The Palmy Days of Nance Oldfield Part 3

These lines by Nicholas Rowe form a graphic but unsavoury picture of the demoralisation to be found in an early eighteenth century audience. Affairs were much better than they used to be in the _laissez-faire_ Restoration period, but, as may be imagined, there was still room for improvement. The rake, the cynic and the loosely-moraled women were still abroad in the land (have we quite done with them even yet?), and many a hard struggle would take place before the artificial restraint and decorum of the Georgian era would triumph over the mocking spirit of Charles Stuart and his professional idlers. In the meantime, as Shadwell relates, the rakes "live as much by their wits as ever; and to avoid the clinking dun of a boxkeeper, at the end of one act they sneak to the opposite side 'till the end of another; then call the boxkeeper saucy rascal, ridicule the poet, laugh at the actors, march to the opera, and spunge away the rest of the evening." And he goes on to say that "the women of the town take their places in the pit with their wonted a.s.surance. The middle gallery is fill'd with the middle part of the city, and your high exalted galleries are grac'd with handsome footmen, that wear their master's linen."[A]

[Footnote A: The footmen were sometimes sent, early in the afternoon, to keep places in the theatre until their masters or mistresses should arrive. They created so much disturbance, however, that a stop had to be put to the practice, and the servants were relegated to the upper gallery. To this they were given free admission.]

And now for a few pages about Drury Lane's rival, the theatre within the walls of the old tennis court in Lincoln's Inn Fields. It was the home of the company headed by the n.o.ble Betterton, the "English Roscius," who had, in 1695, headed the revolt against the management of the other house. At that time the tide of popular success at Drury Lane had reached a rather low ebb, a painful circ.u.mstance due, no doubt, to the fickleness of a public that was beginning to tire of the favourite players and to betray a fondness for operatic and spectacular productions rather than the "legitimate." Christopher Rich, the manager of the theatre, was, like many of his kind, more given to considering the weight of his purse than the scant supply of sentiment with which nature might originally have endowed him, and so he tried to do two characteristic things. The salaries of his faithful employes should be reduced and the older members of the company retired into the background as much as possible. Younger faces must occupy the centre of the stage; even Betterton, the greatest actor of his time, should be supplanted in some of his parts by the dissolute George Powell, and the genius of Mrs. Barry,[A] whom Dryden thought the greatest actress he had ever seen, was to give way to the less matured charms of the lovely Anne Bracegirdle.

[Footnote A: Mrs. Barry is said to have been a very elegant dresser; but, like most of her contemporaries, she was not a very correct one.

Thus, in the "Unhappy Favourite," she played Queen Elizabeth, and in the scene of the crowning she wore the coronation robes of James II.'s Queen; and Ewell says she gave the audience a strong idea of the first-named Queen.--DORAN'S "Annals of the Stage."]

Cibber relates the story in a sympathetic vein. "Though the success of the 'Prophetess' and 'King Arthur' (two dramatic operas in which the patentees[A] had embark'd all their hopes) was in appearance very great, yet their whole receipts did not so far balance their expense as to keep them out of a large debt, which it was publicly known was about this time contracted.... Every branch of the theatrical trade had been sacrificed to the necessary fitting out those tall s.h.i.+ps of burthen that were to bring home the Indies. Plays of course were neglected, actors held cheap, and slightly dress'd, while singers and dancers were better paid, and embroider'd. These measures, of course, created murmurings on one side, and ill-humour and contempt on the other."

[Footnote A: Alexander Davenant, Charles Killigrew, and Rich.]

"When it became necessary therefore to lessen the charge, a resolution was taken to begin with the salaries of the actors; and what seem'd to make this resolution more necessary at this time was the loss of Nokes, Montfort and Leigh, who all dy'd about the same year. No wonder then, if when these great pillars were at once remov'd the building grew weaker and the audiences very much abated. Now in this distress, what more natural remedy could be found than to incite and encourage (tho' with some hazard) the industry of the surviving actors? But the patentees, it seems, thought the surer way was to bring down their pay in proportion to the fall of their audiences. To make this project more feasible they propos'd to begin at the head of 'em, rightly judging that if the princ.i.p.als acquiesc'd, their inferiors would murmur in vain.

"To bring this about with a better grace, they, under pretence of bringing younger actors forward, order'd several of Betterton's and Mrs. Barry's chief parts to be given to young Powel and Mrs.

Bracegirdle. In this they committed two palpable errors; for while the best actors are in health, and still on the stage, the public is always apt to be out of humour when those of a lower cla.s.s pretend to stand in their places."

And with a bit more of this timely philosophy--to which, let it be hoped, he ever lived up to himself--Colley goes on to say that, "tho' the giddy head of Powel accepted the parts of Betterton, Mrs.

Bracegirdle had a different way of thinking, and desir'd to be excused from those of Mrs. Barry; her good sense was not to be misled by the insidious favour of the patentees; she knew the stage was wide enough for her success, without entering into any such rash and invidious compet.i.tion with Mrs. Barry, and, therefore, wholly refus'd acting any part that properly belong'd to her."

Then came the revolt, which the astute Betterton ("a cunning old fox"

Gildon once dubbed him) seems to have managed with all the diplomacy of a Machiavelli. "Betterton upon this drew into his party most of the valuable actors, who, to secure their unity, enter'd with him into a sort of a.s.sociation to stand or fall together." In the meantime he pushed the war into Africa, or, to change the simile, determined to lead his people out of the land of bondage, as exemplified by Drury Lane, and settle down in a new theatre. Nay, the "cunning old fox"

even went so far as to secure an interview with his most august sovereign, William of Orange. What an audience it must have been, with William, stiff, uncomfortable, and unintentionally repellant, confronted by the greatest of living "Hamlets" and a group of other players made brilliant by the presence of the imperial but not too moral Mistress Barry, the lovely Bracegirdle, breathing the perfume of virtue, real or a.s.sumed, and the fascinating Verbruggen.[A] Perhaps the King found them an interesting lot, perhaps he merely regarded them with the same good-natured curiosity he might have exhibited for a pack of mountebanks, but in either case he was determined, with that sombre seriousness so typical of him, to do his duty in the premises.

So he listened patiently to their complaints, and the result of it all was that by the advice of the Earl of Dorset, the Lord Chamberlain, a royal licence, allowing the revolters to act in a separate theatre, was duly issued. A subscription for the erection of the new house was immediately opened, people of quality paid in anywhere from twenty to forty guineas a piece, and the whole affair a.s.sumed permanent shape.

Poor, tired, pre-occupied William had done what was expected of him, lifting his eyes for the nonce from the real world, as represented by the map of Europe, to gaze upon his subjects of the mimic boards.

[Footnote A: Mrs. Verbruggen and Joseph Williams seceded from the new company almost at once.]

"My having been a witness of this unnecessary rupture," writes Cibber, "was of great use to me when, many years after, I came to be a menager myself. I laid it down as a settled maxim, that no company could flourish while the chief actors and the undertakers were at variance.

I therefore made it a point while it was possible upon tolerable terms, to keep the valuable actors in humour with their station; and tho' I was as jealous of their encroachments as any of my co-partners could be, I always guarded against the least warmth in any expostulations with them; not but at the same time they might see I was perhaps more determin'd in the question than those that gave a loose to their resentment, and when they were cool were as apt to recede."

Colley was shrewd enough in dealing with players, and, as any one who has ever had aught to do with them knows, the majority of Thespians must be treated with the greatest tact. They are sensitive and high-strung, yet often as unreasonable as children, and the man who can rule over them with ease should be snapped up by an appreciative government to conduct its most diplomatic of missions. With the theatrical stars of his own day Cibber seems to have been firm but prudent. "I do not remember," he tells us, "that ever I made a promise to any that I did not keep, and, therefore, was cautious how I made them." A fine sentiment, dear sir, eminently fit for a copy book, but we can well believe that your promises never erred on the side of extravagance.

It is a fascinating subject, this study of old-time stage life--fascinating, at least for the writer, who is tempted to run on garrulously, describing the doings of Betterton in the new theatre, and then wandering off to speak of the establishment of Italian opera in England. But the limits of the chapter are reached; let us bid good-bye to "Old Thomas," whose

"Setting sun still shoots a glimmering ray, Like ancient Rome, majestic in decay,"

and hasten to wors.h.i.+p the rising sun, in the person of Mistress Oldfield.

CHAPTER III

A BELLE OF METTLE

"For let me tell you, gentlemen, courage is the whole mystery of making love, and of more use than conduct is in war; for the bravest fellow in Europe may beat his brains out against the stubborn walls of a town--but

"Women born to be controll'd, Stoop to the forward and the bold."

These lines, taken hap-hazard from Colley Cibber's "Careless Husband,"

contain the very spirit and essence of that old English comedy wherein the hero was nothing more than a handsome rake and the heroine--well, not a straitlaced Puritan or a prude. They breathe of the time when honesty and virtue went for naught upon the stage, and the greatest honours were awarded to the theatrical Prince Charming who proved more unscrupulous than his fellows. Yet, strange as it may seem, the "Careless Husband" is a vast improvement, in point of decency, on many of the plays that preceded it, and marks a turning point in the moral atmosphere of those that came after. "He who now reads it for the first time," says Doran, "may be surprised to hear that in this comedy a really serious and eminently successful attempt to reform the licentiousness of the drama was made by one who had been himself a great offender. Nevertheless the fact remains. In Lord Morelove we have the first lover in English comedy, since licentiousness possessed it, who is at once a gentleman and an honest man. In Lady Easy we have what was. .h.i.therto unknown or laughed at--a virtuous married woman." To go further, it may be added that the story points an unexceptionable moral, proving that the best thing for a husband to do in this world is to be true to the legitimate companion of his joys and sorrows.

With all this in favour of the "Careless Husband," it is a curious fact that the play, if presented in its original form, would not be tolerated by the audiences of to-day.[A] The dialogue is often coa.r.s.e and suggestive, although for the most part full of sparkle and mother wit, while the plot smacks of intrigue, lying and adultery. But it is a fine work for all that; there is a delightful flavour about it, as of old wine, and we feel in reading each successive scene that we are uncorking a rare literary bottle of the vintage 1704. How much of the vintage of 1898 will stand, equally well, the uncorking process if applied in a century or two from now? How many plays in vogue at present will be read with pleasure at that distant period? Will they be the gruesome affairs of Ibsen, still tainted with their putrid air of unhealthy mentality, or the clever performances of Henry Arthur Jones; the dramas of Bronson Howard or the farcical skits of Mr. Hoyt?

[Footnote A: Were the "Careless Husband" adapted to suit the exacting requirements of nineteenth century modesty, its brilliancy would be gone.]

The "Careless Husband" has not been acted these many, many years, yet to all who treasure the historical memories of the stage it should be recalled with interest, for it was in this gay comedy that the ravis.h.i.+ng Nance shone forth in all the silvery light of her resplendent genius. Read the pages of the old play in unsympathetic mood and they may look musty and worm-eaten, but imagine Oldfield as the sprightly Lady Betty Modish, the elegant Wilks as Sir Charles Easy, and Cibber[A] himself in the empty-headed role of Lord Foppington, and, presto! everything is changed. The yellow leaves are white and fresh, the words stand out clear and distinct, and it takes but a slight flight of fancy to hear the dingy auditorium of Drury Lane echoing and re-echoing with laughter. For 'twas at Drury Lane that the comedy first saw the light, in December 1704, and this was the cast:

LORD MORELOVE .... Mr. Powell.

LORD FOPPINGTON .... Mr. Cibber.

SIR CHARLES EASY .... Mr. Wilks.

LADY BETTY MODISE .... Mrs. Oldfield.

LADY EASY .... Mrs. Knight.

LADY GRAVEAIRS .... Mrs. Moore.

MRS. EDGING .... Mrs. Lucas.

[Footnote A: Wilks had a singular talent in representing the graces of nature; Cibber the deformity in the affectation of them.--STEELE.]

How the performance came about let Cibber explain. The "Apologist" has been speaking of Oldfield's success in Leonora, and he goes on to say:

"Upon this unexpected sally, then, of the power and disposition of so unforseen an actress, it was that I again took up the first two acts of the 'Careless Husband,' which I had written the summer before, and had thrown aside in despair of having justice done to the character of Lady Betty Modish by any one woman then among us; Mrs. Verbruggen being now in a very declining state of health, and Mrs. Bracegirdle out of my reach and engag'd in another company: But, as I have said, Mrs. Oldfield having thrown out such new proffers of a genius, I was no longer at a loss for support; my doubts were dispell'd and I had now a new call to finish it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: ROBERT WILKS _After the Painting by_ JOHN ELLYS, 1732]

And finish the play Cibber did, casting Nance for the volatile Lady Betty and producing it under the most brilliant auspices. The whole a.s.signment of characters was admirable, but the first Lady Betty, bursting upon the town in sudden glory, threw all her companions into the shade. Never had such a fine lady of comedy been seen, said the critics; never had an actress (who was not expected to be over-versed in the affairs of the "quality") displayed such gentility, high-breeding and evidence of being--Heaven knew how--quite "to the manner born." Never was woman so bubbling over with humour, said the people. As for Colley, he was delighted, of course, but believing that an honest confession is good for the soul, even for the soul of a Poet Laureate, he has left us the following graceful tribute to the important part played by the actress in making the "Careless Husband"

a success:

"Whatever favourable reception this comedy has met with from the Publick, it would be unjust in me not to place a large share of it to the account of Mrs. Oldfield; not only from the uncommon excellence of her action, but even from her personal manner of conversing. There are many sentiments in the character of Lady Betty Modish that I may almost say were originally her own, or only dress'd with a little more care than when they negligently fell from her lively humour."

Here we have a clue to that vivacity and _navete_ which distinguished Anne off the stage as well as on. Can it be that she, rather than Cibber, suggested this das.h.i.+ng bit of dialogue from the comedy:

"LADY BETTY. [_Meeting_ LADY EASY.] Oh! my dear! I am overjoyed to see you! I am strangely happy to-day; I have just received my new scarf from London, and you are most critically come to give me your opinion of it.

"LADY EASY. O! your servant, madame, I am a very indifferent judge, you know: what, is it with sleeves?

"LADY BETTY. O! 'tis impossible to tell you what it is! 'Tis all extravagance both in mode and fancy, my dear; I believe there's six thousand yards of edging in it--then such an enchanting slope from the elbow--something so new, so lively, so n.o.ble, so _coquet_ and charming--but you shall see it, my dear.

"LADY EASY. Indeed I won't, my dear; I am resolv'd to mortify you for being so wrongfully fond of a trifle.

"LADY BETTY. Nay, now, my dear, you are ill-natured.

"LADY EASY. Why truly, I am half angry to see a woman of your sense so warmly concerned in the care of her outside; for when we have taken our best pains about it, 'tis the beauty of the mind alone that gives us lasting value.

"LADY BETTY. Oh! my dear! my dear! you have been a married woman to a fine purpose indeed, that know so little of the taste of mankind. Take my word, a new fas.h.i.+on upon a fine woman is often a greater proof of her value than you are aware of.