The Palmy Days of Nance Oldfield Part 6

"SIR CHARLES. Is the man distracted?

"MORE. Let me speak to her now, or I shall burst.[A]

"SIR CHARLES. Upon condition you'll speak no more of her to me, my lord, do as you please.

"MORE. Pr'ythee pardon me--I know not what to do.

"SIR CHARLES. Come along, I'll set you to work, I warrant you. Nay, nay, none of your parting ogles--will you go?

"MORE. Yes, and I hope for ever.

[_Exit_ SIR CHARLES _pulling away_ LORD MORELOVE."

[Footnote A: Here is the way in which several of our refined farcical writers would have given it:

MORELOVE. Let me speak to her now, or I shall burst.

SIR CHARLES. Upon condition that you'll not burst here, in the parlour, do as you please.]

There is about this and many other scenes the fragrance of an old perfume, as of lavender. We take up the book after years of neglect, and the odour, which is not that of sanct.i.ty, is still perceptible--a potent reminder of the past. And Lady Betty Modish? She must be--well-nigh on to two hundred years old (a thousand florid pardons, sweet madame, for bringing in your age), but she is as blooming, saucy, and interesting as ever.

What becomes of Betty in the comedy, the reader may ask. She goes on her triumphant way, the same cruel enchantress, until the last act, when she is quite ready to fall into the arms of Lord Morelove. Sir Charles Easy, touched by the constancy and devotion of his wife, announces that he will mend his wilful habits, and Lord Foppington, who flattered himself that Lady Betty was madly in love with him, accepts his dismissal with great good humour. Then we have a song setting forth how:

"Sabina with an angel's face By Love ordain'd for joy, Seems of the Siren's cruel race, To charm and then destroy.

"With all the arts of look and dress, She fans the fatal fire; Through pride, mistaken oft for grace, She bids the swains expire.

"The G.o.d of Love, enraged to see The nymph defy his flame, p.r.o.nounced his merciless decree Against the haughty dame:

"'Let age with double speed o'ertake her, Let love the room of pride supply; And when the lovers all forsake her, A spotless virgin let her die.'"

Next, with the sound of this horrible warning ringing in our ears, Sir Charles steps forward to give the tag: "If then [turning to Lady Easy]

the unkindly thought of what I have been hereafter shou'd intrude upon thy growing quiet, let this reflection teach thee to be easy:

"Thy wrong, when greatest, most thy virtue prov'd; And from that virtue found, I blus'd and truly lov'd."

So ends the comedy in a blaze of morality. We almost see Sir Charles fitting on a pair of newly-made wings, as he prepares to float away to some better planet; but let him go, by all means. We shall remain here and watch that fair sinner, Oldfield.

CHAPTER IV

MANAGERIAL WICKEDNESS

Of all the vested rights that mankind is heir to none is more sacred than the right of an actor to abuse his manager. It is among the blessed privileges which help to make life cheerful and sunny, for, when all is said, what would be the joy of existence if we might not criticise those whom Providence has placed above us. Even a king may be abused, behind his royal back, and so an humble manager shall not escape.

There was a manager of Oldfield's day who surely did not escape, and that was Christopher Rich, Esquire, one of the patentees of Drury Lane Theatre, and sole director, as a rule, in the affairs of that Thespian temple. Thespian temple, indeed! What cared Mr. Rich for Thespis or for art? He looked upon actors as a lot of cattle whose sole mission in life was to make him rich in pocket as well as in name, and who might, after the performance of that pious act, betake themselves to the Evil Gentleman for aught he cared. Several modern managers have been equally appreciative, but it is a comfort to reflect that a portion of the fraternity are vast improvements on crusty Christopher, who was described by a contemporary as "an old snarling lawyer, master and sovereign; a waspish, ignorant pettifogger in law and poetry; one who understands poetry no more than algebra; he wou'd sooner have the Grace of G.o.d than do everybody justice."[A]

[Footnote A: Gildon's "Comparison Between the Two Stages."]

This was the measly director in whose company Nance figured for a time, and for whom she must have had a profound if discreetly-concealed contempt. Cibber, who seems to have keenly gauged the man, has left us an account of how Rich[A] treated his actors. "He would laugh with them over a bottle and bite them in their bargains. He kept them poor, that they might not be able to rebel; and sometimes merry, that they might not think of it." How graphic is this picture, with its vision of sly, crafty Christopher, as he denies the players their well-earned wages and then hurries them off to a neighbouring tavern, there to get them hilarious on cheap wine and grudgingly to pay the reckoning. "All their articles of agreement," continues Colley, "had a clause in them that he was sure to creep out at, viz., their respective sallaries were to be paid in such manner and proportion as others of the same company were paid; which in effect made them all, when he pleas'd, but limited sharers of loss, and himself sole proprietor of profits; and this loss or profit they only had such verbal accounts of as he thought proper to give them. 'Tis true, he would sometimes advance them money (but not more than he knew at most could be due to them) upon their bonds; upon which, whenever they were mutinous, he would threaten to sue them. This was the net we danc'd in for several years. But no wonder we were dupes," whimsically adds Colley, "while our master was a lawyer."

[Footnote A: Christopher Rich was the father of John Rich, a manager who excelled in pantomime, and who appreciated the "legitimate" as little as did his father.]

And a very commonplace, foxy and inartistic lawyer he was, too, with his fondness for money bags and his willingness to oblige the town with anything it wanted. To his narrow mind there was no great difference between a lot of rope-dancers and a company of players, or, if there should be, the advantage was quite in favour of the former.

We see the same commercial spirit to-day, when the average manager rents his house for one week to an Irving or a Mansfield, and perhaps turns it over, the following Monday night, to the tender mercies of performing dogs and cats. 'Tis all grist that comes to his mill, and what cares he whether that grist represent "Macbeth" or canine drama?

Cibber was not above looking at the practical side of things, but he had no patience, nevertheless, with the Philistianism of Rich, who had that fatal fondness for "paying extraordinary prices to singers, dancers, and other exotick performers, which were as constantly deducted out of the sinking sallaries of his actors."[A]

[Footnote A: Operatic singers and dancers, mostly recruited from the Continent, were fast becoming fas.h.i.+onable, and, as their appearance on the scene interfered with the profits of the actors, it may be imagined that the latter held the strangers in much contempt.]

For it seems that Master Rich had not bought his share of the Drury Lane patent to elevate the stage, but rather to get a fortune therefrom. "And to say truth, his sense of everything to be shown there was much upon a level with the taste of the mult.i.tude, whose opinion and whose money weigh'd with him full as much as that of the best judges. [Colley was evidently thinking of himself as one of these judges.] His point was to please the majority who could more easilly comprehend anything they _saw_ than the daintiest things that could be said to them."

Nay, Christopher actually went so far that he once sought the services of an elephant to add to the strength of his company, thus antic.i.p.ating the realism of our own time, when a few cows, a horse or two, a lot of chickens and some real straw will cover a mult.i.tude of sins in the construction of a play.[A] Yet, sad to relate, the elephant was never allowed to lend weight to the drama, as "from the jealousy which so formidable a rival had rais'd in his dancers, and by his bricklayer's a.s.suring him that if the walls were to be open'd wide enough for its entrance it might endanger the fall of the house [the old theatre in Dorset Garden, which Rich wished to use] he gave up his project, and with it so hopeful a prospect of making the receipts of the stage run higher than all the wit and force of the best writers had ever yet rais'd them to."

[Footnote A: Apropos to the appearance of elephants on the stage, a capital anecdote is told by Colman in his "Random Records." Johnstone, a machinist employed at Drury Lane during the latter portion of the eighteenth century, was celebrated for his superior taste and skill in the construction of flying chariots, triumphal cars, palanquins, banners, wooden children to be tossed over battlements, and straw heroes and heroines to be hurled down a precipice; he was further famous for wickerwork lions, pasteboard swans, and all sham birds and beasts appertaining to a theatrical menagerie. He wished on a certain occasion to spy the nakedness of the enemy's camp, and therefore contrived to insinuate himself, with a friend, into the two-s.h.i.+lling gallery, to witness the night rehearsal of a pantomime at Covent Garden Theatre. Among the attractions of this Christmas foolery a real elephant was introduced, and in due time the unweildly brute came clumping down the stage, making a prodigious figure in a procession.

The friend who sat close to Johnstone jogged his elbow, whispering, "This is a bitter bad job for Drury. Why, the elephant's _alive_!--he'll carry all before him, and beat you hollow. What d'ye think on't, eh?" "Think on't," said Johnstone, in a tone of the utmost contempt, "I should be very sorry if I couldn't make a much better elephant than that at any time!"]

Yet it was under the auspices of such a man that Oldfield made several of her most brilliant successes, not forgetting the memorable appearance as Lady Betty. And all the while, no doubt, Mr. Rich was thinking how much more sensible an attraction would be an elephant or a tight-rope walker. But Nance, who had now a firm friend in Cibber, went merrily on her way, creating new characters in comedy and astonis.h.i.+ng even her most enthusiastic admirers by the imposing air she could frequently give to a tragic part. In none of them, grave or gay, was she more charming than as Sylvia, the heroine of Farquhar's "Recruiting Officer," a play in which she graced man's clothes. Sylvia is a delightful creature who masquerades as a das.h.i.+ng youth, and thereby has the privilege of watching her lover, Captain Plume. Of course the deception is discovered, and all ends happily in the orthodox fas.h.i.+on [the only bit of orthodoxy about the performance, by-the-way]. The girl is allowed to marry the Captain and settles down, we may suppose, to the pleasures of domesticity and woman's gowns. The comedy was admirably acted throughout, Wilks, Cibber, and that prince of mimics, d.i.c.k Estcourt, being in the cast, and the seal of popular approval was quickly put upon the production. At present such a seal should bring hundreds, perhaps thousands, of dollars into the pockets of the author, but it is possible that a few paltry pounds represented the profits of Farquhar.[A]

[Footnote A: The "Recruiting Officer" first saw the light in April 1706.]

In the meantime the spirit of discontent was abroad among the members of the Drury Lane company. Well it might be when the manager of the house, as Cibber points out, "had no conception himself of theatrical merit either in authors or actors, yet his judgment was govern'd by a saving rule in both. He look'd into his receipts for the value of a play, and from common fame he judg'd of his actors. But by whatever rule he was govern'd, while he had prudently reserv'd to himself a power of not paying them more than their merit could get, he could not be much deceived by their being over or undervalued. In a word, he had with great skill inverted the const.i.tution of the stage, and quite changed the channel of profits arising from it; formerly (when there was but one company) the proprietors punctually paid the actors their appointed sallaries, and took to themselves only the clear profits: But our wiser proprietor took first out of every day's receipts two s.h.i.+llings in the pound to himself; and left their sallaries to be paid only as the less or greater deficiencies of acting (according to his own accounts) would permit. What seem'd most extraordinary in these measures was, that at the same time he had persuaded us to be contented with our condition, upon his a.s.suring us that as fast as money would come in we should all be paid our arrears."

Lawyer Rich lived too soon. How useful would he have been in these latter days, when irresponsible managers infest the profession and turn an honest penny by trading on the credulity and unbusinesslike qualities of many a deluded player. The average manager pays his debts and is quite as stable and upright in his dealings as one could desire, but what can be said of the man who take companies "on the road," after making all sorts of glowing promises, and finally elopes with the money-box, leaving his actors stranded in a strange city.

Incidents of this kind, which to the victims have more of tragedy than any play in their _repertoire_, occur almost every day during the theatrical season, but nothing is done to prevent the ever-increasing scandal. The erstwhile proprietor of the company returns by Pullman car to New York, complains loudly about "poor business," a "sunken fortune," &c., and then prepares to take out another combination. As for his dupes, who are probably half-starving in some third cla.s.s western town, they may walk home on the railroad ties.

Yes, Mr. Rich was evidently intended for a wider sphere and a more progressive age than those he had to adorn. But despite all his financial talents some of the best players in Drury Lane were ready to desert from that house the moment the chance came.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WILLIAM CONGREVE

By Sir G.o.dFREY KNELLER, 1709]

The chance did come, in the season of 1706-7, when Mrs. Oldfield, Wilks, Mrs. Rogers, and several others, went over to the handsome new theatre in the Haymarket, and were joined there later by Cibber.

This imposing house was opened in the spring of 1705 by Congreve and Vanbrugh, and to it had gone Betterton and his a.s.sociates at Lincoln's Inn Fields. But n.o.ble old Roscius, who had so long cast his welcome spell upon London theatre-goers, was getting old and feeble, and so were several of the other members; the spell was well-nigh broken, and not even a trial of that "new-fangled" style of entertainment, Italian opera,[A] could make the management a success.

[Footnote A: How Italian opera was despised by certain critics of Queen Anne's reign has already been shown in "Echoes of the Playhouse." In his "Essay on the Operas after the Italian Manners,"

Dennis writes (1706): "If that is truly the most Gothic, which is the most oppos'd to Antick, nothing can be more Gothick than an Opera, since nothing can be more oppos'd to the ancient Tragedy, than the modern Tragedy in Musick, because the one is reasonable, the other ridiculous; the one is artful, the other absurd; the one beneficial, the other pernicious; in short, the one natural and the other monstrous."]

Now enters upon the scene the redoubtable Owen Swiney, who plays a short but brilliant part in the theatrical world, and next, with all his money gone, enters upon a twenty years' exile on the Continent.

Then he will come home, to be made Keeper of the King's Mews, and presently our Colley will immortalise him in one of those pen-portraits which make so many of the Poet Laureate's friends or foes stand out clear and distinct against the background of the "Apology." Here is the picture, fresh and beaming as ever: