englishtragedies"--and breaking out "into that abrupt beginning of what was avery ludicrous but at the same time thought a very good epilogue:

 "Hold! are you mad? you damned confounded dog, I am to rise and speak the epilogue!"

"This diverting manner, " "Philomedes" proceeds, "was always practisedby Mr. Dryden, who, if he was not the best writer of tragedies in histime, was allowed by everyone to have the happiest turn for a prologueor an epilogue. " And he further cites the example of a comic epilogueknown to be written by Prior, to the tragedy of "Phædra andHippolita, " Addison having supplied the work with a prologueridiculing the Italian operas. He refers also to the French stage:"Since everyone knows that nation, who are generally esteemed to haveas polite a taste as any in Europe, always close their tragicentertainment with what they call a _petite pièce_, which is purposelydesigned to raise mirth and send away the audience well pleased. Thesame person who has supported the chief character in the tragedy veryoften plays the principal part in the _petite pièce_; so that I havemyself seen at Paris Orestes and Lubin acted the same night by thesame man. "

This famous epilogue to "The Distressed Mother" is spoken byAndromache, and opens with the following lines, which are certainlyflippant enough:

 I hope you'll own that with becoming art I've played my game and topped the widow's part! My spouse, poor man, could not live out the play, But died commodiously on his wedding-day; While I, his relict, made, at one bold fling, Myself a princess, and young Sty a king. 

Of this address the reputed author was Eustace Budgell, of the InnerTemple, whose name is usually found printed in connection withit--"the worthless Budgell, " as Johnson calls him--"the man who callsme cousin, " as Addison used contemptuously to describe him. InJohnson's Life of Ambrose Philips, however, it is stated that Addisonwas himself the real author of the epilogue, but that "when it hadbeen at first printed with his name he came early in the morning, before the copies were distributed, and ordered it to be given toBudgell, that it might add weight to the solicitation which he wasthen making for a place. " It is probable, moreover, that Addison wasnot particularly anxious to own a production which, after all, was buta following of an example so questionable as Prior's epilogue to"Phædra, " above mentioned. The controversy in "The Spectator" was, without doubt, a matter of pre-arrangement between Addison and Steele, for the entertainment of the public and the increase of the fame ofPhilips; and the letter of "Philomedes, " which with the epilogue inquestion has been often ascribed to Budgell, was probably also thework of Addison. For all the rather unaccountable zeal of Addison andSteele on behalf of their friend, however, the reputation of Philipshas not thriven; he is chiefly remembered now by the nickname ofNamby-Pamby, bestowed on him by Pope, who had always vehementlycontested his claims to distinction. As Johnson states the case: "Mensometimes suffer by injudicious kindness; Philips became ridiculous, without his own fault, by the absurd admiration of his friends, whodecorated him with honorary garlands which the first breath ofcontradiction blasted. " Johnson, by-the-way, had at the age ofnineteen written a new epilogue to "The Distressed Mother, " for someyoung ladies who designed an amateur performance of that still-admiredtragedy. The epilogue was intended to be delivered by "a lady who wasto personate the ghost of Hermione. "

But although protests were now and then, as in the case of "TheDistressed Mother, " raised against the absurdity of the custom, comicepilogues to tragic plays long remained in favour with the patrons ofthe stage. Pointed reference to this fact is contained in the epiloguespoken by the beautiful Mrs. Hartley to Murphy's tragedy of "Alzuma, "produced at Covent Garden in 1773:

 Our play is o'er; now swells each throbbing breast With expectation of the coming jest. By Fashion's law, whene'er the Tragic Muse With sympathetic tears each eye bedews; When some bright Virtue at her call appears. Waked from the dead repose of rolling years; When sacred worthies she bids breathe anew, That men may be what she displays to view; By fashion's law with light fantastic mien The Comic Sister trips it o'er the scene; Armed at all points with wit and wanton wiles, Plays off her airs, and calls forth all her smiles; Till each fine feeling of the heart be o'er, And the gay wonder how they wept before!

To Murphy's more famous tragedy of "The Grecian Daughter, " Garricksupplied an epilogue, which commences:

 The Grecian Daughter's compliments to all; Begs that for Epilogue you will not call; For leering, giggling, would be out of season, And hopes by me you'll hear a little reason, &c. 

The epilogue to Home's tragedy of "Douglas" is simply a remonstranceagainst the employment of "comic wit" on such an occasion:

 An Epilogue I asked; but not one word Our bard will write. He vows 'tis most absurd With comic wit to contradict the strain Of tragedy, and make your sorrows vain. Sadly he says that pity is the best And noblest passion of the human breast; For when its sacred streams the heart o'erflow In gushes pleasure with the tide of woe; And when its waves retire, like those of Nile, They leave behind them such a golden soil That there the virtues without culture grow, There the sweet blossoms of affection blow. These were his words; void of delusive art I felt them; for he spoke them from his heart. Nor will I now attempt with witty folly To chase away celestial melancholy. 

Apart from the epilogues that pertained to particular plays, and couldhardly be detached from them, were the "occasional epilogues, " writtenwith no special relevancy to any dramatic work, but rather designed tobe recitations or monologue entertainments, that could be delivered atany time, as managers, players, and public might decide. Garrick, whohighly esteemed addresses of the class, was wont, in the character of"a drunken sailor, " to recite a much-admired "occasional epilogue. "Early comedians, such as Joe Haines and Pinkethman, now and thenentered upon the scene, "seated upon an ass, " to deliver "anoccasional epilogue, " with more mirthful effect. Extravagances of thiskind have usually been reserved for benefit-nights, however. In TomBrown's works, 1730, there is a print of Haines, mounted on an ass, appearing in front of the stage, with a view of the side boxes andpit. An "occasional epilogue" was delivered in 1710, by Powell andMrs. Spiller, "on the hardships suffered by lawyers and players in theLong Vacation. "

For some years before their extinction, epilogues had greatly declinedin worth, although their loss of public favour was less apparent. Theywere in many cases wretched doggerel, full of slang terms and ofimpertinence that was both coarse and dull. With a once famousepilogue-writer--Miles Peter Andrews, who was also a dramatist, although, happily, his writings for the stage have now vanishedcompletely--Gifford deals severely in his "Baviad. " "Such is thereputation this gentleman has obtained for epilogue writing, that theminor poets of the day, despairing of emulating, are now onlysolicitous of assisting him--happy if they can obtain admission for acouplet or two into the body of his immortal works, and thus secure tothemselves a small portion of that popular applause so lavishly and sojustly bestowed on everything that bears the signature of MilesAndrews!" A few lines make havoc of quite a covey of "bards" of thatperiod:

 Too much the applause of fashion I despise; For mark to what 'tis given and then declare, Mean though I am, if it be worth my care. Is it not given to Este's unmeaning dash, To Topham's fustian, Colman's flippant trash, To Andrews' doggerel, when three wits combine, To Morton's catchword, Greathead's idiot line, And Holcroft's Shug Lane cant, and Merry's Moorfields whine, &c. 

Criticism was not mealy-mouthed in Gifford's day. 

The "tag" appears to be following the epilogue to oblivion; for thoughit is difficult to differentiate them, the tag must not be confusedwith the epilogue, or viewed as merely an abbreviated form of it. As arule, the epilogue was divided from the play by the fall of thecurtain, although this could hardly have been the case in regard tothe epilogue mentioned above, delivered by "Mrs. Ellen, " as Drydencalls her, after the tragedy of "Tyrannic Love. " But the tag isusually the few parting words addressed by the leading character in aplay, before the curtain descends upon it, to "our kind friends infront, " entreating their applause. The final _couplets_ of a Frenchvaudeville, it may be noted, usually contained an appeal of this kind;otherwise, tags, and epilogues are alike eschewed upon the Frenchstage. But this "coming forward" of the player, to deliver his tag, isa practice of old date. The concluding speech in Massinger's "New Wayto Pay Old Debts, " addressed to the audience, and commencing--

 Nothing wants then But your allowance--and in that our all Is comprehended--

is, according to the old stage direction, to be spoken by Wellborn"coming forward. " So also Cozimo is directed to "come forward, " toaddress to the audience the last lines of "The Great Duke ofFlorence. "

Epilogues have rarely been employed as supplementary acts, continuingand completing the action of a play, as prologues in modern times havebeen converted into introductory chapters, explanatory of events to bepresently exhibited upon the scene. Yet the interminable drama of"Marie Antoinette, " by Signor Paolo Giacometti, in which MadameRistori was wont to perform, presents an instance of this kind. "MarieAntoinette" is in five acts, with a prologue exhibiting the queen'slife at Versailles, in 1786, and an epilogue showing her imprisonmentin the Conciergerie, and her march to the guillotine in the custody ofSamson the executioner. 

 * * * * *

The epilogue spoken, the entertainments are indeed terminated. Theaudience move from their seats towards the portals of the playhouse. The lights are being extinguished; the boxes are about to be coveredover with brown-holland draperies; the prompter has closed his bookand is thinking of moving homewards. 

It remains for us only to interchange "Good-byes"--and to separate. 

THE END.