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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1bb81b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66788 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66788) diff --git a/old/66788-0.txt b/old/66788-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ba34d4f..0000000 --- a/old/66788-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7736 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of In and About Drury Lane and Other Papers -Vol. I, by Dr. John Doran - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: In and About Drury Lane and Other Papers Vol. I - Reprinted from the pages of the 'Temple Bar' Magazine - -Author: Dr. John Doran - -Release Date: November 21, 2021 [eBook #66788] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Susan Skinner, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN AND ABOUT DRURY LANE AND OTHER -PAPERS VOL. I *** - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber’s note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -DRURY LANE - -VOL. I. - - - - -LONDON: PRINTED BY -SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE -AND PARLIAMENT STREET - - - - -IN AND ABOUT - -DRURY LANE - -_AND OTHER PAPERS_ - -REPRINTED FROM THE PAGES OF THE ‘TEMPLE BAR’ MAGAZINE - -BY - -DR DORAN - -AUTHOR OF ‘TABLE TRAITS AND SOMETHING ON THEM’ ‘JACOBITE LONDON’ -‘QUEENS OF ENGLAND OF THE HOUSE OF HANOVER’ - -IN TWO VOLUMES - -VOL. I. - -[Illustration: Logo FIDE·ET·FIDUCIA RB] - -LONDON -RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET -Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen -1881 - -_All rights reserved_ - - - - -_PREFATORY REMARKS._ - - -The republication of papers which have originally appeared in a -Magazine frequently requires justification. - -In the present instance this justification, it is thought, may be found -in the special knowledge which Dr. DORAN had of all matters pertaining -to the stage; in his intimacy with the literature which treats of -manners and customs, English and foreign; and in his memory, which -retained and retailed a great amount of anecdote, told with a sprightly -wit. - -These volumes, reprinted with one or two exceptions from the pages of -the ‘Temple Bar’ Magazine, will, it is believed, be found to contain -many good stories, and much information unostentatiously conveyed. It -is hoped, therefore, that the public will endorse the opinion of the -writer of this Preface, and consider that the plea of justification has -been made out. - -_G. B._ - - - - -CONTENTS - -OF - -THE FIRST VOLUME. - - PAGE -IN AND ABOUT DRURY LANE 1 - -ABOUT MASTER BETTY 20 - -CHARLES YOUNG AND HIS TIMES 54 - -WILLIAM CHARLES MACREADY 82 - -PRIVATE THEATRICALS 108 - -THE SMELL OF THE LAMPS 136 - -A LINE OF FRENCH ACTRESSES 159 - -SOME ECCENTRICITIES OF THE FRENCH STAGE 189 - -NORTHUMBERLAND HOUSE AND THE PERCYS 216 - -LEICESTER FIELDS 238 - -A HUNDRED YEARS AGO 285 - - - - -_IN AND ABOUT DRURY LANE._ - - -In the afternoon of ‘Boxing-day,’ 1865, I had to pass through Drury -Lane, and some of the worst of the ‘slums’ which find vent therein. -There was a general movement in the place, and the effect was not -savoury. There was a going to-and-fro of groups of people, and there -was nothing picturesque in them; assemblings of children, but alas! -nothing lovable in them. It was a universal holiday, yet its aspect was -hideous. - -Arrived at the stage-door of Drury Lane Theatre, I found my way on to -the stage itself, where the last rehearsal of the pantomime, to be -played for the first time that evening, was progressing. - -The change from the external pandemonium to the hive of humming -industry in which I then stood, was striking and singular. Outside -were blasphemy and drunkenness. Inside, boundless activity, order, -hard work, and cheerful hearts. There was very much to do, but every -man had his especial work assigned him, every girl her allotted -task. An unaccustomed person might have pronounced as mere confusion, -that shifting of scenes, that forming, unforming, and reforming of -groups, that unintelligible dumb show, that collecting, scattering, -and gathering together of ‘young ladies’ in sober-coloured dresses and -business-like faces, who were to be so resplendent in the evening as -fairies, all gold, glitter, lustrous eyes, and virtuous intentions. -There was Mr. Beverley--perhaps the greatest magician there--not only -to see that nothing should mar the beauty he had created, but to take -care that the colours of the costumes should not be in antagonism with -the scenes before which they were to be worn. There was that Michael -Angelo of pantomimic mask inventors, Mr. Keene, anxiously looking to -the expressions of the masks, of which he is the prince of designers. -Then, if you think those graceful and varied figures of the _ballet_ -as easy to invent, or to trace, as they seem, and are, at last, -easily performed, you should witness the trouble taken to invent, -and the patience taken to bring to perfection--the figures and the -figurantes--on the part of the artistic ballet-master, Mr. Cormack. -But, responsible for the good result of all, there stands Mr. Roxby, -stern as Rhadamanthus, just as Aristides, inflexible as determination -can make him, and good-natured as a happy child, he is one of the most -efficient of stage-managers, for he is both loved and feared. No -defect escapes his eye, and no well-directed zeal goes without his word -of approval. Messrs. Falconer and Chatterton are meanwhile busy with a -thousand details, but they wisely leave the management of the stage to -their lieutenant-general, who has the honour of Old Drury at heart. - -When a spectator takes his seat in front of the curtain, he is hardly -aware that he is about to address himself to an entertainment, for the -production of which nearly nine hundred persons--from the foremost -man down to the charwoman--are constantly employed and liberally -remunerated. Touching this ‘remuneration,’ let me here notice that I -have some doubt as to the story of Quin ever receiving 50_l._ a night. -By the courtesy of Mr. ----, the gentleman at the head of the Drury -Lane treasury, and by the favour of the proprietors, I have looked -through many of the well-kept account-books of bygone years. These, -indeed, do not, at least as far as I have seen, go back to the days of -Quin, but there are traces of the greater actor Garrick, who certainly -never received so rich an _honorarium_. His actual income it is not -easy to ascertain, as his profits as proprietor were mixed up with -his salary as actor. It has often been said that Garrick was never -to be met with in a tavern (always, I suppose, excepting the ‘Turk’s -Head’), but he appears to have drawn refreshment during the Drury Lane -seasons, as there is unfailing entry in his weekly account of ‘the Ben -Jonson’s Head bill,’ the total of which varies between sixteen and -five-and-twenty shillings. - -At Drury Lane, John Kemble does not appear to have ever received above -2_l._ a night, exclusive of his salary as a manager. Nor did his -sister’s salary for some years exceed that sum. When Edmund Kean raised -the fallen fortunes of old Drury, he only slowly began to mend his own. -From January 1814, to April 1815, during the time the house was open, -Kean’s salary was 3_l._ 8_s._ 8_d._ nightly. If the theatre was open -every night in the week, that sum was the actor’s nightly stipend, -whether he performed or not. If there were only four performances -weekly, as in Lent, he and all other actors were only paid for those -four nights. Within the period I have named, Elliston received a -higher salary than Kean, namely 5_l._ per night, or 30_l._ per week, -if the house was open for six consecutive nights. The salary of Dowton -and Munden, during the same period, was equal to that of Kean. They -received at the rate of 3_l._ 8_s._ 8_d._ nightly, or 20_l._ weekly, if -there were six performances, irrespective as to their being employed in -them or not. That great actor Bannister, according to these Drury Lane -account-books, at this period received 4_s._ per night less than Kean, -Dowton and Munden; while Jack Johnstone’s salary was only 2_l._ 10_s._ -nightly, and that was 6_s._ 8_d._ _less_ than was paid to the handsome, -rather than _good_ player, Rae. - -It was not till April 1815, when Kean was turning the tide of Pactolus -into the treasury, that his salary was advanced to 4_l._ 3_s._ 8_d._ -per night. This was still below the sum received by Elliston. Kean -had run through the most brilliant part of his career, before his -salary equalled that of Elliston. In 1820, it was raised to 30_l._ per -week if six nights; but Elliston’s stipend at that time had fallen to -20_l._, and at the close of the season that of Kean was further raised -to 40_l._ for every six nights that the house was open. That sum is -occasionally entered in the books as being for ‘seven days’ pay,’ but -the meaning is manifestly ‘for the acting week of six days.’ - -At this time Mrs. Glover was at the head of the Drury Lane actresses, -and that eminent and great-hearted woman never drew from the Drury Lane -treasury more than 7_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ weekly. From these details, it -will be seen that the most brilliant actors were not very brilliantly -paid. The humbler yet very useful players were, of course, remunerated -in proportion. - -There was a Mr. Marshall who made a successful _début_ on the same -night with Incledon in 1790, in the ‘Poor Soldier,’ the sweet -ballad-singer, as Dermot; Marshall, as Bagatelli. The latter soon -passed to Drury Lane, where he remained till 1820. The highest -salary he ever attained was 10_s._ per night; yet with this, in his -prettily-furnished apartments in Crown Court, where he lived and died, -Mr. Marshall presided, like a gentleman, at a hospitable table, and -in entertaining his friends never exceeded his income. You might have -taken him in the street for one of those enviable old gentlemen who -have very nice balances at their bankers. - -The difference between the actor’s salaries of the last century and of -this, is as great in France as in England. One of the greatest French -tragedians, Lekain, earned only a couple of thousand livres, yearly, -from his Paris engagement. When Gabrielli demanded 500 ducats yearly, -for singing in the Imperial Theatre at St. Petersburg, this took the -Czarina’s breath away. ‘I only pay my field-marshals at that rate,’ -said Catherine. - -‘Very well,’ replied Gabrielli, ‘your Majesty had better make your -field-marshals sing.’ - -With higher salaries, all other expenses have increased. Take the -mere item of advertisements, including bill-sticking and posters at -railway stations, formerly, the expense of advertising never exceeded -4_l._ per week; now it is never under 100_l._ Of bill-stickers and -board-carriers, upwards of one hundred are generally employed. In -the early part of the last century, the proprietors of a newspaper -thought it a privilege to insert theatrical announcements gratis, and -proprietors of theatres forbade the insertion of their advertisements -in papers not duly authorised! - -Dryden was the first dramatic author who wrote a programme of his -piece (‘The Indian Emperor’), and distributed it at the playhouse -door. Barton Booth, the original ‘Cato,’ drew 50_l._ a year for -writing out the daily bills for the printer. In still earlier days, -theatrical announcements were made by sound of drum. The absence of -the names of actors in old play-books, perhaps, arose from a feeling -which animated French actors as late as 1789, when those of Paris -entreated the _maire_ not to compel them to have their names in the -‘Affiche,’ as it might prove detrimental to their interests. Some of -our earliest announcements only name the piece, and state that it -will be acted by ‘all the best members of the company, now in town.’ -There was a fashion, which only expired about a score or so of years -ago, as the curtain was descending at the close of the five-act piece, -which was always played first, an actor stepped forward, and when the -curtain separated him from his fellows, he gave out the next evening’s -performance, and retired, bowing, through one of the doors which always -then stood, with brass knockers on them, upon the stage. - -The average expenses of Drury Lane Theatre at Christmas-tide, when -there are extra performances, amount to nearly 1,500_l._ per week. The -rent paid is reckoned at 4,500_l._ for two hundred nights of acting, -and only 5_l._ per night for all performances beyond that number. -About 160_l._ must be in the house before the lessees can begin to -reckon on any profit. In old times, the presence of royalty made a -great difference in the receipts. On February 12, 1777,I find from the -books that the ‘Jealous Wife,’ and ‘Neck or Nothing,’ were played. An -entry is added that ‘the king and queen were present,’ and the result -is registered under the form, ‘receipts 245_l._ 9_s._ 6_d._, a hundred -pounds more than the previous night.’ - -The number of children engaged in a pantomime at Drury Lane generally -exceeds two hundred. The girls are more numerous than the boys. It is -a curious fact that in engaging these children the manager prefers the -quiet and dull to the smart and lively. Your smart lad and girl are -given to ‘larking’ and thinking of their own cleverness. The quiet -and dull are more ‘teachable,’ and can be made to seem lively without -flinging off discipline. These little creatures are thus kept from the -streets; many of them are sons and daughters of persons employed in the -house, and their shilling a night and a good washing tells pleasantly -in many a humble household, to which, on Saturday nights, they -contribute their wages and clean faces. It was for a clever body of -children of this sort that _benefits_ were first established in France -in 1747. In England they date from Elizabeth Barry, on whose behalf the -first was given, by order of James the Second. - -Then there are the indispensable, but not easily procured, ‘ladies -of the ballet.’ They number about five dozen; two dozen principals, -the rest in training to become so. Their salary is not so low as is -generally supposed--twenty-five, and occasionally thirty shillings -a week. They are ‘respectable.’ I have seen three or four dozen of -them together in their green-room, where they conducted themselves as -‘properly’ as any number of well-trained young ladies could at the most -fashionable of finishing establishments. - -There was a scene in the ‘Sergeant’s Wife’ which was always played with -a terrible power by Miss Kelly; and yet the audience, during the most -exciting portion of the scene, saw only the back of the actress. Miss -Kelly represented the wife, who, footsore and ignorant of her way, had -found rude hospitality and rough sleeping quarters in a wretched hut. -Unable to sleep, something tempts her to look through the interstices -of the planks which divide her room from the adjoining one. While -looking, she is witness of the commission of a murder. Spell-bound, she -gazes on, in terror almost mute, save a few broken words. During this -incident the actress had her back turned to the audience; nevertheless, -she conveyed to the enthralled house an expression of overwhelming -and indescribable horror as faithfully as if they had seen it in her -features or heard it in her voice. Every spectator confessed her -irresistible power, but none could even guess at the secret by which -she exercised it. - -The mystery was, in fact, none at all. Miss Kelly’s acting in this -scene was wonderfully impressive, simply because she kept strictly -to nature. She knew that not to the face alone belongs all power of -interpretation of passion or feeling. This knowledge gave to Rich his -marvellous power as Harlequin. In the old days, when harlequinades had -an intelligible plot in which the spectators took interest, it was the -office of Harlequin to guard the glittering lady of his love from the -malice of their respective enemies. There always occurred an incident -in which Columbine was carried off from her despairing lord, and it was -on this occasion that Rich, all power of conveying facial expression -being cut off by his mask, used to move the house to sympathy, and -sometimes, it is said, to tears, by the pathos of his mute and tragic -action. As he gazed up the stage at the forced departure of Columbine -every limb told unmistakably that the poor fellow’s heart was breaking -within him. When she was restored the whole house broke forth into a -thunder of exultation, as if the whole scene had been a reality. - -I cannot tell how this was effected, but I _can_ tell a story that is -not unconnected with the terrible pantomime of suffering nature. - -Some years ago an unfortunate man, who had made war against society, -and had to suffer death for it in front of the old Debtors’ door, -Newgate, took leave of his wife and daughters not many hours before -execution, in presence of the ‘Reverend Ordinary,’ Mr. Cotton, and a -young officer in the prison, who has since attained to eminence and -corresponding responsibility in the gloomy service to which he is -devoted. The scene of separation was heartrending to all but the doomed -man, who was calm, and even smiled once or twice, in order to cheer, if -he could, the poor creatures whom he had rendered cheerless for ever. -When the ordinary and the prison officer were left alone, the reverend -gentleman remarked--‘Well, H----, what do you think of the way in which -the prisoner went through _that_?’ - -‘Wonderfully, sir,’ answered H----, ‘considering the circumstances.’ - -‘Wonderfully!’ replied Mr. Cotton, ‘yes; but not in your sense, my -friend.’ - -‘In what sense, then, sir?’ asked H----. - -‘You said “wonderfully.” I know very well, wherefore--because you saw -him smile; and because he smiled, you thought he did not feel his -condition as his wife and daughters did.’ - -‘I confess that is the case,’ said the young officer. - -‘Ah! H----,’ exclaimed Mr. Cotton, ‘you are new to this sort of thing. -You looked in the man’s face, and thought he was bold. I had my eye on -his back, and I saw that it gave his face the lie. It showed that he -was suffering mortal agony.’ - -H---- looked inquiringly at the chaplain, who answered the look by -saying, ‘Listen to me, H----. You are young. Some day you will rise to -a post that will require you to sit in the dock, behind the prisoners -who are tried on capital charges. On one of those occasions, you will -see what is common enough--a prisoner who is saucy and defiant, and who -laughs in the judge’s face as he puts on the black cap, and while he -is condemning him. Well, H----, if you want to know what that prisoner -really feels, don’t look at his face--look at his back. All along and -about the spine, you will find it boiling, heaving, surging, like -volcanic matter. Keep your eye upon it, H----; and when you see the -irrepressible emotion in the back suddenly subsiding, open wide your -arms, my boy, for the seemingly saucy fellow is about to tumble into -them, in a dead faint. All the “sauce,” Mr. H----, will be out of him -at once, and perhaps for ever, unless he be exceptionally constituted.’ - -A little party of visitors was gathered round the narrator of this, the -other day, in that dreadful room where Calcraft keeps his ‘traps and -things.’ I had my hand on the new coil already prepared and in order -for the next criminal who may deserve it; another was looking at Jack -Sheppard’s irons, which were never able to confine him; and others, -with a sort of unwilling gaze at things in a half-open cupboard, which -looked like the furniture of a saddle-room, but which were instruments -of other purposes. We all turned to the speaker, as he ceased, and -inquired if his experience corroborated Mr. Cotton’s description. H---- -answered in the affirmative, and he went into particulars to which we -listened with the air of men who were curious yet not sympathizing; -but I felt, at the same time, under the influences of the place, and -of being suddenly told that I was standing where Calcraft stands on -particular occasions, a hot and irrepressible motion adown the back, -which satisfied me that the Cottonian theory had something in it, and -that Miss Kelly, without knowing it, was acting in strict accordance -with nature, when she made her back interpret to an audience all the -anguish she was supposed to feel at the sorry sight on which her face -was turned. - -By way of parenthesis, let me add that Mr. Cotton himself was a most -accomplished actor on his own unstable boards. When he grew somewhat -a-weary of his labour--it was a heavy labour when Monday mornings -were hanging mornings, and wretches went to the beam in leashes--when -Mr. Cotton was tired of this, he thought of a good opportunity for -retiring. ‘I have now,’ he said, ‘accompanied just three hundred -and sixty-five poor fellows to the gallows. That’s one for every -day in the year. I may retire after seeing such a round number die -with _cotton in their ears_.’ Whether the reverend gentleman was the -author of this ingenious comparison for getting hanged, or whether he -playfully adopted the phrase which was soon so popularly accepted as a -definition, cannot now be determined. - -While on this subject, let me notice that, with the exception of one -Matthew Coppinger, a subaltern player in the Stuart days, no English -actor has ever suffered death on the scaffold. Mat’s offence was not -worse than the mad Prince’s on Gad’s Hill, and it must be confessed -that one or two other gentlemen of the King’s or Duke’s company ‘took -to the road’ of an evening, and perhaps deserved hanging, though the -royal grace saved them. Neither in England nor France has an actor ever -appeared on the scaffold under heavy weight of crime. As for taking -to the highway, baronets’ sons have gone that road on their fathers’ -horses; and society construed lightly the offences of highwaymen who -met travellers face to face and set life fairly against life. In -England, Coppinger alone went to Tyburn. In France, I can recall but -two out of the many thousands of actors who have trodden its very -numerous stages,--not including an occasional player who suffered -for political reasons during the French Revolution. One of the two -was Barrières, a Gascon, who, after studying for the church and the -law, turning dramatic poet and mathematician, and finally enlisting -in the army, obtained leave of absence, and profited thereby by -repairing to Paris, and appearing at the Théâtre Français, in 1729, as -Mithridate. His Gascon extravagance and eccentricity caused at first -much amusement, but he speedily established himself as an excellent -general actor, and forgot all about his military leave of absence. Not -so his colonel, who had no difficulty in laying his hand on the Gascon -recruit, who was playing in his own name in Paris, and under authority -of a furlough, the period of which he had probably exceeded--the -document itself he had unfortunately lost. Barrières was tried, -condemned, and shot, in spite of all the endeavours made to save him. - -Sixty years later it went as hardly with Bordier, an actor of the -Variétés, of whom I have heard old French players speak with great -regard and admiration. He was on a provincial tour, when he talked -so plainly at _tables d’hôte_ of the misery of the times and the -prospects of the poor, that he was seized and tried at Rouen under a -charge of fomenting insurrection in order to lower the price of corn. -Just before his seizure he had played the principal part (L’Olive) -in ‘Trick against Trick’ (_Ruses contre Ruses_), in which he had to -exclaim gaily: ‘You will see that to settle this affair, I shall -have to be hanged!’ And Bordier _was_ hanged, unjustly, at Rouen. He -suffered with dignity, and a touch of stage humour. He had been used to -play in Pompigny’s ‘Prince turned Sweep’ (_Ramoneur Prince_)--a piece -in which Sloman used to keep the Coburg audience in a roar of delight. -In the course of the piece, standing at the foot of a ladder, and -doubtful as to whether he should ascend or not, he had to say: ‘Shall I -go up or not?’ So, when he came to the foot of the lofty ladder leaning -against the gigantic gallows in the market-place at Rouen, Bordier -turned with a sad smile to the hangman and said: ‘Shall I go up or -not?’ The hangman smiled too, but pointed the way that Bordier should -go; and the wits of Rouen were soon singing of him in the spirit of the -wits of Covent Garden singing of Coppinger: - - - Mat did not go dead, like a sluggard to bed, - But boldly, in his shoes, died of a noose - That he found under Tyburn tree. - - -To return to more general statistics, it may be stated that, in busy -times, four dozen persons are engaged in perfecting the wardrobes -of the ladies and gentlemen. Only to attire these and the children, -forty-five dressers are required; and the various _coiffures_ you -behold have busily employed half a dozen hairdressers. If it should -occur to you that you are sitting over or near a gasometer, you may -find confidence in knowing that it is being watched by seventeen -gasmen; and that even the young ladies who glitter and look so happy as -they float in the air in transformation scenes, could not be roasted -alive, provided they are released in time from the iron rods to which -they are bound. These ineffably exquisite nymphs, however, suffer more -or less from the trials they have to undergo for our amusement. Seldom -a night passes without one or two of them fainting; and I remember, on -once assisting several of them to alight, as they neared the ground, -and they were screened from the public gaze, that their hands were -cold and clammy, like clay. The blood had left the surface and rushed -to the heart, and the spangled nymphs who seemed to rule destiny and -the elements, were under a nervous tremor; but, almost as soon as they -had touched the ground, they shook their spangles, laughed their light -laugh, and tripped away in the direction of the stately housekeeper of -Drury, Mrs. Lush, with dignity enough not to care to claim kinship -with her namesake, the judge; for she was once of the household of -Queen Adelaide, and now has the keeping of ‘the national theatre,’ with -nine servants to obey her behests. - -To those who would compare the season of 1865-1866 at Drury Lane with -that of 1765-1766, it is only necessary to say that a hundred years ago -Mrs. Pritchard was playing a character of which she was the original -representative in 1761, namely, Mrs. Oakley, in Coleman’s ‘Jealous -Wife,’ a part which has been well played this year by Mrs. Vezin to -the excellent Mr. Oakley of Mr. Phelps. The Drury Lane company, a -hundred years ago, included Garrick, Powell, Holland, King, Palmer, -Parsons, Bensley, Dodd, Yates, Moody, Baddeley, all men of great but -various merit. Among the ladies were Mrs. Cibber, Mrs. Yates, Mrs. -Clive, Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Pritchard, Miss Pope, Mrs. Baddeley, and -some others--a galaxy the like of which, in any one company, could -nowhere be found in these later days. In that season of a hundred -years ago, a new actress, Mrs. Fitzhenry, very nearly gained a seat -upon the tragic throne. In the same season Melpomene lost her noblest -daughter, albeit the last character her name was attached to in the -bills was Lady Brute. I allude to Mrs. Cibber. ‘Mrs. Cibber dead!’ was -Garrick’s cry; ‘then tragedy has died with her.’ Since that season of -a century since, there has been no such Ophelia as hers, the touching -charm of which used to melt a whole house to tears. It was the season -in which Garrick abolished the candles in brass sockets, fixed in -chandeliers, which hung on the stage; in place of which he introduced -the footlights, which were then supplied by oil, and long retained the -significant name of ‘floats.’ In that season, the first benefit was -given for the Drury Lane Theatrical Fund, ‘for the relief of those who, -from infirmities, shall be obliged to retire from the stage.’ On this -occasion Garrick acted _Kitely_, in ‘Every Man in his Humour.’ Lastly, -in that season was produced, for the first time, the ever-lively -comedy, ‘The Clandestine Marriage,’ in which King, as Lord Ogleby, won -such renown that Garrick never ceased to repent of his having declined -the character. After he left the stage he did not seem to be sorry for -the course he had taken. ‘You all think,’ he used to say, ‘that no one -can excel, or even equal King, in Lord Ogleby. It had great merit, but -it was not my Lord Ogleby; and if I could appear again, that is the -only character in which I should care to play.’ And, no doubt, Roscius -would have delighted his audience, though his new reading might not -have induced them to forget the original representation. - - - - -_ABOUT MASTER BETTY._ - - -In a valley at the foot of the Slieve Croob mountains, in County -Antrim, there is a pretty village called Ballynahinch. The head of the -river Lagan, which flows by Belfast into the lough, is to be found in -that valley. Near the town is a ‘spa,’ with a couple of wells, and a -delicious air, sufficient in itself to cure all travellers from Dublin -who have narrowly escaped being poisoned by the Liffey, in whose -murderous stinks the metropolitan authorities seem to think the chief -attraction to draw strangers to Dublin is now to be found. - -To the flax-cultivating Ballynahinch, in the last quarter of the last -century, a gentleman named Betty brought (after a brief sojourn at -Lisburn) his young English wife and their only child, a boy. This -married couple were of very good blood. The lady was of the Stantons, -of Hopton Court. Mr. Betty’s father was a physician of some celebrity, -at Lisburn, where, and in the neighbourhood, he practised to such good -purpose that he left a handsome fortune to his son. That son invested a -portion of his inheritance in a farm, and in the manufacture of linen -at Ballynahinch. Whence the Bettys originally came it would be hard to -say. A good many Huguenots lie in the churchyard at Lisburn, and the -Bettys may have originally sprung from a kindred source. In the reign -of George the Second there was a Rev. Joseph Betty, who created a great -sensation by a sermon which he preached at Oxford. Whether the Betty of -Oxford was an ancestor of him of Ballynahinch is a question which may -be left to Mr. Forster, the pedigree hunter. - -I have said that with his young wife Mr. Betty took to Ireland their -son. Their boy was, and remained, their only child. He was born at -Shrewsbury, which place is also proud of having given birth to famous -Admiral Benbow, also to Orton, the eminent Nonconformist. Master Betty -was English born and Irish bred; half-bred, however; for his English -mother was his nurse, his companion, his friend--in other words, his -true mother. Such an only child used to be called ‘a parlour child,’ to -denote that there was more intercourse between child and parent than -exists in a ‘nursery child,’ to whom the nurse seems his natural guide -and ruler. - -The English lady happened to be a lady well endowed as to her mind, -her tastes, and her accomplishments. She was exactly the mother for -such a boy. She was not only excessively fond of reading the best -poets, but of reading passages aloud, or reciting them from memory. Her -audience was her boy. His tastes were in sympathy with his mother’s, -and he was never more delighted than when he sat listening to her -reading or reciting, except when he was reciting passages to her. It -was a peculiar training; it really shaped the boy’s life--and it was -no ill shape which the life took. The father had his share, however, -in clearing the path for the bright, though brief, career. One day the -father, whose intellectual tastes responded to his wife’s, repeated to -his son the speech of Cardinal Wolsey, beginning, ‘Farewell, a long -farewell, to all my greatness.’ In doing this, he suited the action -to the word. Young Betty had never seen this before, and he asked the -meaning of it. ‘It is what is called acting,’ said the father. The boy -thought over it, tried by himself action and motion with elocution, and -he spoke and acted the cardinal’s soliloquy before his mother with an -effect that excited in her the greatest surprise and admiration. - -Not the faintest idea of the stage had, at this time, entered the -minds of any of the family. The eager young lad himself was satisfied -with reading plays, learning passages from them, and reciting speeches -from ‘Douglas’ and ‘Zara,’ from ‘Pizarro’ and the ‘Stranger.’ He also -repeated the episodical tales from Thomson’s ‘Seasons.’ Only the above -trace of his learning anything from Shakespeare is to be found, but -he listened to readings from the national poet by one or other of his -parents. This course had its natural results. By degrees the boy took -to rude attempts, from domestic materials, of dress. ‘Properties’ were -created out of anything that could be turned to the purpose; a screen -was adopted for scenery; audiences of ones and twos were pressed by the -stage-struck youth to tarry and see him act; and finally his father, -well qualified, taught him fencing, the son proving an apt pupil, and -becoming a swordsman as perfect and graceful as Edmund Kean himself. - -His reputation spread beyond home into distant branches of the family. -Those branches shook with disgust. The parents were warned that if -they did not take care the boy would come to the evil end of being -a play-actor! They were alarmed. The domestic stage was suppressed; -silence reigned where the echoes of the dramatic poets once pleasantly -rang, and the heir of Hopton Court and Hopton Wafers was ignominiously -packed off to school. When I say ‘the heir,’ it is because Master Betty -was so called; but it really seems as if his claim resembled that of -the Irish gentleman who was kept out of his property by the rightful -owner. - -There is no record of Master Betty’s school life. We only know that it -did not suppress his taste for dramatic poetry and dramatic action. At -this time, 1802, Mrs. Siddons, who had been acting with her brother, -John Kemble, to empty houses at Drury Lane, left England, in disgust -at the so-called ‘Drury treasury,’ for Ireland. It was the journey -on which she set out with such morbid feelings of despair, as if she -were assured of the trip ending by some catastrophe. It was, in fact, -all triumph, and in the course of her triumphant career she arrived -in Belfast, where, with other parts, she acted Elvira in ‘Pizarro.’ -She had not thought much of the part of the camp-follower when she was -first cast for it, and Sheridan was so dilatory that she had to learn -the last portion of the character after the curtain had risen for the -first acting of the piece. But Sarah Siddons was a true artist. She -ever made the best of the very worst materials; she invested Elvira -with dignity, and it became by far the most popular of the characters -of which she was the original representative. Young Betty entered a -theatre for the first time to see Sheridan’s ‘Pizarro’ acted at the -Belfast theatre, and Mrs. Siddons as Elvira. The boy’s tastes were in -the right direction. He had neither eyes, nor ears, nor senses, but for -her. He was, so to speak, ‘stricken’ by her majestic march, her awful -brow, her graceful action, and her incomparable delivery. He drank at -a fresh fountain; he beheld a new guiding light; he went home in a -trance; he now knew what was meant by ‘the stage,’ what acting was, -what appropriate speech meant, what it was to be an actor, and what -a delicious reward there was for an inspired artist in the music of -tumultuous applause. When Master Betty awoke from his dream it was to -announce to his parents that he should certainly die if he were not -allowed to be a play-actor! - -He was only eleven years old, and those parents did not wish to lose -him. They at first humoured his bent, and listened smilingly to his -rehearsal of the whole part of Elvira. They had to listen to other -parts, and still had to hear his impressive iteration of his resolution -to die if he were thwarted in his views. At length they yielded. The -father addressed himself to Mr. Atkins, the proprietor and manager of -the Belfast theatre, who consented that the boy should give him a taste -of his quality. When this was done, Atkins was sufficiently struck by -its novelty not to know exactly what to make of it. He called into -council Hough, the prompter, who was warm in his approval. ‘You are my -guardian angel!’ exclaimed the excited boy to the old prompter. Atkins, -with full faith in Hough’s verdict, observed, when the lad had left, -‘I never expected to see another Garrick, but I have seen an infant -Garrick in Master Betty!’ - -After some preliminary bargaining, Atkins would not go further than -engage the promising ‘infant’ for four nights. The terms were that, -after deducting _twelve pounds_ for the expenses of the house, the -rest was to be divided between the manager and the _débutant_. The -tragedy of ‘Zara’ was accordingly announced for August 16, 1803, -‘Osman (Sultan of Jerusalem) by a Young Gentleman.’ Now, that year -(and several before and after it) was a troubled year, part of a -perilous time, for Ireland. Sedition was abroad, and everybody, true -man or not, was required to be at home early. The manager could not -have got his tragedy and farce ended and his audience dismissed to -their homes within the legal time but for the order which he obtained -from the military commander of the district that (as printed in the -bill), ‘At the request of the manager the drums have been ordered to -beat an hour later at night.’ The performance was further advertised -‘to begin precisely at six o’clock, that the theatre may be closed by -nine.’ The prices were reckoned by the Irish equivalent of English -shillings--‘Boxes, 3_s._ 3_d._; Pit, 2_s._ 2_d._; Gallery, 1_s._ 1_d._’ -In return for the military courtesy, if not as a regular manifestation -of loyalty, it was also stated in the bill, ‘GOD SAVE THE KING’ (in -capital letters!) ‘will be played at the end of the second act, and -RULE BRITANNIA at the end of the play.’ - -Belfast was, as it is, an intellectual town. The audience assembled -were not likely to be carried away by a mere phenomenon. They -listened, became interested, then deeply stirred, and at last -enthusiastic. The next day the whole town was talking of the almost -perfection with which this boy represented the rage, jealousy, and -despair of Osman. In truth, there was something more than cleverness -in this representation. Let anyone, if he can, read Aaron Hill’s -adaptation of Voltaire’s ‘Zaire’ through. He will see of what dry -bones it is made. Those heavy lines, long speeches, dull movement of -dull plot, stirred now and then by a rant or a roar, require a great -deal more than cleverness to make them endurable. No human being could -live out five acts of such stuff if genius did not uphold the stuff -itself. It was exquisite Mrs. Cibber who gave ‘Zara’ life when she made -her _début_ on the stage, when the tragedy was first played in 1736. -Spranger Barry added fresh vigour to that life when he acted Osman in -1751. Garrick’s genius in Lusignan galvanised the dead heap into living -beauty, never more so than in his last performance in 1776; but the -great genius was Mrs. Cibber; neither Mrs. Bellamy, nor Mrs. Barry, nor -Miss Younge, equalled her. Mrs. Siddons, after them, made Zara live -again, and was nearly equal to Mrs. Cibber. Since her time there has -been neither a Zara, nor Lusignan, nor grown-up Osman, of any note; -and nothing short of genius could make the dry bones live. Voltaire’s -‘Zaire’ is as dull as Hill’s, but it has revived, and been played -at the Théâtre Français. But every character is well played, from -Mounet Sully, who acts Orosmane, to Dupont Vernon, in Corasmin. The -accomplished Berton plays Nerestan; and it is a lesson to actors only -to hear Maubant deliver the famous lines beginning with ‘Mon Dieu, j’ai -combattu.’ - -Mdlle. Sarah Bernhardt is the Zaire, and I can fancy her a French -Cibber. She dies, however, on the stage too much in the horrible -fashion of the ‘Sphinx’; but what attracts French audience is, that -the piece abounds in passages which such audiences may hail in ecstasy -or denounce in disgust. The passages are political, religious, and -cunningly framed free-thinking passages. For these the audience waits, -and signalises their coming by an enthusiasm of delight or an excess of -displeasure. - -At Belfast there was only the eleven-years-old Osman to enthral an -audience. The rest were respectable players. It is not to be believed -that such an audience would have been stirred as they were on that -August night had there not been some mind behind the voice of the young -_débutant_. He had never been on a stage before, had only once seen a -play acted, had received only a few hints from the old prompter, yet -he seemed to be the very part he represented. There were many doubters -and disbelievers in Belfast, but they, for the most part, went to -the theatre and were convinced. The three other parts he played were -Douglas, Rolla, and, for his benefit on August 29, Romeo. From that -moment he was ‘renowned,’ and his career certain of success. - -While this boy snatched a triumph, there was another eagerly, -painfully, yet hopefully and determinedly, struggling for one. _This_ -boy scarcely knew by what name to pass, for his mother was a certain -Nance Carey, and his reputed father was one of two brothers, he did -not know which, named Kean. This boy claimed in after years to be an -illegitimate son of the Duke of Norfolk, and he referred, in a way, to -this claim when he called his first child Howard. For Nance Carey the -boy had no love. There was but one woman who was kind to him in his -childhood, Miss Tidswell, of Drury Lane Theatre, and Edmund Kean used -to say, ‘If she was not my mother, why was she kind to me?’ When I pass -Orange Court, Leicester Square, I look with curiosity at the hole where -he got a month’s schooling. - -Born and dragged up, the young life experiences of Edmund Kean were -exactly opposite to those of William Henry West Betty. He had indeed, -because of his childish beauty, been allowed at three years old to -stand or lie as Cupid in one of Noverre’s ballets; and he had, as an -unlucky imp in the witches’ scene of ‘Macbeth,’ been rebuked by the -offended John Kemble. Since then he had rolled or been kicked about -the world. When Master Betty, at the age of eleven, or nearly twelve, -was laying the foundations of his fortune at Belfast, Edmund Kean was -fifteen, and had often laid himself to sleep on the lee side of a -haystack, for want of wherewith to pay for a better lodging. He had -danced and tumbled at fairs, and had sung in taverns; he had tramped -about the country, carrying Nance Carey’s box of _falbalas_ for sale; -he had been over sea and land; he had joined Richardson’s booth -company, and, at Windsor, it is said that George III. had heard him -recite, and had expressed his approbation in the shape of two guineas, -which Miss Carey took from him. - -It was for the benefit of a mother so different from Master Betty’s -mother that he recited in private families. It is a matter of history -that by one of these recitations he inspired another boy, two years -older than himself, with a taste for the stage and a determination to -gain thereon an honourable position. This third boy was Charles Young. -His son and biographer has told us, that as Charles was one evening at -Christmas time descending the stairs of his father’s house full dressed -for _dessert_--his father, a London surgeon, lived in rather high -style--he saw a slatternly woman seated on one of the chairs in the -hall, with a boy standing by her side dressed in fantastic garb, with -the blackest and most penetrating eyes he had ever beheld in human -head. His first impression was that the two were strolling gipsies who -had come for medical advice. Charles Young, we are told, ‘was soon -undeceived, for he had no sooner taken his place by his father’s side -than, to his surprise, the master, instead of manifesting displeasure, -smirked and smiled, and, with an air of self-complacent patronage, -desired his butler to bring in the boy. On his entry he was taken by -the hand, patted on the head, and requested to favour the company with -a specimen of his histrionic ability. With a self-possession marvellous -in one so young he stood forth, knitted his brows, hunched up one -shoulder-blade, and with sardonic grin and husky voice spouted forth -Gloster’s opening soliloquy in “Richard the Third.” He then recited -selections from some of our minor British poets, both grave and gay; -danced a hornpipe; sang songs, both comic and pathetic; and, for fully -an hour, displayed such versatility as to elicit vociferous applause -from his auditory and substantial evidence of its sincerity by a shower -of crown pieces and shillings, a napkin having been opened and spread -upon the floor for their reception. The accumulated treasury having -been poured into the gaping pockets of the lad’s trousers, with a smile -of gratified vanity and grateful acknowledgment he withdrew, rejoined -his tatterdemalion friend in the hall, and left the house rejoicing. -The door was no sooner closed than the guests desired to know the name -of the youthful prodigy who had so astonished them. The host replied -that this was not the first time he had had him to amuse his friends; -that he knew nothing of the lad’s history or antecedents, but that his -name was Edmund Kean, and that of the woman who seemed to have charge -of him and was his supposititious mother, Carey.’ This pretty scene, -described by the Rev. Julian Young, had a supplement to it of which he -was not aware. ‘She took all from me,’ was Edmund Kean’s cry when he -used to tell similar incidents of his hard youthful times. - -While Edmund was thus struggling, Master Betty had leaped into fame. -Irish managers were ready to fight duels for the possession of him. -When the announcement went forth that Mr. Frederick Jones, of the Crow -Street Theatre, Dublin, was the possessor of the youthful phenomenon -for nine nights, there was a rush of multitudes to secure places, with -twenty times more applicants than places. There was ferocious fighting -for what could be secured, and much spoliation, with peril of life and -damage to limb, and an atmosphere filled with thunder and lightning, -delightful to the Dublin mind. - -On November 29, 1803, Master Betty, not in his own name, but simply -as a ‘young gentleman, only twelve years of age,’ made his _début_ -in Dublin as Douglas. The play-bill, indeed, did add, ‘his admirable -talents have procured him the deserved appellation of the INFANT -ROSCIUS.’ As there were sensitive people in Dublin who remembered that -Dublin itself was in what would now be called a state of siege, and -that it was unlawful to be out after a certain hour in the evening, -these were won over by this delicious announcement: ‘The public are -respectfully informed that no person coming from the theatre will -be stopped till after eleven o’clock.’ This was the time, too, when -travellers were induced to trust themselves to mail and stagecoaches -by the assurance that the vehicles were made proof against shot. There -was no certainty the travellers would not be fired at, but the comfort -was that if the bullets did not go through the window and kill the -travellers, they could not much injure the vehicle itself! - -There was the unheard-of sum of four hundred pounds in that old Crow -Street Theatre on that November night. The university students in the -gallery, who generally made it rattle with their wit, were silent -as soon as the curtain rose. The Dublin audience was by no means an -audience easy to please, or one that would befool itself by passing -mediocrity with the stamp of genius upon it. ‘Douglas,’ too, is a -tragedy that must be attentively listened to, to be enjoyed, and -enjoyment is out of the question if the poetry of the piece be a lost -beauty to the deliverer of the lines. On this night, Dublin ratified -the Belfast verdict. The graceful boy excited the utmost enthusiasm, -and the manager offered him an engagement at an increasing salary, -for any number of years. The offer was wisely declined by Master -Betty’s father, and the ‘Infant Roscius’ went on his bright career. -He played one other part, admirably suited to him in every respect, -Prince Arthur, in ‘King John,’ and he fairly drowned the house in tears -with it. Frederick, in ‘Lovers’ Vows,’ and Romeo, were only a trifle -beyond his age, not at all beyond his grasp, though love-making was the -circumstance which he could the least satisfactorily portray. A boy -sighing like furnace to young beauty must have seemed as ridiculous as -a Juliet of fifty, looking older than the Nurse, and who, one would -think, ought to be ashamed of herself to be out in a balcony at that -time of night, talking nonsense with that young fellow with a feather -in his cap and a sword on his thigh! Dublin wits made fun of Master -Betty’s wooing, and were epigrammatic upon it in the style of Martial, -and saucy actresses seized the same theme to air their saucy wit. These -casters of stones from the roadside could not impede the boy’s triumph. -He produced immense effect, even in Thomson’s dreary ‘Tancred,’ but I -am sorry to find it asserted that he acted Hamlet, after learning the -part in three days. The great Betterton, greatest of the great masters -of their art, used to say that he had acted Hamlet and studied it for -fifty years, and had not got to the bottom of its philosophy even -then. However, the boy’s remarkable gifts made his Hamlet successful. -There was a rare comedian who played with him, Richard Jones, with -a cast in one eye. Accomplished Dick, whose only serious fault was -excess in peppermint lozenges, acted Osric, Count Cassel, and Mercutio, -in three of the pieces in which Master Betty played the principal -characters. What a glorious true comedian was Dick! After delighting a -whole generation with his comedy, Jones retired. He taught clergymen -to read the Lord’s Prayer as if they were in earnest, and to deliver -the messages of the Gospel as if they believed in them; and in this -way Dick Jones did as much for the church as any of the bishops or -archbishops of his time. - -It is to be noted here that Master Betty’s first appearance in Dublin -in 1803 was a more triumphant matter than John Kemble’s in 1781. This -was in the older Smock Alley Theatre. The alley was so called from the -Sallys who most did congregate there. He played high comedy as well -as tragedy; but, says Mr. Gilbert, in his ‘History of Dublin,’ ‘his -negligent delivery and heaviness of deportment impeded his progress -until these defects were removed by the instruction of his friend, -Captain Jephson.’ Is not this delicious? Fancy John Kemble being -made an actor by a half-pay captain who had written a tragedy! This -tragedy was called the ‘Count of Narbonne,’ and therein, says Gilbert, -‘Kemble’s reputation was first established.’ It was not on a very firm -basis, for John was engaged only on the modest salary of 5_l._ a week! - -Master Betty’s progress through the other parts of Ireland was as -completely successful as at Dublin and Belfast. Mrs. Pero engaged -him for six nights at Cork. His terms here were one-fourth of the -receipts and one clear benefit, that is to say, the whole of the -receipts free of expense. As the receipts rarely exceeded ten pounds, -the prospects were not brilliant. But, with Master Betty, the ‘houses’ -reached one hundred pounds. The smaller receipts may have arisen from -a circumstance sufficient to keep an audience away. There was a Cork -tailor hanged for robbery; but, after he was cut down, a Cork actor, -named Glover, succeeded, by friction and other means, in bringing him -to life again! On the same night, and for many nights, the tailor, -drunk and unhanged, _would_ go to the theatre and publicly acknowledge -the service of Mr. Glover in bringing him to life again! And it _is_ -said that he was the third tailor who had outlived hanging during ten -years! - -There was no ghastly interruption of the performance of the Roscius. -The engagement was extended to nine nights, and the one which followed -at Waterford was equally successful. As he proceeded, Master Betty -studied and extended his _répertoire_. He added to his list Octavian, -and on his benefit nights he played in the farce, on one occasion Don -Carlos in ‘Lovers’ Quarrels,’ on another Captain Flash in ‘Miss in -her Teens.’ Subsequently, in Londonderry, the flood of success still -increasing, the pit could only be entered at box prices. Master Betty -played in Londonderry long before the time when a Mr. MacTaggart, -an old citizen, used to be called upon between the acts to give his -unbiassed critical opinions on the performances. It was the rarest fun -for the house, and the most painful wholesomeness for the actors, Frank -Connor and his father, Villars, Fitzsimons, Cunningham, O’Callaghan, -and clever Miss M’Keevor (with her pretty voice and sparkling one eye), -to hear the stern and salubrious criticism of Mr. MacTaggart, at the -end of which there was a cry for the tune of ‘No Surrender!’ Not to -wound certain susceptibilities, and yet be national, the key-bugle -gentleman, who was half the orchestra, generally played ‘Norah Creena,’ -and thus the play proceeded merrily. - -Master Betty played Zanga at Londonderry, and he passed thence to -Glasgow, where for fourteen nights he attracted crowded audiences, and -added to his other parts Richard the Third, which he must have learnt -as he sailed from Belfast up the Clyde. Jackson, the manager, went all -but mad with delight and full houses. He wrote an account of his new -treasure in terms more transcendent than ‘the transcendent boy’ himself -could accept. Had Young Roscius been a divinity descended upon earth, -the rhapsody could not have been more highly pitched; but it was fully -endorsed by nine-tenths of the Glasgow people, and when a bold fellow -ventured to write a satirical philippic against the divine idol of -the hour, he was driven out of the city as guilty of something like -sacrilege, profanation, and general unutterable wickedness. - -On May 21, 1804, the transcendental Mr. Jackson was walking on the High -Bridge, Edinburgh, when he met an old gentleman of some celebrity, the -Rev. Mr. Home. ‘Sir,’ said Jackson, ‘your play, “Douglas,” is to be -acted to-night with a new and wonderful actor. I hope you will come -down to the house.’ Forty-eight years before (1756) Home had gone -joyously down to the Edinburgh Theatre to see his ‘Douglas’ represented -for the first time. West Digges (not Henry West Betty) was the Norval, -and the house was half full of ministers of the Kirk, who got into a -sea of troubles for presuming to see acted a play written by a fellow -in the ministry. - -The Lady Randolph was Mrs. Ward, daughter of a player of the Betterton -period, and mother, I think, of Mrs. Roger Kemble. On that night one -enthusiastic Scotsman was so delighted that at the end of the fourth -act he arose and roared aloud, ‘Where’s Wully Shakespeare noo?’ Home -had also seen Spranger Barry in the hero (he was the original Norval -(Douglas) on the play being first acted in 1757 in London). Home was -an aged man in 1804, and lived in retirement. He did not know his -‘Douglas’ was to be played, nor had he ever heard of Master Betty! -Never heard of him whom Jackson said he had been presented to Earth by -Heaven and Nature! ‘The pleasing movements of his perfect and divine -nature,’ said Jackson, ‘were incorporated in his person previous to -his birth.’ Home could not refuse to go and see this phenomenon. He -stipulated to have his old place at the wing, that is, behind the stage -door, partially opened, so that he could see up the stage. The old man -was entirely overcome. Digges and Barry, he declared, were leather and -prunella compared with this inspired child who acted his Norval as he -the author had conceived it. Home’s enthusiasm was so excited that, -when Master Betty was summoned by the ‘thunders’ of applause and the -‘hurricane’ of approbation to appear before the audience, Home tottered -forward also, tears streaming from his eyes, and rapture beaming on -his venerable countenance. The triumph was complete. The most impartial -critics especially praised the boy’s conception of the poet, and it was -the highest praise they could give. Between June 28 and August 9 he -acted fifteen times, often under the most august patronage that could -be found in Edinburgh. For the first time he played Selim (Achmet) in -‘Barbarossa’ during this engagement, and with such effect as to make -him more the ‘darling’ than ever of duchesses and ladies in general. -Four days after the later date named above, the marvellous boy stood -before a Birmingham audience, whither he had gone covered with kisses -from Scottish beauties, and laden with the approval, counsel, and -blessing of Lords of Session. - -Mr. Macready, father of the lately deceased actor, bargained for the -Roscius, and overreached himself. He thought 10_l._ a night too much! -He proposed that he should deduct 60_l._ from each night’s receipts, -and that Master Betty should take half of what remained. The result was -that Roscius got 50_l._ nightly instead of 10_l._ The first four nights -were not overcrowded, but the boy grew on the town, and at last upon -the whole country. Stage-coaches were advertised specially to carry -parties from various distances to the Birmingham Theatre. The highest -receipt was 266_l._ to his Richard. Selim was the next. 261_l._ The -lowest receipt was also to his Richard. On the first night he played -it there was only 80_l._ in the house. He left Birmingham with the -assurance of a local poet that he was Cooke, Kemble, Holman, Garrick, -all in one. Sheffield was delighted to have him at raised prices of -admission. He made his first appearance to deliver a rhymed deprecatory -address, in reference to wide-cast ridicule on his being a mere boy, in -which were these lines: - - - When at our Shakespeare’s shrine my swelling heart - Bursts forth and claims some kindred tear to start, - Frown not, if I avow that falling tear - Inspires my soul and bids me persevere. - - -His Hamlet drew the highest sum at Sheffield, 140_l._; his Selim the -lowest, 60_l._, which was just doubled when he played the same part -for his own benefit. London had caught curiosity, if not enthusiasm, -to see him; the Sheffield hotels became crowded with London families, -and ‘Six-inside coaches to see the Young Roscius’ plied at Doncaster -to carry people from the races. At Liverpool there were riots and -spoliation at the box-office. At Chester wild delight. At Manchester -tickets were put up to lottery. At Stockport he played morning and -evening, and travelled after it all night to play at Leicester, where -he also acted on some occasions twice in one day! and where every lady -who could write occasional verses showered upon him a very deluge of -rhyme. - -November had now been reached. In that month John Kemble, who is -supposed to have protested against the dignity of the stage being -lowered by a speaking puppet, wrote a letter to Mr. Betty. In this -letter John said: ‘I could not deny myself the satisfaction I feel in -knowing I shall soon have the happiness of welcoming you and Master -Betty to Covent Garden Theatre. Give me leave to say how heartily -I congratulate the stage on the ornament and support it is, by the -judgment of all the world, to receive from Master Betty’s extraordinary -talents and exertions.’ After this we may dismiss as nonsense the lofty -talk about the Kemble feeling as to the dignity of the stage being -wounded. Mr. Kemble and Mrs. Siddons would not play in the same piece -with Master Betty, as Jones, Charles Young, Miss Smith (Mrs. Bartley), -and others had done in the country, but Mr. Kemble (as manager) -was delighted that the Covent Garden treasury should profit by the -extraordinary talents of a boy whom the Kemble followers continually -depreciated. - -On Saturday, December 1, 1804, Master Betty appeared at Covent Garden -in the character of Selim. Soon after mid-day the old theatre--the -one which Rich had built and to which he transferred his company from -Lincoln’s Inn Fields--was beset by a crowd which swelled into a -multitude, not one in ten of whom succeeded in fighting his way into -the house when the doors were opened. Such a struggle--sometimes for -life--had never been known. Even in the house strong men fainted like -delicate girls; an hour passed before the shrieks of the suffering -subsided, and we are even told that ‘the ladies in one or two boxes -were employed almost the whole night in fanning the gentlemen who were -behind them in the pit!’ The only wonder is that the excited multitude, -faint for want of air, irritable by being overcrowded, and fierce in -struggling for space which no victor in the struggle could obtain, ever -was subdued to a condition of calm sufficient to enable them to enjoy -the ‘rare delight’ within reach. However, in the second act Master -Betty appeared--modest, self-possessed, and not at all moved out of -his assumed character by the tempest of welcome which greeted him. -From first to last, he ‘electrified’ the audience. He never failed, we -are told, whenever he aimed at making a point. His attention to the -business of the stage was that of a careful and conscientious veteran. -His acting denoted study. His genius won applause--not his age, and -youthful grace. There was ‘conception,’ rather than ‘instruction’ to -be seen in all he did and said. His undertones could be heard at the -very back of the galleries. The pathos, the joy, the exultation of -a part (once so favourite a part with young actors), enchanted the -audience. That they felt all these things sincerely is proved by the -fact that--as one newspaper critic writes--‘the audience could not -lower their minds to attend to the farce, which was not suffered to be -concluded.’ - -The theatrical career of his ‘Young Roscius’ period amounted to this. -He played at both houses in London from December 1804 to April 1805, in -a wide range of characters, and supported by some of the first actors -of the day. He then played in every town of importance throughout -England and Scotland. He returned to London for the season 1805-6, and -acted twenty-four nights at each theatre, at fifty guineas a night. -Subsequently he acted in the country; and finally, he took leave of the -stage at Bath in March 1808. Altogether, London possessed him but a few -months. The madness which prevailed about him was ‘midsummer madness,’ -though it was but a short fit. That he himself did not go mad is the -great wonder. Princes of the blood called on him, the Lord Chancellor -invited him, nobles had him day after day to dinner, and the King -presented him to the Queen and Princesses in the room behind the Royal -box. Ladies carried him off to the Park as those of Charles II.’s time -did with Kynaston. When he was ill the sympathetic town rushed to read -his bulletins with tremulous eagerness. Portraits of him abounded, -presents were poured in upon him, poets and poetasters deafened the -ear about him, misses patted his beautiful hair and asked ‘locks’ from -him. The future King of France and Navarre, Count d’Artois, afterwards -Charles X., witnessed his performance, in French, of ‘Zaphna,’ at -Lady Percival’s; Gentleman Smith presented him with Garrick relics; -Cambridge University gave ‘Roscius’ as the subject for the Brown Prize -Medal, and the House of Commons adjourned, at the request of Pitt, -in order to witness his ‘Hamlet.’ At the Westminster Latin Play (the -‘Adelphi’ of Terence) he was present in a sort of royal state, and the -Archbishop of York all but publicly blest him. Some carping persons -remarked that the boy was too ignorant to understand a word of the play -that was acted in his presence. When it is remembered how Latin was and -is pronounced at Westminster, it is not too much to say that Terence -(had he been there) would not have understood much more of his own play -than Master Betty did. - -The boy reigned triumphantly through his little day, and the -professional critics generally praised to the skies his mental capacity -as well as his bodily endowments. They discovered beauty in both, -and it is to the boy’s credit that their praise did not render him -conceited. He studied new parts, and his attention to business, his -modesty, his boyish spirits in the green room, his docility, and -the respect he paid to older artists, were among the items of the -professional critic’s praise. - -Let us pass from the professional critics to the judgment of private -individuals of undoubted ability to form and give one (we have only to -premise that Master Betty played alternately at Covent Garden and Drury -Lane). And first, Lord Henley. Writing to Lord Auckland, on December 7, -1804, he says, ‘I went to see the Young Roscius with an unprejudiced -mind, or rather, perhaps, with the opinion you seem to have formed of -him, and left the theatre in the highest admiration of his wonderful -talents. As I scarcely remember Garrick, I may say (though there be, -doubtless, room for improvement) that I never saw such fine acting, -and yet the poor boy’s voice was that night a good deal affected by a -cold. I would willingly pay a guinea for a place on every night of his -appearing in a new character.’ - -Even Fox, intent as he was on public business, and absorbed by -questions of magnitude concerning his country, and of importance -touching himself, was caught by the general enthusiasm. There is a -letter of his, dated December 17, 1804, addressed to his ‘Dear Young -One,’ Lord Holland, who was then about thirty years old. The writer -urges his nephew to hasten from Spain to England, on account of the -serious parliamentary struggle likely to occur; adding, ‘there -is always a chance of questions in which the Prince of Wales is -particularly concerned;’ and subjoining the sagacious statesmanlike -remark: ‘It is very desirable that the power, strength, and union of -the Opposition should appear considerable while out of office, in order -that if ever they should come in it may be plain that they have an -existence of their own, and are not the mere creatures of the Crown.’ -But Fox breaks suddenly away from subjects of crafty statesmanship, -with this sentence: ‘Everybody here is mad about this Boy Actor, even -Uncle Dick is full of astonishment and admiration. We go to town -to-morrow to see him, and from what I have heard, I own I shall be -disappointed if he is not a prodigy.’ - -On the same day Fox wrote a letter from St. Anne’s Hill to the Hon. -C. Grey (the Lord Grey of the Reform Bill). It is bristling with -‘politicks,’ but between reference to party battles and remarks -on Burke, the statesman says: ‘Everybody is mad about this Young -Roscius, and we go to town to-morrow to see him. The accounts of him -seem incredible; but the opinion of him is nearly unanimous, and -Fitzpatrick, who went strongly prepossessed against him, was perfectly -astonished and full of admiration.’ - -We do not find any letter of Fox’s extant to tell us his opinion of -the ‘tenth wonder.’ We can go with him to the play, nevertheless. -‘While young Betty was in all his glory,’ says Samuel Rogers, in his -‘Table Talk,’ ‘I went with Fox and Mrs. Fox, after dining with them in -Arlington Street, to see him act Hamlet; and, during the play scene, -Fox, to my infinite surprise, said, “This is finer than Garrick!”’ Fox -would not have said so if he had not thought so. He did not say as -much to Master Betty, but he best proved his sympathy by sitting with -and reading to him passages from the great dramatists, mingled with -excellent counsel. - -Windham, the famous statesman, who as much loved to see a pugilistic -fight as Fox did to throw double sixes, and to whom a stroll in -Leicester Fields was as agreeable as an hour with an Italian poet -was to Fox--Windham hurried through the Fields to Covent Garden. His -diary for the year 1804 is lost; but in that for 1805 we come upon -his opinion of the attractive player, after visits in both years. On -January 31, 1805, there is this entry in his diary;--‘Went, according -to arrangement, with Elliot and Grenville to play; Master Betty in -Frederick’ (‘Lovers’ Vows’). ‘Lord Spencer, who had been shooting -at Osterley, came afterwards. Liked Master B. better than before, -but still inclined to my former opinion; his action certainly very -graceful, except now and then that he is a little tottering on his -legs, and his recitation just, but his countenance not expressive; his -voice neither powerful nor pleasing.’ - -The criticisms of actors were generally less favourable. Kemble was -‘riveted,’ we are told, by the acting of Master Betty; but he was -contemptuously silent. Mrs. Siddons, according to Campbell, ‘never -concealed her disgust at the popular infatuation.’ At the end of the -play Lord Abercorn came into her box and told her that that boy, Betty, -would eclipse everything which had been called acting, in England. ‘My -Lord,’ she answered, ‘he is a very clever, pretty boy; but nothing -more.’ Mrs. Siddons, however, was meanly jealous of all that stood -between her and the public. When Mrs. Siddons was young, she was -jealous of grand old Mrs. Crawford. When Mrs. Siddons was old, and -had retired, she was jealous of young Miss O’Neill. She querulously -said that the public were fond of setting up new idols in order to -annoy their former favourites. George Frederick Cooke who had played -Glenalvon to Master Betty’s Norval--played it finely too, at his very -best--and could not crush the boy, after whom everybody was repeating -the line he made so famous, - - - The blood of Douglas can protect itself! - - ---Cooke alluded to him in his diary, for 1811, thus: ‘I was visited -by Master Payne, the American Young Roscius; I thought him a polite, -sensible youth, and the reverse of our Young Roscius.’ This was an -ebullition of irritability. Even those who could not praise Roscius -as a tenth wonder, acknowledged his courtesy and were struck by his -good common sense. Boaden, who makes the singular remark that ‘all -the favouritism, and more than the innocence, of former patronesses -was lavished on him,’ also tells us more intelligibly, that Master -Betty ‘never lost the genuine modesty of his carriage; and his temper, -at least, was as steady as his diligence.’ One actor said, ‘Among -clever boys he would have been a Triton among minnows;’ but Mrs. -Inchbald remarked, ‘Had I never seen boys act, I might have thought -him extraordinary.’ ‘Baby-faced child!’ said Campbell. ‘Handsome face! -graceful figure! marvellous power!’ is the testimony of Mrs. Mathews. -The most unbiassed judgment I can find is Miss Seward’s, who wrote thus -of him in 1804, after seeing him as Osman in ‘Zara’: ‘It could not have -been conceived or represented with more grace, sensibility, and fire, -though he is veritably an effeminate boy of thirteen; but his features -are cast in a diminutive mould, particularly his nose and mouth. -This circumstance must at every period of life be injurious to stage -effect; nor do I think his ear for blank verse faultless. Like Cooke, -he never fails to give the passions their whole force, by gesture -and action natural and just; but he does not do equal justice to the -harmony. It is, I think, superfluous to look forward to the mature -fruit of this luxuriant blossom.’ Miss Seward was right; but she was -less correct in her prophecy, ‘He will not live to bear it. Energies -various and violent will blast in no short time the vital powers, -evidently delicate.’ He survived this prophecy just seventy years! One -other opinion of him I cannot forbear adding. It is Elliston’s, and -it is in the very loftiest of Robert William’s manner, who was born a -little more than one hundred years ago! ‘Sir, my opinion of the young -gentleman’s talents will never transpire during my life. I have written -my convictions down. They have been attested by competent witnesses, -and sealed and deposited in the iron safe at my banker’s, to be drawn -forth and opened, with other important documents, at my death. The -world will then know what Mr. Elliston thought of Master Betty!’ - -The Young Roscius withdrew from the stage and entered Christ’s College, -Cambridge. He there enjoyed quiet study and luxurious seclusion. -Meanwhile that once boy with the flashing eyes, Edmund Kean, had got a -modest post at the Haymarket, where he played Rosencrantz to Mr. Rae’s -Hamlet. He had also struggled his way to Belfast, and had acted Osman -to Mrs. Siddons’ Zara. ‘He plays well, very well,’ said the lady: ‘but -there is too little of him to make a great actor.’ Edmund, too, had -married ‘Mary Chambers,’ at Stroud, and Mr. Beverley had turned the -young couple out of his company, ‘to teach them not to do it again!’ -In 1812, ‘Mr. Betty,’ come to man’s estate, returned to the stage, at -Bath. A few months previously Mr. and Mrs. Kean were wandering from -town to town. In rooms, to which the public were invited by written -bills, in Kean’s hand, they recited scenes from plays and sang duets; -and _he_ trilled songs, spoke soliloquies, danced hornpipes, and gave -imitations!--and starved, and hoped--and would by no means despair. - -Mr. Betty’s second career lasted from 1812 to 1824, when he made his -last bow at Southampton, as the Earl of Warwick. Within the above -period he acted at Covent Garden, in 1812 and 1813. He proved to be a -highly ‘respectable’ actor; but the phenomenon no longer existed. His -last performance in London was in June 1813, when he played ‘Richard -III.’ and ‘Tristram Fickle’ for his benefit. In the following January -Edmund Kean, three years his senior, took the town by storm in Shylock, -and made his conquest good by his incomparable Richard. The genius of -Mr. Betty left him with his youth. Edmund Kean drowned his genius in -wine and rioting before his manhood was matured. Forty-eight years -have elapsed since he was carried to his grave in Richmond churchyard. -Honoured and regretted, all that was mortal of the once highly-gifted -boy, who lived to be a venerable and much-loved old man, ‘fourscore -years and upwards,’ was borne to his last resting-place in the cemetery -at Highgate. _Requiescat in pace!_ - - - - -_CHARLES YOUNG AND HIS TIMES._ - - -Charles Mayne Young, one of the last of the school of noble actors, -has found a biographer in his son, the Rev. Julian Young, Rector of -Ilmington. Here we have stage and pulpit in happy and not unusual -propinquity. There was a time when the clergy had the drama entirely -to themselves; they were actors, authors, and managers. The earliest -of them all retired to the monastery of St. Alban, after his theatre -at Dunstable had been burnt down, at the close of a squib-and-rocket -sort of drama on the subject of St. Theresa. At the Reformation the -stage became secularised, the old moralities died out, and the new -men and pieces were denounced as wicked by the ‘unco righteous’ among -their dramatic clerical predecessors. Nevertheless, the oldest comedy -of worldly manners we possess--‘Ralph Roister Doister’--was the work of -the Rev. Dr. Nicholas Udall, in 1540. During the three centuries and -nearly a half which have elapsed since that time, clergymen have ranked -among the best writers for the stage. The two most successful tragedies -of the last century were the Rev. Dr. Young’s ‘Revenge,’ and the Rev. -J. Home’s ‘Douglas.’ In the present century few comedies have made such -a sensation as the Rev. Dr. Croly’s ‘Pride shall have a Fall,’ but -the sensation was temporary, the comedy only illustrating local and -contemporary incidents. - -A dozen other ‘Reverends’ might be cited who have more or less adorned -dramatic literature, and there are many instances of dramatic artists -whose sons or less near kinsmen having taken orders in the Church. -When Sutton, in the pulpit of St. Mary Overy, A.D. 1616, denounced -the stage, Nathaniel Field, the eminent actor, published a letter to -the preacher, in which Field said that in the player’s trade there -were corruptions as there were in all others; he implied, as Overbury -implied, that the actor was not to be judged by the dross of the craft, -but by the purer metal. Field anticipated Fielding’s Newgate Chaplain, -who upheld ‘Punch’ on the same ground that the comedian upheld the -stage--that it was nowhere spoken against in Scripture! The year 1616 -was the year in which Shakespeare died. It is commonly said that the -players of Shakespeare’s time were of inferior birth and culture, -but Shakespeare himself was of a well-conditioned family, and this -Nathaniel Field who stood up for the honour of the stage against the -censure of the pulpit, had for brother that Rev. Theophilus Field -who was successively Bishop of Llandaff, St. David’s, and Hereford. -Charles Young was not the only actor of his day who gave a son to the -Church. His old stage-manager at Bath, Mr. Charlton, saw not only his -son but his grandsons usefully employed in the more serious vocation. -As for sons of actors at the universities, they have seldom been -wanting, from William Hemming (son of John Hemming, the actor, and -joint-editor with Condell of the folio edition of Shakespeare’s Works), -who took his degree at Oxford in 1628, down to Julian Charles Young, -son of the great tragedian, who took his degree in the same university -two centuries later; or, to be precise, A.D. 1827. - -Charles Mayne Young, who owed his second name to the circumstance of -his descent from the regicide who was so called, was born in Fenchurch -Street, in 1777. His father was an able surgeon and a reckless -spendthrift. Before the household fell into ruin, Charles Young had -passed a holiday year, partly at the Court of Copenhagen. He had -seen a boy with flashing eyes play bits from Shakespeare before the -guests at his father’s table--a strolling, fantastically-dressed, -intellectual boy, whose name was Edmund Kean. Further, Charles Young -saw and appreciated, at the age of twelve, Mrs. Siddons as the mother -of Coriolanus. He also passed through Eton and Merchant Taylors’. -When the surgeon’s household was broken up, and Young and his two -brothers took their ill-used mother to their own keeping, they adopted -various courses for her and their own support, and all of them -succeeded. Charles Young, after passing a restless novitiate in a -merchant’s office (the more restless, probably, as he thought of two -personages--the bright, gipsy-looking boy who had acted in his father’s -dining-room, and the Volumnia of Mrs. Siddons, as she triumphed in the -tragedy of Coriolanus), went upon the stage, triumphed in his turn, and -assumed the sole guardianship and support of the mother he loved. - -Young’s father was a remarkably detestable person. He never seems to -have forgiven his sons for the affection which they manifested towards -their mother. After the separation of the parents, George Young, the -eldest son, was in a stage-coach going to Hackney; on the road, a -stranger got in, took the only vacant seat, and, on seeing George -Young opposite to him, struck him a violent blow in the face. George -quietly called to the coachman to stop, and without exchanging a word -with the stranger, got out, to the amazement of the other passengers. -But, as he closed the door, he looked in and simply said, ‘Ladies and -gentlemen, that is my father!’ In 1807, when Charles Young made his -first appearance in London, at the Haymarket, as Hamlet, his father sat -ensconced in a corner of the house, and hissed him! Neither the blow -nor the hiss did more than momentarily wound the feelings of the sons. - -Before Young came up to London, he had seen some of the sunshine and -some of the bitterness of life. He married the young, beautiful, and -noble woman and actress, Julia Grimani. They had a brief, joyous, -married time of little more than a year, when the birth of a son was -the death of the mother. For the half-century that Young survived her -no blandishment of woman ever led him to be untrue to her memory. To -look with tears on her miniature-portrait, to touch tenderly some -clustered locks of her hair, to murmur some affectionate word of -praise, and, finally, to thank God that he should soon be with her, -showed how young heart-feelings had survived in old heart-memories. - -Charles Young adorned the English stage from 1807 to 1832. Because -he acted with the Kembles he is sometimes described as being of the -Kemble school. In a great theatre the leading player is often imitated -throughout the house. There was a time when everybody employed at Drury -Lane seemed a double of Mr. Macready. Charles Young, however, was an -original actor. It took him but five years to show that he was equal -in some characters to John Kemble himself. This was seen in 1812, in -his Cassius to Kemble’s Brutus. On that occasion Terry is said to -have been the Casca--a part which was really played by Fawcett. About -ten years later, Young left the Covent Garden company and 25_l._ a -week, for Drury Lane and 50_l._ a night, to play in the same pieces -with Kean. The salary proved that the manager thought him equal in -attractiveness to Kean; and Kean was, undoubtedly, somewhat afraid of -him. Young’s secession was as great a loss to the company he had been -acting with, as Compton’s has been to the Haymarket company. In both -cases, a perfect artist withdrew from the brotherhood. - -Young was fifteen years upon the London stage before he could free -himself from nervousness--nervousness, not merely like that of Mrs. -Siddons, before going on, but when fairly in face of the audience. In -1826, he told Moore, at a dinner of the Anacreontics, that any close -observer of his acting must have been conscious of a great improvement -therein, dating from the previous four years. That is to say, dating -from the time when he first played in the same piece with Edmund Kean. -The encounter with that great master of his art seems to have braced -Young’s nerves. Kean could not extinguish him as he extinguished Booth -when those two acted together in the same play. Edmund, who spoke of -Macready as ‘a player,’ acknowledged Young to be ‘an actor.’ Kean -confessed Young’s superiority in Iago, and he could not bear to think -of playing either that character or Pierre after him. Edmund believed -in the greater merit of his own Othello. Young allowed that Kean had -genius, but he was not enthusiastic in his praise; and Edmund, whose -voice in tender passages was exquisite music, referred to the d----d -musical voice of Young; and in his irritable moments spake of him as -‘that Jesuit!’ - -The greatest of Young’s original characters was his Rienzi. In Miss -Mitford’s tragedy, Young pronounced ‘Rome’ _Room_. Many old play-goers -can recollect how ill the word fell from his musical lips. John Kemble -would never allow an actor in his company to give other utterance to -the monosyllable. It was a part of the vicious and fantastic utterances -of the Kemble family. Leigh Hunt has furnished a long list of them. -Shakespeare, indeed, has ‘Now it is Rome indeed, and room enough,’ as -Cassius says. But in ‘Henry VI.,’ when Beaufort exclaims, ‘Rome shall -remedy this!’ Warwick replies, ‘_Roam_ thither, then!’ The latter -jingle is far more common than the former. We agree with Genest, ‘Let -the advocates for _Room_ be consistent. If the city is _Room_, the -citizens are certainly _Roomans_.’ They who would have any idea how -John Kemble mutilated the pronunciation of the English language on the -stage, have only to consult the appendix to Leigh Hunt’s ‘Critical -Essays on the Performers of the London Theatres.’ Such pronunciation -seems now more appropriate to burlesque than to Shakespeare. - -When the idea was first started of raising a statue in honour of -Kemble, Talma wrote to ‘mon cher Young,’ expressing his wish to be -among the subscribers. ‘In that idea I recognise your countrymen,’ -said Talma. ‘I shall be too fortunate here if the priests leave me a -grave in my own garden.’ The Comte de Soligny, or the author who wrote -under that name, justly said in his ‘Letters on England,’ that Young -was unlike any actor on the stage. His ornamental style had neither -model nor imitators. ‘I cannot help thinking,’ writes the Count, ‘what -a sensation Young would have created had he belonged to the French -instead of the English stage. With a voice almost as rich, powerful, -and sonorous as that of Talma--action more free, flowing, graceful, and -various; a more expressive face, and a better person--he would have -been hardly second in favour and attraction to that grandest of living -actors. As it is, he admirably fills up that place on the English stage -which would have been a blank without him.’ This is well and truly -said, and it is applicable to ‘Gentleman Young’ throughout his whole -career--a period during which he played a vast variety of characters, -from Hamlet to Captain Macheath. He was not one of those players who -were always in character. Between the scenes of his most serious parts -he would keep the green-room merry with his stories, and be serious -again as soon as his part required him. Young’s modest farewell to the -stage reminds us of Garrick’s. The latter took place on June 10, 1776. -The play was ‘The Wonder,’ Don Felix by Garrick; with ‘The Waterman.’ -The bill is simply headed, ‘The last time of the company’s performing -this season,’ and it concludes with these words: ‘The profits of this -night being appropriated to the benefit of the Theatrical Fund, the -Usual Address upon that Occasion Will be spoken by Mr. Garrick before -the Play.’ The bill is now before us, and not a word in it refers to -the circumstance that it was the last night that Garrick would ever -act, and that he would take final leave after the play. All the world -was supposed to know it. The only intimation that something unusual -was on foot is contained in the words, ‘Ladies are desired to send -their servants a little after 5, to keep places, to prevent confusion.’ -Garrick’s farewell speech is stereotyped in all dramatic memories. His -letter to Clutterbuck in the previous January is not so familiar. He -says, ‘I have at last slipt my theatrical shell, and shall be as fine -and free a gentleman as you should wish to see upon the South or North -Parade of Bath. I have sold my moiety of patent, &c., for 35,000_l._, -to Messrs. Dr. Ford, Ewart, Sheridan, and Linley.... I grow somewhat -older, though I never played better in all my life, and am resolved -not to remain upon the stage to be pitied instead of applauded!’ -Garrick was sixty years of age when he left the stage. Young was five -years less. In his modest farewell speech, after the curtain had -descended on his Hamlet, he said, ‘It has been asked why I retire -from the stage while still in possession of whatever qualifications -I could ever pretend to unimpaired. I will give you my _motives_, -although I do not know you will accept them as _reasons_--but reason -and feeling are not always cater-cousins. I feel then the toil and -excitement of my calling weigh more heavily upon me than formerly; and, -if my qualifications are unimpaired, so I would have them remain in -your estimate.... I am loth to remain before my patrons until I have -nothing better to present them than tarnished metal.’ Among Young’s -after-enjoyments was that of music. We well remember his always early -presence in the front row of the pit at the old Opera House, and the -friendly greetings that used to be exchanged between him and Mori, -Nicholson, Linley, Dragonetti, and other great instrumentalists, as -they made their appearance in the orchestra. - -_Some_ theatrical impulses never abandoned him. During his retirement -at Brighton, he was a constant attendant on the ministry of Mr. -Sortain. ‘Mr. Bernal Osborne told me he was one day shown into -the same pew with my father, whom he knew. He was struck with his -devotional manner during the prayers and by his rapt attention during -the sermon. But he found himself unable to maintain his gravity when, -as the preacher paused to take breath after a long and eloquent -outburst, the habits of the actor’s former life betrayed themselves, -and he uttered in a deep undertone, the old familiar “_Bravo!_”’ As a -sample of his cheerfulness of character, we may quote what Mr. Cole -says of Young, in the life of Charles Kean:--‘Not long before he left -London for his final residence at Brighton, he called, with one of his -grandsons, to see the writer of these pages, who had long enjoyed his -personal friendship, and who happened at the moment to be at dinner -with his family. “Tell them,” he said to the servant, “not to hurry; -but when they are at leisure, there are two little boys waiting to see -them.”’ - -A quiet humour seems to have been among the characteristics of a life -which generally was marked by unobtrusive simplicity and moral purity. -A man who, when a boy, had been at Eton and Merchant Taylors’ could -not have been ignorant of such a fact as the Punic War, though he may -have forgotten the date. He was once turned to by a lady at table -(she had been discussing history with the guest on her other side), -and she suddenly asked Young to tell her the date of the Second Punic -War. Young frankly replied in one of his most tragic tones; ‘Madam, -I don’t know anything about the Punic War, and what is more, I never -did! My inability to answer your question has wrung from me the same -confession which I once heard made by a Lancashire farmer, with an -air of great pride, when appealed to by a party of his friends in a -commercial room, “I tell you what, in spite of all your bragging, I’ll -wedger (wager) I’m th’ ignorantest man in t’ coompany!”’ There can be -little doubt that many of the stories of mistakes made by actors may be -traced to him. Among them, perhaps, that of the player who, invariably, -for ‘poisoned cup,’ said ‘coisoned pup;’ and who, once pronouncing it -correctly, was hissed for his pains. Thence too perhaps came the tale -of him who, instead of saying, - - - How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is, - To have a thankless child, - - -exclaimed: - - - How sharper than a serpent’s _thanks_ it is, - To have a _toothless_ child. - - -Whatever may be the source of such stories, it is certain that Young’s -criticisms of others were always clear and generous. A few words tell -us of Mrs. Siddons’ Rosalind, that ‘it wanted neither playfulness nor -feminine softness; but it was totally without archness, not because -she did not properly conceive it--but how could such a countenance be -arch?’ Some one has said more irreverently of her Rosalind, that it -was like Gog in petticoats! Young looked back to the periods during -which he had what he called ‘the good fortune to act with her, as -the happiest of his own professional recollections.’ When he was a -boy of twelve years of age (1789), he saw Mrs. Siddons in Volumnia -(Coriolanus). Long after, he described her bearing in the triumphal -procession in honour of her son in this wise: ‘She came alone marching -and beating time to the music, rolling from side to side, swelling -with the triumph of her son. Such was the intoxication of joy which -flashed from her eye and lit up her whole face, that the effect was -irresistible. She seemed to me to reap all the glory of that procession -to herself. I could not take my eye from her. Coriolanus’ banner and -pageant, all went for nothing to me, after she had walked to her place.’ - -We have spoken of the unobtrusive simplicity and the moral purity of -this great actor’s life. Temptations sprang up about him. Young first -appeared on the stage when the old drinking days had not yet come to an -end. His name, however, never occurs among the annals of the fast and -furious revelries. John Kemble belonged to the old school and followed -its practices. He was not indeed fast and furious in his cups. He -was solemnly drunken as became an earnest tragedian. It is somewhere -told of him that he once went to Dicky Peake’s house half-cocked, at -half-past nine P.M.; Sheridan, he said, had appointed to meet him -there, and he would not neglect being in time for the world. Peake sat -him down to wine with Dunn the treasurer: the three got exceedingly -drunk, and all fell asleep, Kemble occupying the carpet. The tragedian -was the first to wake. He arose, opened the window shutters, and -dazzled by the morning sun-light roused his two companions, and -wondered as to the time of day. They soon heard eight strike. ‘Eight!’ -exclaimed Kemble; ‘this is too provoking of Sheridan; he is always -late in keeping his appointments; I don’t suppose he will come at all -now. If he _should_, tell him, my dear Dick, how long I waited for -him!’ Therewith, _exit_ John Philip, in a dreamy condition--leaving, at -all events, _some_ incidents out of which imaginative Dunn built this -illustrative story. - -Great writers in their own houses, like prophets among their own -people, proverbially lack much of the consideration they find abroad. -Mrs. Douglas Jerrold always wondered what it was people found in her -husband’s jokes to laugh at. It is _said_ that many years had passed -over the head of Burns’s son before the young man knew that his father -was famous as a poet. It is certain that Walter Scott’s eldest son had -arrived at more than manhood before he had the curiosity to read one -of his sire’s novels. He thought little of it when he had read it. -This want of appreciation the son derived from his mother. Once, when -Young was admiring the fashion of the ceiling, in Scott’s drawing-room -at Abbotsford, Lady Scott exclaimed in her droll Guernsey accent, ‘Ah! -Mr. Young, you may look up at the bosses in the ceiling, as long as you -like, but you must not look down at my poor carpet, for I am ashamed -of it. I must get Scott to write some more of his nonsense books and -buy me a new one!’ To those who remember the charm of Young’s musical -voice, Lady Dacre’s lines on his reciting ‘Tam o’ Shanter’ to the other -guests at Abbotsford, will present themselves without any thought of -differing from their conclusion, thus neatly put:-- - - - And Tam o’ Shanter roaring fou, - By thee embodied to our view, - The rustic bard would own sae true, - He scant could tell - Wha ’twas the livin’ picture drew, - Thou or himsel’! - - -It is a curious fact that Scott, harmonious poet as he was, had no ear -for music, unless it were that of a ballad, and he would repeat that -horribly out of tune. He was, however, in tune with all humanity; as -much so with a king as with the humblest of his subjects. When he went -on board the royal yacht which had arrived near Leith, with George -IV., amid such rain as only falls in Scotland, Scott, in an off-hand, -yet respectful way, told the king that the weather reminded him of -the stormy day of his own arrival in the Western Highlands, weather -which so disgusted the landlord of the inn, who was used to the very -worst, that he apologised for it. ‘Gude guide us! this is just awfu’! -Siccan a downpour, was ever the like! I really beg your pardon! I’m -sure it’s nae faut o’ mine. I canna think how it should happen to rain -this way just as you o’ a’ men i’ the warld should come to see us! It -looks amaist personal! I can only say, for my part, I’m just ashamed -o’ the weather!’ Having thus spoken to the king, Scott added; ‘I do -not know, sire, that I can improve upon the language of the honest -innkeeper. I canna think how it should rain this way, just as your -majesty, of all men in the world, should have condescended to come and -see us. I can only say in the name of my countrymen, I’m just ashamed -o’ the weather!’ It was at Scott’s petition that the royal landing was -deferred till the next day, which brought all the sunshine that was -considered necessary for the occasion. - -It is singular to find Charles Mathews, senior, writing of himself; -‘I only perform for one rank of persons. The lower orders hate and -avoid me, and the middle classes cannot comprehend me.’ He used to -get fun enough out of his own man-servant, whose awe and pride at -seeing a titled personage at his master’s house were amply stimulated -by friends of Mathews who visited him under assumed dignities. Charles -Kemble was always announced as the Persian Ambassador, Fawcett as -Sir Francis Burdett, and Young as the Duke of Wellington. One day, -a real Lord--Lord Ranelagh--called and sent in a message expressive -of his desire to see Mathews. Mathews, supposing the visitor was a -fellow-player passing as a peer, sent a reply that he was just then -busy with Lord Vauxhall. When Mr. Julian Young once told Mathews he was -going to Lord Dacres at the Hoo, the actor replied, _Who?_ and thinking -Bob Acres was raised to the peerage, begged to be remembered to Sir -Lucius O’Trigger! - -One of the most flattering kindnesses ever paid to the elder Mathews -was when he was once standing among the crowd in a Court of Assize, -where Judge Alan Park was presiding. His lordship sent a note down to -him, requesting him to come and take a seat on the bench. The actor -obeyed, and the judge was courteously attentive to him. Mathews was -subsequently the guest of his old friend Mr. Rolls, at whose house in -Monmouthshire the judge had previously been staying. The player asked -if his lordship had alluded to him. ‘Yes,’ said Rolls, who proceeded to -relate how Judge Park had been startled at seeing in court a fellow who -was in the habit of imitating the voice and manners of the judges on -the stage. Indeed, his imitation of Lord Ellenborough, in ‘Love, Law, -and Physic,’ had well nigh brought the imitator to grief. Park said the -presence of Mathews so troubled him that he invited the mimic to sit -near him, and behaved so kindly that he hoped the actor, out of simple -gratitude, would not include him in his Legal Portraits in comedy or -farce. - -Appreciation of the drama is neither strong nor clear in at least one -part of the vicinity of Shakespeare’s native town. After the busy -time of the ‘Tercentenary,’ Mr. Julian Young sent his servants to -the theatre in Stratford. They had never been in a playhouse before. -The piece represented was ‘Othello.’ On the following morning, -wishing to know the effect of the drama on his servants’ minds, -Mr. Julian Young questioned them in their several departments. The -butler was impressed to this effect: ‘Thank you, sir, for the treat. -The performers performed the performance which they had to perform -excellent well--especially the female performers--in the performance.’ -The more impulsive coachman, in the harness-room, exclaimed, ‘’Twas -really beautiful, sir; I liked it onaccountable!’ But when he was -asked what the play was about he frankly confessed he didn’t exactly -know; but that it was very pretty, and was upon sweet-hearting! On a -former occasion, when the gardener and his wife had been treated to -the Bristol Theatre, their master, on the next day, asked, ‘Well, -Robert, what did you see last night?’ The bewildered fellow replied, -after a pause, ‘Well, sir, I saw what you sent me to see!’ ‘What was -that?’ ‘Why, the play, in course.’ ‘Was it a tragedy or a comedy?’ -‘I don’t know what you mane. I can’t say no more than I have said, -nor no fairer! All I know is there was a precious lot on ’em on the -theayter stage; and there they was, in and out, and out and in again!’ -The wife had more definite ideas. She was all for the second piece, -she said, ‘The pantrymine, and what I liked best in it was where the -fool fellar stooped down and grinned at we through his legs!’ Good -creature! after all, her taste was in tune with that of King George -III., who thought Garrick fidgety, and who laughed himself into fits -at the clown who could get a whole bunch of carrots into his mouth, -and apparently swallow them, with supplementary turnips to make them -go down! The gardener’s wife, therefore, need not be ashamed. She is -not half so much called upon to blush as the wife of the treasurer -of Drury Lane Theatre, who was one of a score of professional ladies -and gentlemen dining together some forty years ago. The lady hearing -‘Venice Preserved’ named, made the remark that she believed ‘it was one -of Shakespeare’s plays, was it not?’ We have ourselves a bill of Drury -Lane, not ten years old, in which ‘Othello’ is announced as Bulwer’s -tragedy, &c.; but that, of course, was a misprint. On our showing it in -the green-room, however, not one of the performers saw the error! - -Let us now look at some of the other personages who figured in the -bygone period; and first, of kings. Poor old George III. cannot be said -at any time to have been ‘every inch a king.’ He was certainly not, by -nature, a cruel man. Yet he betrayed something akin to cruelty when, -on the night of the Lord George Gordon riots, an officer who had been -actively employed in suppressing the rioters waited on the king to -make his report. George III. hurried forward to meet him, crying out -with screaming iteration, ‘Well! well! well! I hope you peppered them -well! peppered them well! peppered them well!’ There may, however, have -been nothing more in this than there was in Wellington’s injunction -to his officers on the day that London was threatened with a Chartist -revolution, ‘Remember, gentlemen, there must be no little war.’ In such -cases humanity to revolutionists is lack of mercy to the friends of -order. - -It is well known that George III. had an insuperable aversion to Dr. -John Willis, who had attended him when the King was labouring under -his early intermitting attacks of insanity. Willis was induced to take -temporary charge of the King, on Pitt’s promise to make him a baronet -and give him a pension of 1,500_l._ a year--pleasant things which -never came to pass. Queen Charlotte hated Willis even more than the -King did. The physician earned that guerdon by putting George III. in -a strait waistcoat whenever he thought the royal violence required it. -The doctor took this step on his own responsibility. The Queen never -forgave him, and the King, as long as he had memory, never forgot it. -In 1811, when the fatal relapse occurred, brought on, Willis thought, -by Pitt’s persistent pressure of the Roman Catholic claims on the -King’s mind, the Chancellor and the Prince of Wales had some difficulty -in inducing the doctor to take charge of the sovereign. When Willis -entered that part of Windsor Castle which was inhabited by the King -he heard the monarch humming a favourite song in his room. A moment -after George III. crossed the threshold on to the landing-place. He -was in Windsor uniform as to his coat, blue, with scarlet cuffs and -collar, a star on the breast. A waistcoat of buff chamois leather, -buskin breeches and top-boots, with the familiar three-cornered hat, -completed the costume. He came forth as a bridegroom from his chamber, -full of hope and joy, like Cymon, ‘whistling as he went for want of -thought,’ and switching his boot with his whip as he went. Suddenly, -as his eye fell on Willis, he reeled back as if he had been shot. He -shrieked out the hated name, called on God, and fell to the ground. -It was long before the unhappy sovereign could be calmed. In his own -room the King wept like a child. Every now and then he broke into -heartrending exclamations of ‘What can I do without doing wrong? They -forget my coronation oath; but I don’t! Oh, my oath! my oath! my -oath!’ The King’s excitement on seeing Willis was partly caused by his -remembering the Queen’s promise that Willis should never be called in -again in case of the King’s illness. Willis on that occasion consented -to stay with the King after a fearful scene had taken place with the -Queen, her doctors, and council. When Mr. Julian Young knew Willis, -from whom he had the above details, the doctor was above eighty years -of age, upright and active. He was still a mighty hunter; and, unless -Mr. Young was misinformed, on the very day before his death he shot -two or three brace of snipes in the morning, and danced at the Lincoln -ball at night. Willis did not reach his hundredth year, as Dr. Routh, -of Magdalen College, Oxford, did. Just before the death of the latter, -Lord Campbell visited and had a long conversation with him. At parting -the centenarian remarked: ‘I hope it will not be many years before we -meet again.’ ‘Did he think,’ said Lord Campbell afterwards, ‘that he -and I were going to live for ever?’ - -Monarchs, who have to submit to many tyrannies by which monarchs alone -can suffer, must have an especial dread of levees and presentations. -The monotony must be killing; at the very best, irritating. George -IV. had the stately dreariness very much relieved. On one occasion, -when a nervous gentleman was bowing and passing before him, a -lord-in-waiting kindly whispered to him, ‘Kiss hands!’ The nervous -gentleman accordingly moved on to the door, turned round, and there -kissed his hands airily to the King by way of kindly farewell! George -IV. laughed almost as heartily as his brother, King William, did at an -unlucky alderman who was at Court on the only day Mr. Julian Young ever -felt himself constrained to go into the royal presence. The alderman’s -dress-sword got between his legs as he was backing from that presence, -whereby he was tripped up and fell backwards on the floor. King William -cared not a fig for dignity. He remarked with great glee to those -who stood near: ‘By Jove! the fellow has cut a crab!’ and the kingly -laughter was, as it were, poured point blank into the floundering -alderman. This was not encouraging to Mr. Young, who had to follow. As -newly-appointed royal chaplain in Hampton Court Palace Chapel, King -William had expressed a wish to see him at a levee, and obedience was -a duty. The chaplain had been told by Sir Horace Seymour that he had -nothing to do but follow the example of the gentleman who might happen -to be before him. The principal directions to the neophyte were: ‘Bow -very low, and do not turn your back on the King!’ The instant the -chaplain had kissed the King’s hand, however, he turned his back upon -his sovereign, and hurried off. Sir Horace Seymour afterwards consoled -him for this breach of etiquette by stating that a Surrey baronet who -had followed him made a wider breach in court observance. The unlucky -baronet, seeing the royal hand outstretched, instead of reverently -putting his lips to it, caught hold of it and wrung it heartily! The -King, who loved a joke, probably enjoyed levees, the usual monotony of -which was relieved by such screaming-farce incidents as these. - -Those royal brothers, sons of George III., were remarkably outspoken. -They were not witty themselves, but they were now and then the cause -of wit in others. It must have been the Duke of Cumberland who (on -listening to Mr. Nightingale’s story of having been run away with when -driving, and that at a critical moment he jumped out of the carriage) -blandly exclaimed: ‘Fool! fool!’ ‘Now,’ said Nightingale, on telling -the incident to Horace Smith, ‘it’s all very well for him to call me -a fool; but I can’t conceive why he should. Can you?’ ‘No,’ rejoined -Horace, ‘I can’t, because he could not suppose you ignorant of the -fact!’ - -Among the most unhappy lords of themselves who lived in a past -generation, there was not one who might have been so happy, had he -pleased, as the author of ‘Vathek.’ It is very well said of Beckford -that there has seldom existed a man who, inheriting so much, did so -little for his fellow-creatures. There was a grim humour in some of his -actions. In illustration of this we may state that when Beckford was -living in gorgeous seclusion at Fonthill, two gentlemen, who were the -more curious to spy into the glories of the place because strangers -were forbidden, climbed the park walls at dusk, and on alighting within -the prohibited enclosure, found themselves in presence of the lord of -the place. Beckford awed them by his proud condescension. He politely -dragged them through all the splendours of his palace, and then, with -cruel courtesy, made them dine with him. When the night was advanced, -he took his involuntary guests into the park, bidding them adieu with -the remark, that as they had found their way in they might find their -way out. It was as bad as bandaging a man’s eyes on Salisbury Plain, -and bidding him find his way to Bath. At sunrise the weary guests, who -had pursued a fruitless voyage of discovery all night, were guided to a -point of egress, and they never thought of calling on their host again. - -Ready wit in women (now passed away); wit, too, combined with courage, -is by no means rare. During the ruro-diabolical reign of ‘Swing,’ -that incarnation of ruffianism, in the person of the most hideous -blackguard in the district, with a mob of thieves and murderers at -his back, attacked Fifield, the old family residence of two elderly -maiden ladies, named Penruddock. When the mob were on the point of -resorting to extreme violence, Miss Betty Penruddock expressed her -astonishment to the ugly leader of the band that ‘such a good-looking -man as he should be captain of such an ill-favoured band of robbers. -Never again will I trust to good looks!’ cried the old lady, whose -flattery so touched the vanity of ‘Swing’ that he prevailed on his -followers to desist. ‘Only give us some beer,’ he said, ‘and we won’t -touch a hair of your head!’ ‘You can’t,’ retorted the plucky old lady, -‘for I wear a wig!’ On the other hand, the vanity of young ladies was -once effectually checked at Hampton Court Chapel. A youthful beauty -once fainted, and the handsome Sir Horace Seymour carried her out. -On successive Sundays successive youthful beauties fainted, and the -handsome Sir Horace carried them successively out, till he grew tired -of bearing such sweet burdens. A report that in future all swooning -nymphs would be carried out of the chapel by _the dustman_ cured the -epidemic. - -We are much disposed to think that there is at least as much ready wit -and terseness of expression among the humbler classes as among those -who are higher born and better taught. Much has been said of the ladies -of Llangollen, Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby. We question if -in all that has been written of those pseudo-recluses, they have been -half so well hit-off as by Mrs. Morris, a lodging-house keeper in the -neighbourhood. ‘I must say, sir, after all,’ observed Mrs. Morris, -‘that they were very charitable and cantankerous. They did a deal of -good, and never forgave an injury!’ There is something of the ring of -Mrs. Poyser in this pithily-rendered judgment. Quite as sharp a passage -turns up in the person of an eccentric toll-keeper, Old Jeffreys, who -was nearly destitute of mental training, and whom Mr. Julian Young -was anxious to draw to church service. The old man was ready for him. -‘Yes, sir, it be a pity, bain’t it? We pike-keepers, and shepherds, and -carters, and monthly nusses has got souls as well as them that goes to -church and chapel. But what can us do? “Why,” I says, says I, to the -last parson as preached to me, “don’t catechism say summat or other -about doing our duty in that state of life in which we be?” So, after -all, when I be taking toll o’ Sundays, I’m not far wrong, am I?’ The -rector proposed to find a paid substitute for him while he attended -church. Jeffreys was ready with his reply. ‘That ’ud never do, sir,’ -he said. ‘What! leave my post to a stranger? What would master say -to me if he heard on’t.’ Mr. Julian Young, pointing with pleasure to -a Bible on old Jeffreys’ shelf, expressed a hope that he often read -it. ‘Can’t say as how I do, sir,’ was the candid rejoinder; ‘I allus -gets so poorus over it!’ When the rector alluded to a certain wench -as ‘disreputable,’ Jeffreys protested in the very spirit of chivalry. -‘Don’t do that! Do as I do! I allus praises her. Charity hides a deal -o’ sin, master! ain’t that Scripture? If it are, am I to be lectured at -for sticking up and saying a good word for she? ‘When it was urged that -this light-o’-love queen ought to be married, Samaritan Jeffreys stept -in with his sympathetic balsam. ‘Poor thing!’ he exclaimed, ‘_she ain’t -no turn to it_!’ The apology was worthy of my Uncle Toby! - -There are other stories quite worthy of him who invented Uncle Toby; -but, _basta!_ we have been, as it were, metaphorically dining with Mr. -Julian Young--dining so well that we cannot recall to mind half the -anecdotes told at his table in illustration of Charles Young and his -times. - - - - -_WILLIAM CHARLES MACREADY._ - - -In the year 1793, a gentleman who was a member of the Covent Garden -company, in the department of ‘utilities,’ might be seen, any day -during the season, punctually on his way to the theatre, for rehearsal -or for public performance. At the above date he had been seven years -on the London boards, having first appeared at the ‘Garden’ in 1786, -as Flutter in ‘The Belle’s Stratagem.’ His name was William Macready, -father of _the_ Macready, and his _début_ on the English stage was -owing to the influence of Macklin, whom the young fellow had gratified -by playing Egerton to the veteran’s Sir Pertinax, exactly according -to the elaborate instructions he had patiently received from Macklin -himself at rehearsal. - -William Macready had left the vocation of his father in Dublin--that -of an upholsterer--for the uncertain glories of the stage. The father -was a common councilman, and was respectably connected--or, rather, -his richer relatives were respectably connected in having him for -a kinsman. In Ireland there is a beggarly pride which looks down -upon trade as a mean thing. Mr. Macready, the flourishing Dublin -upholsterer, took to that sound mean thing, and found his account in so -doing. His prouder kinsmen may have better respected their blood, but -they had not half so good a book at their banker’s. - -The upholsterer’s son took his kinsmen’s view of trade, and deserted it -accordingly. He could hardly, however, have gratified them by turning -player; but he followed the bent of his inclinations, addressed himself -to sock and buskin, toiled in country theatres, was tolerated rather -than patronised in his native city, and, as before said, got a footing -on the Covent Garden stage in 1786. - -William Macready’s position there in 1793 was much the same that it was -when he first appeared. Perhaps he had a little improved it, by the -popular farce of which he was the author, ‘The Irishman in London,’ -which was first acted at Covent Garden in 1792. In 1793 he was held -good enough to act Cassio to Middleton’s Othello, and was held cheap -enough to be cast for Fag in the ‘Rivals.’ On his benefit night--he was -in a position to share the house with Hull--the two partners played -such walking gentlemen’s characters as Cranmer and Surrey (the latter -by Macready) to the Wolsey and Queen Catharine of Mr. and Mrs. Pope; -but Macready, in the afterpiece, soared to vivacious comedy, and acted -Figaro to the Almaviva of mercurial Lewis. If he ever played an Irish -part, it was only when Jack Johnstone was indisposed--which was not his -custom of an afternoon. - -The best of these actors, and others better than the best named above, -received but very moderate salaries. Mr. Macready’s was probably -not more than three or four pounds per week. Upon certainly some -such salary the worthy actor maintained a quiet home in Mary Street, -Tottenham Court (or Hampstead) Road. At the head of the little family -that gathered round the table in Mary Street was one of the best of -mothers; and chief among the children--the one at least who became the -most famous--was William Charles Macready, whom so many still remember -as a foremost actor, and in whom some even recognised a great master of -his art. - -Among the earliest remembrances of this eminent player, he has noticed -in his most interesting ‘Reminiscences,’ that ‘the _res angustæ domi_ -called into active duty all the economical resources and active -management of a mother’ (whose memory, he says, is enshrined in his -heart’s fondest gratitude) ‘to supply the various wants’ of himself and -an elder sister, who only lived long enough to make him ‘sensible of -her angelic nature.’ Macready was the fifth child of this family, but -his sister, Olivia, was the only one (then born) who lived long enough -for him to remember. She was older than he by a year and a half, and -she survived only till he was just in his sixth year; ‘but she lives,’ -he says, ‘like a dim and far-off dream, to my memory, of a spirit of -meekness, love, and truth, interposing itself between my infant will -and the evil it purposed. It is like a vision of an angelic influence -upon a most violent and self-willed disposition.’ - -It may be added here that Macready had a younger brother, Edward, who -distinguished himself as a gallant officer in the army, and two younger -sisters, Letitia and Ellen, to whom he was an affectionate brother -and friend. Meanwhile Macready passed creditably through a school at -Birmingham, and thence to Rugby. At the latter place, where one of his -kinsmen was a master, the student laid the ground of all the classical -knowledge he possessed, took part in private plays, and was hurt at -the thought that he had any inclination to be a professional actor. -At Rugby, too, he showed, but with some reason, the fiery quality of -his temper. He was unjustly sent up for punishment, and was flogged -accordingly. ‘Returning,’ he says, ‘to my form, smarting with choking -rage and indignation, where I had to encounter the compassion of -some and the envious jeers of others, my passion broke out in the -exclamation, “D----n old Birch! I wish he was in Hell!’” - -Macready’s excellent mother, of whom he never speaks without dropping, -as it were, a flower to honour her memory, died before he reached home -from Rugby, so that the world was, for a time, without sun to him, for -the sire was not a very amiable person. The younger Macready resorted -to the best possible cure for sorrow, steady and active work, and -plenty of both. At last, with no very cheerful encouragement from his -father and with doubt and fear on his own part, he, in June 1811, made -his _début_, in Birmingham, in ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ ‘the part of Romeo -by a Young Gentleman, being his first appearance on any stage.’ He, -who was afterwards so very cool and self-possessed, nearly marred all -by what is called ‘stage-fright.’ A mist fell on his eyes; the very -applause, as he came forward, bewildered him; and he describes himself -as being for some time like an automaton, moving in certain defined -limits. ‘I went mechanically,’ he says, ‘through the variations in -which I had drilled myself;’ but he gradually gained courage and power -over himself. The audience stimulated the first and rewarded the second -by their applause. ‘Thenceforward,’ says Macready, ‘I trod on air, -became another being or a happier self, and when the curtain fell and -the intimate friends and performers crowded on the stage to raise up -the _Juliet_ and myself, shaking my hands with fervent congratulations, -a lady asked me, ‘Well, sir, how do you feel now?’ my boyish answer -was without disguise, ‘I feel as if I should like to act it all over -again!’ - -Between this and his first appearance in London Macready acted in -most of the theatres of every degree in the three kingdoms. Often -this practice was rendered the more valuable by his having to perform -with the most perfect actors and actresses who were starring in the -country. But, whether with them or without, whether with audiences -or with a mere two or three, he did his best. Like Barton Booth, he -would play to a man in the pit. ‘It was always my rule,’ he says, -‘to make the best out of a bad house, and before the most meagre -audiences ever assembled it has been my invariable practice to strive -my best, using the opportunity as a lesson; and I am conscious of -having derived great benefit from the rule. I used to call it acting -to myself.’ Macready had another rule which is worth mentioning. Some -of the old French tragedy queens used to keep themselves all day in -the temper of the characters they were to represent in the evening. -So that, at home or on the boards, they swept to and fro in towering -rage. So, Macready was convinced of the necessity of keeping, on the -day of exhibition, the mind as intent as possible on the subject of -the actor’s portraiture, even to the very moment of his entrance on -the scene. With the observance of this rule, Macready must have made -64 Frith Street, Soho, re-echo with joyous feelings and ebullitions of -fury, to suit the temper of the night, when in 1816 he made his bow -to a London audience as Orestes in the ‘Distressed Mother,’ and when -the curtain rose grasped Abbot almost convulsively by the hand, and -dashed upon the stage, exclaiming as in a transport of the highest -joy, ‘Oh, Pylades! what’s life without a friend?’ The Orestes was a -success; but it was never a favourite character with the public, as -Talma’s was with the French. The career thus begun (at ten, fifteen, -and at last eighteen pounds per week for five years) came to a close -in 1851. Five-and-thirty years out of the fifty-eight Macready had -then reached. We need not trace this progressive career, beginning -with Ambrose Phillips and ending with Shakespeare (‘Macbeth’). During -that career he created that one great character in which no player -could come near him, namely, Virginius, in 1820. Macready, however, -was not the original representative of Virginius. That character in -Knowles’s most successful play was first acted by John Cooper in -Glasgow; but Macready really created the part in London. Further, -Macready did his best to raise the drama, actors, and audiences to a -dignity never before known, and gained nothing but honour by his two -ventures at management. He was the first to put a play upon the stage -with an almost lavish perfection. In this way he was never equalled. -Mr. Charles Kean imitated him in this artist-like proceeding; but -that highly respectable actor and man was as far behind Macready in -magnificence of stage management as he was distant from his own father -in genius. - -If Macready, on his _début_ as a boy, was scared, he was deeply moved -when, within a stone’s throw of sixty, he was to act for the last time, -and then go home for ever. This was upwards of thirty years ago, so -rapidly does time fly--the 28th of February, 1851. His emotion was not -in the acting, but in the taking leave of it, and of those who came -to see it for the last time. He says himself of his Macbeth that he -never played it better than on that night. There was a reality, with -a vigour, truth, and dignity, which he thought he had never before -thrown into that favourite character. ‘I rose with the play, and the -last scene was a real climax.’ On his first entrance, indeed, at the -beginning of his part, ‘the thought occurred to me of the presence of -my children, and that for a minute overcame me; but I soon recovered -myself into self-possession.’ Still more deeply moved at the ‘farewell’ -to a house bursting into a wild enthusiasm of applause, he ‘faltered -for a moment at the fervent, unbounded expression of attachment from -all before me; but preserved my self-possession.’ Those of his ten -children who had survived and were present on that occasion had -ample reason to be proud of their father. For many years he would not -sanction their being present at his public exhibitions. This was really -to doubt the dignity and usefulness of his art, to feel a false shame, -and to authorise in others that contempt for the ‘playactor’ which, -entertaining it, as he did thoroughly, for many of his fellows, he -neither felt for himself nor for those whom he could recognise as being -great and worthy masters in that art. When his children were allowed -the new delight of witnessing how nobly he could interpret the noblest -of the poets, the homage of their reverential admiration must have been -added to that of their unreserved affection. That he was not popular -at any time with inferior or subordinate players is undoubtedly true. -Such persons thought that only want of luck and opportunity placed them -lower in the scale than Macready. It would be as reasonable for the -house-painters to account in the same way for their not being Vandycks -and Raffaelles. - -Sensitive to criticism he was, and yet scarcely believed himself to be -so. He belabours critics pretty roughly; but we observe that theatrical -critics dined with him occasionally, and we mark that he praises the -good sense and discrimination of one of these critics--whose criticism -was very much in the actor’s favour. Vanity he also had, certainly. -We should have come to this conclusion, had we nothing more to justify -the assertion than what we find in his own record. We see his vanity in -the superabundant excess of his modesty; but we think none the worse -of him for it. An artist who is not somewhat vain of his powers has, -probably, no ground for a little wholesome pride. It was in Macready -tempered with that sort of fear that a vain man may feel, lest in the -exercise of his art he should fall in the slightest degree short of -his self-estimation, or of that in which he believed himself to be -held by the public. He never, on entering a town, saw his name on a -bill, without feeling a flutter of the heart, made up of this mingled -fear and pride. So, Mrs. Siddons never went on the stage at any time -without something of the same sensation. We should think little of any -actor or actress who should avow that they ever ‘went on,’ in a great -part, without some hesitation lest the attempt might fall short of what -it was their determination to achieve, and what they felt themselves -qualified to accomplish. Vanity and timidity? All true artists are -conscious of both--ought to possess both; just as they ought to possess -not only impulse but judgment; not only head, but heart; heart to flash -the impulses, head to control them. - -Macready carried to the stage his genuine piety. It is, perhaps, a -little too much aired in his ‘Diary,’ but it is not the less to be -believed in. He went by a good old-fashioned rule, to do his duty in -that state of life to which it had pleased God to call him--as the -Catechism teaches, or used to teach, all of us. In his pious fervour, -in his prayers that what he is going to act may be for good, that what -in the management he has undertaken may be to the increase of the -general happiness rather than to that of his banking account; in these -and a score of other instances we are reminded of those French and -Italian saints of the stage who, as they stood at the wing, crossed -themselves at the sound of sacred names in the play; or, who counted -their beads in the green-room; kept their fasts; mortified themselves, -and never missed a mass. Nay, the religious feeling was as spontaneous -in Macready as it was in the Italian actors whom he himself saw, and -who, at the sound of the ‘Angelus’ in the street, stopped the action of -the play, fell on their knees, gently tapped their breasts, and were -imitated in these actions by the sympathising majority of the audience. - -We fully endorse the judgment of a critic who has said that with the -worst of tempers Macready had the best of hearts. Some of the tenderest -of his actions are not registered in the volumes of his life, but they -are recorded in grateful bosoms. There were married actresses in his -company, when he managed the ‘Garden,’ and afterwards the ‘Lane,’ whom -he would rate harshly enough for inattention; but there were certain -times when he was prompted to tell them that their proper place, for -a while, was home; and that till they recovered health and strength -their salary would be continued, and then run on as usual. The sternest -moralist will forgive him for knocking down Mr. Bunn, when he remembers -this tender part in the heart of Macready. - -Towards women that heart may be said to have been sympathetically -inclined. His early life led him into many temptations; he had, as he -confesses, many loves in his time, real and imaginary; but the first -true and ever-abiding one was that which ended in his marriage with -a young actress, Miss Atkins. The whole story is touchingly told. -We feel the joys and the sorrows of the April time of that love. We -share in the triumph of the lovers; and throughout the record of their -union Macready inspires us with as much respectful affection for that -true wife as in other pages he stirs us to honour the memory of his -mother. He was singularly happy in the women whom it was his good -fortune to know. Early in life, after his mother’s death, he found -wise friends in some of them, whose wisdom ‘kept him straight,’ as the -phrase goes, when crooked but charming ways opened before him. At his -latest in life, the inestimable good of woman’s best companionship was -vouchsafed to him; and further than this it would be impertinent to -speak. - -The dignity of the departed actor was his attribute, which in his busy -days atoned for such faults as cannot be erased from his record. How he -supported the dignity of the drama, and, we may say, of its patrons, -may be seen in the registry of the noble dramas he produced, and in his -purification of the audience side of the house. No person born since -his time can have any idea of the horrible uncleanness that presented -itself in the two patent theatres in the days before Macready’s -management commenced. When he found that he was bound by the terms of -his lease to provide accommodation and refreshment for women who had no -charm of womanhood left in them, Macready assigned a dingy garret and a -rush-light or two for that purpose, and the daughters of joy fled from -it, never to return. - -It is a strange and repulsive thing to look back at the sarcasm flung -at him by the vile part of the press at that time, for his enabling -honest-minded women to visit a theatre without feeling ashamed at -their being there, in company with those who had no honest-mindedness. -In this, as in many other circumstances, he was worth all the Lord -Chamberlains--silly, intruding, inconsistent, unreasonable beings--that -have ever existed. - -The career of the actor--we may say, of the actor and of the private -gentleman--was a long one. Among the great dramatic personages whom -Macready saw in the course of that career, were ‘a glimpse of King -dressed as Lord Ogilvy,’ his original character, ‘and distinguished -for its performance in Garrick’s day;’ Lewis, whose face he never -forgot, but he never saw that restless, ever-smiling actor on the -stage. Macready was struck with the beauty and deportment of Mrs. -Siddons, long before he acted with her; and he was enthralled by Mrs. -Billington, though he could in after years only recall the figure of a -very lusty woman, and the excitement of the audience when the orchestra -struck up the symphony of Arne’s rattling bravura, ‘The Soldier -Tired,’ in the opera of ‘Artaxerxes.’ One of the most remarkable of -these illustrious persons was seen by him at the Birmingham Theatre, -1808. The afterpiece was ‘Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene,’ a -ballet pantomime. The lady fair was acted by the manager’s wife, Mrs. -Watson--ungainly, tawdry, and as fat as a porpoise, an enormous hill of -flesh. Alonzo the Brave was represented by ‘a little mean-looking man -in a shabby green satin dress ... the only impression I carried away -was that the hero and heroine were the worst in the piece’ (a ballet -of action, without words). Macready adds that he neither knew nor -guessed that ‘under that shabby green satin dress was hidden one of -the most extraordinary theatrical geniuses that have ever illustrated -the dramatic poetry of England!’ In half a dozen years more, what was -Macready’s astonishment to find this little, insignificant Alonzo the -Brave had burst out into the grandly impassioned personator of Othello, -Richard, and Shylock--Edmund Kean! - -Macready’s testimony to Kean’s marvellous powers is nearly always -highly favourable. Macready saw the great master act Richard III. at -Drury Lane in his first season, 1814. ‘When,’ he tells us, ‘a little -keenly-visaged man rapidly bustled across the stage, I felt there was -meaning in the alertness of his manner and the quickness of his step.’ -The progress of the play increased the admiration of the young actor in -his box, who was studying the other young actor on the stage. He found -mind of no common order in Edmund Kean. ‘In his angry complaining of -Nature’s injustice to his bodily imperfections, as he uttered the line, -“To shrink my arm up like a withered shrub,” Kean remained looking -on the limb for some moments with a sort of bitter discontent, and -then struck it back in angry disgust.’ To his father’s whisper, ‘It’s -very poor,’ the son replied readily, ‘Oh, no! it is no common thing.’ -Macready praises the scene with Lady Anne, and that in which Richard -tempts Buckingham to the murder of the young princes. In the latter, -he found Kean’s interpretation ‘consistent with his conception, -proposing their death as a political necessity, and sharply requiring -it as a business to be done.’ Cooke interpreted the scene in another -way. In Cooke’s Richard, ‘the source of the crime was apparent in the -gloomy hesitation with which he gave reluctant utterance to the deed of -blood.’ If Cooke was more effective than Kean on one or two solitary -points, Kean was superior in the general portraiture. As Macready -remarks, Kean ‘hurried you along in his resolute course with a spirit -that brooked no delay. In inflexibility of will and sudden grasp of -expedients he suggested the idea of a feudal Napoleon.’ - -With respect to the characters enacted by the greatest actor of the -present century, Macready’s testimony of Kean is that in none of Kean’s -personations did he display more masterly elocution than in the third -act of ‘Richard III.’ In Sir Edward Mortimer, Kean was unapproachable, -and Master Betty (whom Macready praises highly) next to him, though -far off. In Sir Edward, Kean ‘subjected his style to the restraint of -the severest taste. Throughout the play the actor held absolute sway -over his hearers; and there is no survivor of those hearers who will -not enjoy a description which enables them to live over again moments -of a bygone delight which the present stage cannot afford. There are, -perhaps, not so few who remember Kean’s Sir Edward Mortimer as of -those who remember his ‘Oroonoko.’ Those who do will endorse all that -Macready says of that masterly representation of the African Prince -in slavery, where Kean, with a calm submission to his fate, still -preserved all his princely demeanour. There was one passage which was -‘never to be forgotten’--the prayer for his Imoinda. After replying -to Blandford, ‘No, there is nothing to be done for me,’ he remained, -says Macready, ‘for a few moments in apparent abstraction; then, with -a concentration of feeling that gave emphasis to every word, clasping -his hands together, in tones most tender, distinct, and melodious, -he poured out, as if from the very depths of his heart, his earnest -supplication:-- - - - Thou God ador’d, thou ever-glorious Sun! - If she be yet on earth, send me a beam - Of thy all-seeing power to light me to her! - Or if thy sister-goddess has preferr’d - Her beauty to the skies, to be a star, - Oh, tell me where she shines, that I may stand - Whole nights, and gaze upon her!’ - - -We may refer to another passage, in ‘Othello,’ in which the tenderness, -distinctness, and mournful melodiousness of Edmund Kean’s voice used -to affect the whole house to hushed and rapt admiration; namely, the -passage beginning with, ‘Farewell, the plumed troop!’ and ending with, -‘Othello’s occupation’s gone!’ It was like some magic instrument, which -laid all hearts submissive to its irresistible enchantment. - -While Macready allows that flashes of genius were rarely wanting in -Kean’s least successful performances, he does not forget to note that -when he played Iago to Kean’s Othello, he observed that the latter was -playing not at all like to his old self. It is to be remembered that -this was in 1832, when Kean was on the brink of the grave, broken in -constitution, and with no power to answer to his will. But Macready -justly recognised the power when it existed, and set the world mad with -a new delight. Others were not so just, nor so generous. ‘Many of the -Kemble school,’ he says, ‘resisted conviction of Kean’s merits, but the -fact that he made me feel was an argument to enrol me with the majority -on the indisputable genius he displayed.’ Some of the Kemble family -were as reluctant to be convinced as many of the Kemble school were, -but we must except the lady whom we all prefer to call ‘Fanny Kemble.’ -She, in her ‘Journal,’ speaks without bias, not always accurately, but -still justly and generously. To her, the great master was apparent, -and she truly says that when Kean died there died with him Richard, -Shylock, and Othello. - -Before quitting Kean for the Kembles, we must permit ourselves to -extract the account given by Macready of a supper after Richard III. -had been played:-- - - - We retired to the hotel as soon as the curtain fell, and were soon - joined by Kean, accompanied, or rather attended, by Pope. I need - not say with what intense scrutiny I regarded him as we shook - hands on our mutual introduction. The mild and modest expression - of his Italian features, and his unassuming manner, which I might - perhaps justly describe as partaking in some degree of shyness, - took me by surprise, and I remarked with special interest the - indifference with which he endured the fulsome flatteries of Pope. - He was very sparing of words during, and for some time after, - supper; but about one o’clock, when the glass had circulated - pretty freely, he became animated, fluent, and communicative. His - anecdotes were related with a lively sense of the ridiculous; in - the melodies he sang there was a touching grace, and his powers of - mimicry were most humorously or happily exerted in an admirable - imitation of Braham; and in a story of Incledon acting Steady the - Quaker at Rochester without any rehearsal, where, in singing the - favourite air, ‘When the lads of the village so merrily, oh!’ he - heard himself to his dismay and consternation accompanied by a - single bassoon; the music of his voice, his perplexity at each - recurring sound of the bassoon, his undertone maledictions on the - self-satisfied musician, the peculiarity of his habits, all were - hit off with a humour and an exactness that equalled the best - display Mathews ever made, and almost convulsed us with laughter. - It was a memorable evening, the first and last I ever spent in - private with this extraordinary man. - - -Macready’s estimation of Kemble and the Kemble school is not at all -highly pitched, save in the case of Mrs. Siddons; but he notes how she -outlived her powers, and returned a few times to the stage when her -figure had enlarged and her genius had diminished. When John Kemble -took leave of the Dublin stage, in 1816, Macready was present; he -records that ‘the house was about half full.’ Kemble acted Othello -(which, at that time, Kean had made his own). ‘A more august presence -could hardly be imagined.’ He was received with hearty applause, -‘but the slight bow with which he acknowledged the compliment spoke -rather dissatisfaction at the occasional vacant spaces before him than -recognition of the respectful feeling manifested by those present. I -must suppose he was out of humour, for, to my exceeding regret, he -literally walked through the part.’ The London audiences, as Kemble’s -career was drawing to a close, were not more sympathetic. At Kemble’s -Cato, ‘The house was moderately filled; there was sitting room in the -pit, and the dress circle was not at all crowded.’ To the dignity -of the representation Macready renders homage of admiration; but he -says that Cato was not in strict Roman attire, and that with only one -effort, the ‘I am satisfied,’ when he heard that Marcius ‘greatly -fell,’ Kemble’s husky voice and laboured articulation could not -enliven the monotony of a tragedy which was felt to be a tax on the -patience of the audience. The want of variety and relief rendered it -uninteresting, and those at least who were not classical antiquaries -found the whole thing uncommonly tedious. - -It is unquestionably among the unaccountable things connected with -‘the stage’ that Kemble’s farewell performances in London, 1817, were -as a whole unproductive. Those closing nights, not answering the -manager’s expectations of their attraction, were given for benefits -to those performers who chose to pay the extra price. Macready was -not present on the closing night of all, when Kemble nobly played his -peerless Coriolanus; but he witnessed several other representations, -and he dwells especially on the last performance of ‘Macbeth,’ when -Mrs. Siddons acted the Lady to her brother’s Macbeth. Macready was -disappointed with both. Mrs. Siddons was no longer the enchantress -of old: ‘years had done their work, and those who had seen in her -impersonations the highest glories of her art, now felt regret that -she had been prevailed on to leave her honoured retirement, and force -a comparison between the grandeur of the past and the feeble present. -It was not a performance, but a mere repetition of the poet’s text; -no flash, no sign of her pristine, all-subduing genius.’ Kemble, as -Macbeth, was ‘correct, tame, and ineffective,’ through the first four -acts of the play, which moved heavily on; but he was roused to action -in the fifth act. With action there was pathos; and ‘all at once, he -seemed carried away by the genius of the scene.’ Macready brings the -scene itself before his readers, ending with the words: ‘His shrinking -from Macduff, when the charm on which his life hung was broken, by the -declaration that his antagonist “was not of woman born,” was a masterly -stroke of art. His subsequent defiance was most heroic; and, at his -death, Charles Kemble received him in his arms and laid him gently on -the ground, his physical powers being unequal to further effort.’ - -Of persons non-dramatic, many pass before the mind’s eye of the reader. -Lord Nelson visited the Birmingham Theatre, and Macready noted his -pale and interesting face, and listened so eagerly to all he uttered -that for months after he used to be called upon to repeat ‘what Lord -Nelson said to your father,’ which was to the effect that the esteem -in which the elder Macready was held by the town made it ‘a pleasure -and a duty’ for Lord Nelson to visit the theatre. With the placid and -mournful-looking Admiral was Lady Hamilton, who laughed loud and long, -clapped her uplifted hands with all her heart, and kicked her heels -against the foot-board of her seat, as some verses were sung in honour -of her and England’s hero. - -There was a time when Macklin ceased to belong to the drama, when he -was out of the world, in his old age, and his old Covent Garden house. -One of the most characteristic of incidents is one told of Macklin in -his dotage, when prejudice had survived all sense. Macready’s father -called on the aged actor with lack-lustre eye, who was seated in an -arm-chair, unconscious of anyone being present. Mrs. Macklin drew his -attention to the visitor: ‘My dear, here is Mr. Macready come to see -you.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Mr. Macready, my dear.’ ‘Ah! who is he?’ ‘Mr. Macready, -you know, who went to Dublin, to play for your benefit.’ ‘Ha! my -benefit! what was it? what did he act?’ ‘I acted Egerton, sir,’ replied -Mr. Macready, ‘in your own play.’ ‘Ha! my play! what was it?’ ‘The “Man -of the World,” sir.’ ‘Ha! “Man of the World!” devilish good title! who -wrote it?’ ‘You did, sir.’ ‘Did I? well, what was it about?’ ‘Why, sir, -there was a Scotchman’--‘Ah! damn them!’ Macklin’s hatred of the Scotch -was vigorous after all other feeling was dead within him. - -Equally good as a bit of character-painting is the full length of Mrs. -Piozzi, whom William Charles Macready met at Bath, in the house of -Dr. Gibbs. She struck the actor as something like one of Reynolds’s -portraits walking out of its frame: ‘a little old lady dressed _point -devise_ in black satin, with dark glossy ringlets under her neat black -hat, highly rouged, not the end of a ribbon or lace out of its place,’ -and entering the room with unfaltering step. She was the idol of the -hour, and Macready, specially introduced to her, was charmed with her -vivacity and good humour. The little old lady read, by request, some -passages from Milton, a task she delighted in, and for doing which -effectively she considered herself well qualified. She chose the -description of the lazar-house, from the 11th Book of ‘Paradise Lost,’ -and dwelt with emphatic distinctness on the various ills to which -mortality is exposed. ‘The finger on the dial-plate of the _pendule_ -was just approaching the hour of ten, when, with a Cinderella-like -abruptness, she rose and took her leave, evidently as much gratified -by contributing to our entertainment as we were by the opportunity of -making her acquaintance.’ According to Dr. Gibbs, the vivacious old -Cinderella never stayed after ten was about to strike. Circumstances -might indeed prompt the sensitive lady to depart earlier. Mr. Macready -subsequently met the lively little lioness at the Twisses. The company -was mixed, old and young; the conversation was general, or people -talked the young with the young, the old among themselves. Mrs. Piozzi -was not the oracle on whose out-speakings all hearers reverentially -waited. Consequently, ‘long before her accustomed hour,’ Mrs. Piozzi -started up, and coldly wishing Mr. and Mrs. Twiss ‘good night,’ she -left the room. To the general inquiries, by look or word, the hostess -simply remarked, ‘She is very much displeased.’ The really gifted old -lady’s vanity was wounded; lack of homage sent her home in a huff. -Some of the best sketches in the book are of scenes of Macready’s -holiday travel. On one occasion, in a corner of an Italian garden, near -a church, he caught a priest kissing a young girl whom he had just -confessed. Nothing could be merrier or better-humoured than Macready’s -description of this pretty incident. The young Father, or brother, was -quite in order; Rome claims absolute rule over faith--and morals. - -We close this chronicle of so many varied hues with reluctance. That -which belongs to the retired life of the actor is fully as interesting -as the detail of the times when he was in harness. Indeed, in the -closing letters addressed to the present Lady Pollock, there are -circumstances of his early career not previously recorded. The record -of the home-life is full of interest, and we sympathise with the old -actor, who, as the fire of temperament died out, appeared purified and -chastened by the process. - -Macready, throughout his long life, had no ‘flexibility of spine’ for -men of wealth or title, but he had, if he describes himself truly, -perfect reverence for true genius, wheresoever found. He was oppressed -with his own comparative littleness and his seeming inability to cope -with men better endowed, intellectually, than himself. And yet, we -find him, when he must have felt that he was great, was assured he -was so by his most intimate admirers, and counted amongst them some of -the foremost literary men and critics of the day--we find him, we say, -moodily complaining that he was not sought for by ‘society,’ and not -invited into it. There was no real ground for the complaint. He who -made it was an honour to the society of which he was a part. Every page -of this record, not least so those inscribed with confession of his -faults, will raise him in the esteem of all its readers. He went to his -rest in 1873, and he is fortunate in the friend to whom he confided the -task of writing his life. The work, edited with modesty and judgment, -is a permanent addition to our dramatic literature. - - - - -_PRIVATE THEATRICALS._ - - -As in Greece a man suffered no disparagement by being an actor there -was no disposition to do in private what was not forbidden in public. -The whole profession was ennobled when an actor so accomplished as -Aristodemus was honoured with the office of ambassador. - -In Rome a man was dishonoured by being a player. Accordingly noble -Roman youths loved to act in private, excusing themselves on the ground -that no professional actor polluted their private stage. Roman youths, -however, had imperial example and noble justification when a Roman -emperor made his first appearance on the public stage, and succeeded, -as a matter of course. - -Nero and Louis XIV. were the two sublime monarchs who were most -addicted to private theatricals; but the Roman outdid the Frenchman. We -know that persons of the Senatorial and Equestrian orders, and of both -sexes, played the parts, but we do not know how they liked or disliked -what they dared not decline. One can fancy, however, the figure and -feelings of the Roman knight when he began to practise riding on an -elephant that trotted swiftly along a rope. What strong expletives he -must have muttered to himself!--any one of which, uttered audibly, -would have cost him his head as a fine levied by his imperial manager. -As to Nero’s riding, and racing, and wrestling, and charioteering, as -an amateur, among professionals who always took care to be beaten by -him, these things were nothing compared with his ardour as a private -player, and especially as what would now be called an opera singer. -After all, Nero was more like an amateur actor who plays in public -occasionally than an actor in strictly private theatricals. There is no -doubt of his having been fond of music; he was well instructed in the -art and a skilful proficient. His first great enjoyment after becoming -emperor was in sitting up night after night playing with or listening -to Terpnus the harper. Nero practised the harp as if his livelihood -depended on it; and he went through a discipline of diet, medicine, -exercise, and rest, for the benefit of his voice and its preservation, -such as, it is to be hoped, no vocalist of the present day would submit -himself to. Nero’s first appearance on any stage was made at Naples. -The _débutant_ was not at all nervous, for, though an earthquake made -the house shake while he was singing, he never ceased till he had -finished his song. Had any of the audience fled at the earthquake, -they probably would have been massacred for attending more to the -natural than the imperial phenomenon. But we can fancy that, when some -terrified Drusus got home and his Drusilla asked him about the voice of -the _illustrissimo_ Signor Nerone, Drusus looked at her and answered, -‘Never heard such a shake in all my life!’ - -What an affable fellow that otherwise terrible personage was! How -gracious he must have seemed as he dined in the theatre and told those -who reverently looked on that by-and-by he would sing clearer and -deeper! Our respect for this august actor is a little diminished by -the fact that he not only invented the _claque_, but taught his hired -applauders how they were to manifest approbation. He divided them -into three classes, constituting several hundreds of individuals. The -_bombi_ had to hum approval, the more noisy _imbrices_ were to shower -applause like heavy rain upon the tiles, and the _testas_ were to -culminate the effect by clapping as if their hands were a couple of -bricks. And, with reputation thus curiously made at Naples, he reached -Rome to find the city mad to hear him. As the army added their sweet -voices of urgency, Nero modestly yielded. He enrolled his name on the -list of public singers, but so far kept his imperial identity as to -have his harp carried for him by the captain of his Prætorian Guard, -and to be half surrounded by friends and followers--the not too -exemplary Colonel Jacks and Lord Toms of that early time. - -Just as Bottom the weaver would have played, not only Pyramus, but -Thisbe and the Lion to boot, so Nero had appetite for every part, -and made the most of whatever he had. Suetonius says that, when Nero -sang the story of Niobe, ‘he held it out till the tenth hour of the -day;’ but Suetonius omits to tell us at what hour the imperial actor -first opened his mouth. ‘The Emperor did not scruple,’ says a quaint -translation of Suetonius’s ‘Lives of the Twelve Cæsars,’ ‘done into -English by several hands, A.D. 1692,’ ‘in private Spectacles to Act his -Part among the Common Players, and to accept of a present of a Million -of Sesterces from one of the Prætors. He also sang several tragedies -in disguise, the Visors and Masks of the Heroes and the Gods, as also -of the Heroesses and the Goddesses, being so shap’d as to represent -his own Countenance or the Ladies for whom he had the most Affection. -Among other things he sang “Canace in Travail,” “Orestes killing his -Mother,” “Œdipus struck blind,” and “Hercules raging mad.” At what time -it is reported that a young Soldier, being placed sentinel at the Door, -seeing him drest up and bound, as the Subject of the Play required, ran -in to his Assistance as if the thing had been done in good earnest.’ -(Here we have the origin of all those soldiers who have stood at the -wings of French and English stages, and who have interfered with the -action of the play, or even have fainted away in order to flatter some -particular player). Nero certainly had his amateur-actor weaknesses. -He provided beforehand all the bouquets that were to be spontaneously -flung to him, or awarded as prizes in the shape of garlands. French -actresses are said to do the same thing, and this pretty weakness is -satirised in the duet between Hortense, the actress, and Brillant, the -fine gentleman, in the pretty vaudeville of ‘Le Juif’ (by A. Rousseau, -Désaugiers, and Mesnard), brought out at the Porte St.-Martin fifty odd -years ago. Hortense is about to appear at Orleans, and she says, or -sings: - - - Je suis l’idole dont on raffole. - Après demain mon triomphe est certain! - - -‘Oui,’ rejoins Brillant, - - - Oui! de tous les points de la salle, - Je prédis que sur votre front, - Trente couronnes tomberont. - - -And Hortense replies confidentially: - - - Elles sont dans ma malle! - - -This is a custom, therefore, which French actresses derive from no less -a person than Nero. This gentleman, moreover, invariably spoke well of -every other actor to that actor’s face, but never at any other time. -If this custom has survived--which is, of course, hardly possible--he -who practises it can justify himself, if he pleases, by this Neronic -example. - -Although it was death to leave the theatre before the imperial amateur -had finished his part, there were some people who could not ‘stand it,’ -but who must have handsomely tipped the incorruptible Roman guard to -be allowed to vanish from the scene. There were others who insisted -on being on the point of death, but it is not to be supposed that -they were carried home without being munificently profuse in their -recompense. There was no shamming on the part of the indefatigable -Roman ladies, who, it is said, sometimes added a unit to the audience -and a new member to the roll of Roman citizens, before they could -be got away. And, when a man ran from the theatre, dropped from the -walls of the town, and took to his heels across country, he must have -been even more disgusted with the great amateur than you are, my dear -reader, with, let us say, your favourite worst actor on any stage. -_Exit Nero, histrio et imperator._ - -Some one has said that the Italians had not the necessary genius for -acting. Ristori has wiped out that reproach. Private theatricals may be -said to have been much followed by them. Plays were acted before popes -just as they used to be (and on Sundays too) before our bishops. It is -on record that the holiest of Holy Fathers have held their sides as -they laughed at the ‘imitations’ of English archbishops given to the -life by English bishops on mission to Rome; and, on the other hand, -there is no comedy so rich as that to be seen and heard in private, -acted by a clever, joyous Irish priest, imitating the voice, matter, -and manner of the street preachers in Italy. Poliziano’s ‘Orfeo,’ which -inaugurated Italian tragedy, was first played in private before Lorenzo -the Magnificent. Italian monks used to act Plautus and Terence, and -the nuns of Venice were once famous for the perfection with which they -acted tragedy in private to select audiences. - -Altogether, it seems absurd for anyone to have said that the Italians -had not the genius for acting. Groto, the poet--‘the blind man of -Adria’--played Œdipus, in Palladio’s theatre at Vicenza, in the most -impressive style. Salvator Rosa, the grandest of painters, was the most -laughable of low comedians; and probably no Italian has played Saul -better than Alfieri, who wrote the tragedy which bears that name. - -In France, private theatricals may be said to date from the seventeenth -century; but there, as in England, were to be found, long before, -especial ‘troops’ in the service of princes and nobles. We are pleased -to make record of the fact that Richard III., so early as the time -when he was the young Duke of Gloucester, was the first English -prince who maintained his own private company of actors, of whom he -was the appreciating and generous master. No doubt, after listening -to them in the hall of his London mansion, he occasionally gave them -an ‘outing’ on his manor at Notting Hill. We have more respect for -Duke, or King, Richard, as patron of actors, than we have for Louis -XIV. turning amateur player himself, and not only ‘spouting’ verses, -but acting parts, singing in operas, and even dancing in the ballets -of Benserade and the _divertissements_ of Molière. Quite another type -of the amateur actor is to be found in Voltaire. On the famous private -stage of the Duchess of Maine, Voltaire acted (in ‘Rome sauvée’) Cicero -to the Lentulus of the professional actor, Lekain. If we may believe -the illustrious actor himself, nothing could be more truthful, more -pathetic, more Roman, than the poet, in the character of the great -author. - -Voltaire prepared at least one comedy for private representation on -the Duchess’s stage, or on that of some other of his noble friends. A -very curious story is connected with this piece. It bore the title of -‘Le Comte de Boursoufle.’ After being acted by amateurs, in various -noble houses, it gave way to other pieces, the manuscript was put by, -and the play was forgotten. Eleven years ago, however, the manuscript -of the comedy, in Voltaire’s handwriting, was discovered, and ‘Le -Comte de Boursoufle’ was produced at the Odéon. M. Jules Janin and all -the French theatrical critics were in a flutter of convulsive delight -at the recovery of this comedy. Some persons there were who asked if -there was any doubt on the matter, or was the piece by any other clever -Frenchman. They were laughed to scorn. The comedy was so full of wit -and satire that it could only be the work of the wittiest and most -satirical of Frenchmen. ‘If it is not Voltaire’s,’ it was asked, ‘whose -could it possibly be?’ This question was answered immediately by the -critics in this country, who pointed out that ‘Le Comte de Boursoufle,’ -which Voltaire had prepared for a company of private actors, was -neither more nor less than an exact translation of Sir John Vanbrugh’s -‘Relapse.’ - -Private theatricals in France became a sort of institution. They -not only formed a part, often a very magnificent part, of the noble -mansions of princes, dukes, marquesses, _et tout ça_, but the theatre -was the most exquisite and luxurious portion of the residences of -the most celebrated and prodigal actresses. Mademoiselle Guimard, to -surpass her contemporaries, possessed two; one in her magnificent house -in the Chaussée d’Antin, the other in her villa at Pantin. The one in -Paris was such a scene of taste, splendour, extravagance, and scandal, -that private boxes, so private that nobody could be seen behind the -gilded gratings, were invented for the use and enjoyment of very great -ladies. These, wishing to be witnesses of what was being acted on and -before the stage, without being supposed to be present themselves, were -admitted by a private door, and after seeing all they came to see, and -much more, perhaps, than they expected, these high and virtuous dames, -wrapped their goodly lace mantles about them, glided down the private -staircase to their carriages, and thought La Guimard was the most -amiable hussey on or off the stage. - -Voltaire’s private theatre, at Monrepos, near Lausanne, has been for -ever attached to history by the dignified pen of Gibbon. The great -historian’s chief gratification, when he lived at Lausanne, was in -hearing Voltaire in the Frenchman’s own tragedies on his own stage. The -‘ladies and gentlemen’ of the company were not geniuses, for Gibbon -says of them in his ‘Life,’ that ‘some of them were not destitute of -talents.’ The theatre is described as ‘decent.’ The costumes were -‘provided at the expense of the actors,’ and we may guess how the stage -was stringently managed, when we learn that ‘the author directed the -rehearsals with the zeal and attention of paternal love.’ In his own -tragedies, Voltaire represented Lusignan, Alvarez, Benassur, Euphemon, -&c. ‘His declamation,’ says Gibbon, ‘was fashioned to the pomp and -cadence of the old stage; and he expressed the enthusiasm of poetry -rather than the feelings of nature.’ This sing-song style, by which -diversified dramas, stilted rather than heroic, horribly dull rather -than elevated and stirring, had an effect on Gibbon such as we should -never have expected in him, or in any Englishman, we may say on any -created being with common sense, in any part of the civilised world. -His taste for the French theatre became fortified, and he tells us, -‘that taste has perhaps abated my idolatry for the gigantic genius -of Shakespeare, which is inculcated in our infancy as the first duty -of Englishmen.’ This is wonderful to read, and almost impossible to -believe. We may give more credit to the assertion that ‘the wit and -philosophy of Voltaire, his table and theatre, refined in a visible -degree the manners of Lausanne.’ It is worthy of note that a tragedy -of Voltaire’s is now rarely, if ever, acted. We question if one of -his most popular pieces, ‘Adélaïde Du Guesclin,’ has ever been played -since it was given at the Théâtre Français (spectacle gratis), 1822, on -occasion of the baptism of the Duc de Bordeaux, whom we now better know -as the Comte de Chambord, and who knows himself only as ‘Henry V., Roi -de France et de Navarre.’ - -One of Voltaire’s favourite stage pupils was an actor named Paulin, -who played a tyrant in the Lausanne company. Voltaire had great hopes -of him, and he especially hoped to make much of him as Polifonte, -in Voltaire’s tragedy ‘Mérope.’ At the rehearsals, Voltaire, as was -customary with him, overwhelmed the performers with his corrections. He -sat up one night, to re-write portions of the character of the tyrant -Polifonte, and at three in the morning he aroused his servant and bade -him carry the new manuscript to Paulin. ‘Sir,’ said the man, ‘at such -an unseasonable hour as this M. Paulin will be fast asleep, and there -will be no getting into his house.’ ‘Go! run!’ exclaimed Voltaire, in -tragic tones. ‘Know that tyrants never sleep!’ - -Some of the French private theatres of the last century were -singular in their construction. We know that the theatre of Pompey -was so constructed that, by ingenious mechanism, it could form two -amphitheatres side by side or could meet in one extensive circus. On -a smaller scale, the salon of the celebrated dancer D’Auberval could -be instantaneously turned into a private theatre, complete in all its -parts. Perhaps the most perfect, as regards the ability of the actors, -as well as the splendour of the house, audience and stage, were the two -private theatres at Saint-Assise and Bagnolet, of the Duke of Orleans -and Madame de Montesson. None but highly-gifted amateurs trod those -boards. The Duke himself was admirable in peasants and in characters -abounding in sympathies with nature. Madame de Montesson was fond of -playing shepherdesses and young ladies under the pleasures, pains, or -perplexities of love; but, with much talent, the lady was far too stout -for such parts. It might be said of her, as Rachel said of her very fat -sister, whom she saw dressed in the costume of a shepherdess; ‘Bergère! -tu as l’air d’une bergère qui a mangé ses brebis!’ - -Out of the multitude of French private theatres there issued but one -great actress, by profession, the celebrated Adrienne Lecouvreur; and -_she_ belonged, not to the gorgeous temple of Thespis in the palaces -of nobles, but to a modest stage behind the shop of her father, the -hatter; and latterly, to one of more artistic pretensions in the -courtyard attached to the mansion of a great lawyer whose lady had -heard of Adrienne’s marvellous talent, and, to encourage it, got up -a theatre for her and her equally young comrades, in the _cour_ of -her own mansion. The acting of the hatter’s daughter, especially as -Pauline, in Corneille’s ‘Polyeucte,’ made such a sensation that the -jealous Comédie Française cried ‘_Privilège!_’ and this private theatre -was closed, according to law. - -We have less interest in recalling the figure of Madame de Pompadour, -playing and warbling the chief parts in the sparkling little operettas -on the stage of her private theatre at Bellevue, than we have in -recalling the figure of the young Dauphine, Marie-Antoinette, with the -counts of Provence and Artois (afterwards Louis XVIII. and Charles -X.), with their wives, and clever friends, playing comedy especially, -with a grace and perfection which were not always to be found in the -professional actor. But what the old king Louis XV. had encouraged -in the Pompadour he and his rather gloomy daughters discouraged in -Marie-Antoinette. It was not till she was queen, and had profited by -the lessons of the singer Dugazon, that the last royal private theatre -in France commenced its career of short-lived glory, at Choisy and -the Trianon. Louis XVI. never took kindly to these representations. -He went to them occasionally, but he disliked seeing the queen on the -stage. It is even said that he once directed a solitary hiss at her, -as she entered dressed as a peasant. It is further stated that the -royal actress stepped forward, and with a demure smile informed the -house that the dissatisfied individual might have his money returned -by applying at the door. It is a pretty story, but it is quite out -of character with the place and the personages, and it may be safely -assigned to that greatest of story-tellers, Il Signor Ben Trovato. - -Adverse critics have said of Marie-Antoinette’s Rosine, that it was -‘_royalement mal jouée_.’ Perhaps they opposed the whole system of -private acting. This amusement had the advocacy of Montaigne, who was -himself a good amateur actor. Of course, the thing may be abused. -It was not exemplary for French bishops to go to hear Collé’s gross -pieces in private. There was more dignity in Louis XIV. and Madame -de Maintenon listening to ‘Esther’ and ‘Athalie,’ acted by the young -ladies of Saint-Cyr; and there was less folly in the princes and nobles -who began the French Revolution by acting the ‘Mariage de Figaro’ in -private, than there was in the Comte d’Artois (afterwards Charles X.) -learning to dance on the tight rope, with a view of giving amateur -performances to his admiring friends. - -Mercier, in his ‘Tableau de Paris,’ under the head ‘Théâtre bourgeois,’ -states that in the last quarter of the last century there was a perfect -rage for private theatricals in France, and that it extended from the -crown to the humblest citizen. He thought that the practice had its -uses, but its abuses also; and he counselled simple country-townsmen to -leave acting to the amateurs in large cities, where people were not too -nice upon morals; where lovers gave additional fire to Orosmane, and -the timidest young ladies found audacity enough to play Nanine. Mercier -had seen the private theatricals at Chantilly, and he praises the care, -taste, and simple grace which distinguished the acting of the Prince -of Condé and the Duchess of Bourbon. It is very clear that if they had -not been cast for the genteelest comedy in the drama of life, they -would have got on very well in the world as players. So the Duke of -Orleans, at his private theatre at Saint-Assise, pleased Mercier by the -care and completeness of his acting. ‘The Queen of France,’ he adds, -‘has private theatricals, in her own apartments, at Versailles. Not -having had the honour to see her I can say nothing on the subject.’ - -With these players of lofty social quality, Mercier contrasts the -amateurs in humble society. These were given to act tragedy--or -nothing. He cites, from ‘Le Babillard,’ the case of a shoemaker, -renowned for his skill in gracefully fitting the most gracefully -small feet of the beauties of the day. On Sundays, Crispin drew on -his own legs the buskins which he himself or his journeymen had made; -and he acted, in his own house, the lofty tragedy then in vogue. It -happened once that his manager, with whom he had quarrelled, had to -provide a dagger to be deposited on an altar, for the amateur player’s -suicidal use. Out of spite, the fellow placed there the shoemaker’s -professional cutting-knife. The amateur, in the fury of his acting, -and not perceiving the trick, snatched up the weapon, and gave himself -the happy despatch with the instrument which helped him to live. This -stage business excited roars of laughter, which brought the tragedy to -an end as merrily as if it had been a burlesque. The shoemaker could -find nothing to say, by which he might turn the laughter from himself. -He was not as witty as the English shoemaker’s apprentice whom his -master seized, about this time, on the private stage in Berwick Street, -acting no less a character than Richard III., in a very dilapidated -pair of buskins. As the angry master pointed to them in scorn, the -witty lad sustained his royal quality in his reply: ‘Oh! shoes are -things we kings don’t stand upon!’ - -In England, private theatricals are to be traced back to an early -date. We go far enough in that direction, however, by referring to -Mary Tudor, the solemn little daughter of Henry VIII., who, with -other children, acted before her royal sire, in Greenwich Palace, to -the intense delight of her father and an admiring court. Henrietta -Maria, Queen of Charles I., is remembered in court and theatrical -annals for the grace with which she played in pretty pastoral French -pieces, assisted by her ladies, on the private stages at Whitehall -and Hampton Court. The private theatricals of the Puritan days were -only those which took place surreptitiously, and at the risk of the -performers being arrested and punished. Holland House, Kensington, was -occasionally the place where the players found refuge and gave a taste -of their quality. The ‘good time’ came again; and that greatest of -actors, Betterton, with his good and clever wife, taught the daughters -of James II. all that was necessary to make those ladies what they both -were, excellent actors on their private stage. So Quin taught the boy -to speak, who afterwards became George III., and who was a very fair -private player, but perhaps not equal with his brothers and sisters, -and some of the young nobility who trod the stage for pastime, and gave -occupation to painters and engravers to reproduce the mimic scene and -the counterfeit presentments of those who figured therein. - -It was in the reign of George III., and in the year 1777, that the year -itself was inaugurated on the part of the fashionable amateurs by a -performance of ‘The Provoked Husband.’ Lord Villiers was at the cost -of getting it up, but that was nothing to a man who was the prince of -macaronies, and who, as Walpole remarks, had ‘fashioned away’ all he -possessed. The play, followed by a sort of _pose plastique_, called -‘Pygmalion and the Statue,’ was acted in a barn, expensively fitted -up for the occasion, near Henley. Lord Villiers and Miss Hodges were -Lord and Lady Townley. Walpole says, on hearsay, that ‘it went off -to admiration.’ Mrs. Montagu, also on report, says: ‘I suppose the -merit of this entertainment was, that people were to go many miles -in frost and snow, to see in a barn what would have been every way -better at the theatre in Drury Lane or Covent Garden.’ Walpole speaks -of M. Texier’s Pygmalion as ‘inimitable.’ The Frenchman was at that -time much patronised in town for his ‘readings.’ Miss Hodges acted the -Statue. Mrs. Montagu’s sharp criticism takes this shape: ‘Modern nymphs -are so warm and yielding that less art than that of M. Texier might -have animated the nymph. My niece will never stand to be made love to -before a numerous audience.’ The Lady Townley and Galatea of these gay -doings sacrificed herself, we suppose, to these important duties. ‘Miss -Hodges’ father,’ writes Mrs. Montagu, ‘is lately dead: her mother is -dying. How many indecorums the girl has brought together in one _petite -pièce_!’ The play was not all the entertainment of the night, which was -one of the most inclement of that pitiless winter. ‘There was a ball,’ -says the lady letter-writer, ‘prepared after the play, but the barn had -so benumbed the vivacity of the company, and the beaux’ feet were so -cold and the noses of the belles were so blue, many retired to a warm -bed at the inn at Henley, instead of partaking of the dance.’ Walpole -gives play to his fancy over these facts. ‘Considering,’ he says, ‘what -an Iceland night it was, I concluded the company and audience would all -be brought to town in waggons, petrified, and stowed in a statuary’s -yard in Piccadilly.’ - -We have heard over and over again of such private theatres as -Winterslow, near Salisbury, which was burnt down on the night after -a performance in which Fox and similar spirits had acted with equal -vivacity in tragedy and farce. Other incidents are to be found in -Walpole and similar gossiping chroniclers of the time. None of those -private theatres, however, can match with Wargrave, in Berkshire, -where, in the last century, Lord Barrymore held sway during his brief -and boisterous life. When Lord Barrymore succeeded to the lordship -of himself, that ‘heritage of woe,’ he came before the world with a -splendour so extravagant in its character that the world was aghast -at his recklessness. Wild and audacious as was the character of this -wayward boy’s life, he was in some sort a gentleman in his vices. He -was brave and generous and kindly hearted. Since his time we have had -a line (now extinct, or effete in the infirmity and imbecility of a -surviving member or two) of gentlemen who plunged into blackguardism -as a relief from the burden of life. They would play loosely at cards, -swindle a dear friend at horse-dealing, and half a dozen of them -together would not be afraid to fall upon some helpless creature and -beat him into pulp by way of a ‘lark.’ Lord Barrymore was simply a -‘rake,’ and he injured no man but himself. He came into the hunting -field more like a king of France and Navarre than an English gentleman, -and his negro trumpeters played fantasias in the woods, to the infinite -surprise, no doubt, of the foxes. He kept perpetual open house, and -Mrs. Delpini superintended it for him. What he most prided himself upon -was his taste for the drama, and the way he carried it into effect made -Wargrave brilliant and famous in its little day. - -This noble youth began modestly enough. His first private theatre was -in one of his own barns. The first piece played in it was ‘Miss in -her Teens,’ in which he acted Flash; and no one of the illustrious -performers, youth or maiden, was over seventeen years of age. Noble -by birth, as all the amateur Thespians were, this performance was not -given to an exclusively aristocratic audience, but to all the villagers -and the peasantry in the vicinity of the village who cared to come. -All came, and there was a pit of red cloaks and smock frocks, and -ample provision of creature comforts for the whole barn. From this -modest origin sprang the noble theatre which Cox of Covent Garden -Theatre built for the earl at a cost of 60,000_l._ It was a marvellous -edifice. For pantomimic performances it had traps and springs and -other machinery that might satisfy the requirements of Mr. George -Conquest himself, who practised gymnastics, for exercise, when he was -a student at a German university, and who is now the first of gymnastic -performers instead of being the profoundest of philosophers--though -there is no reason why he may not be both. - -The Wargrave theatre lacked nothing that could be wanted for its -completeness. The auditorium was splendid. There was a saloon quite as -superb, wherein the audience could sup like kings and the invited could -afterwards dance. Between the acts of performance pages and lackeys, -in scarlet and gold, proffered choice refreshments to the spectators, -who were not likely to be hard upon players under a management of such -unparalleled liberality. The acting company was made up of professional -players--Munden, Delpini, and Moses Kean, among the men, with the -best and prettiest actresses of the Richmond Theatre. Lord Barrymore -and Captain Walthen were the chief amateurs. Low comedy and pantomime -formed the ‘walk’ of my lord, who on one occasion danced a celebrated -_pas Russe_ with Delpini as it was then danced at the opera. Now and -then the noble proprietor would stand disguised as a check-taker, and -promote ‘rows’ with the farmers and their wives, disputing the validity -of their letters of invitation. It was also his fond delight to mingle -with them, in disguise again, as they wended homeward, listening to or -provoking their criticism. He probably heard some unwelcome truths, -for he could not have long escaped detection. Within doors the night’s -pleasures were not at an end with the play. Dancing, gambling, music, -and folly to its utmost limits succeeded; and he, or _she_, was held -in scorn who attempted to go to bed before 5 A.M. Indeed, such persons -were not allowed to sleep if they did withdraw before the appointed -hour. From five o’clock to noon was the Wargrave season for sleep. The -company were consigned to the ‘upper and lower barracks,’ as the two -divisions were called where the single and the married, or those who -might as well have been, were billeted for the night. - -Lord Barrymore did not confine himself to acting on a private stage. -In August, 1790, he ‘was so humble as to perform a buffoon dance and -act scaramouch in a pantomime at Richmond for the benefit of Edwin -_junior_, the comedian; and I,’ writes Walpole, ‘like an old fool, but -calling myself a philosopher that loves to study human nature in all -its disguises, went to see the performance!’ Walpole used to call the -earl ‘the strolling player.’ On the above occasion, however, there is -one thing to be remembered: Lord Barrymore, invited to play the fool, -condescended to that degradation in order to serve young Edwin, whose -affection and filial duty towards a sick and helpless mother had won -the noble amateur’s regard. - -Lord Barrymore married in 1792, in which year the splendid theatre -at Wargrave was pulled down. In March, 1793, he was, as captain of -militia, escorting some French prisoners through Kent. On his way he -halted at an inn to give them and his own men refreshment; which being -done, he kissed the handsome landlady and departed in his phaeton, his -groom mounting the horse Lord Barrymore had previously ridden. The man -put a loaded gun into the carriage, and Lord Barrymore had not ridden -far when it exploded and killed him on the spot. Thus ended, at the age -of twenty-four years, the career of the young earl, who was the most -indefatigable, if not the most able, amateur actor of his day. - -Such examples fired less noble youths, who left their lawful -callings, broke articles and indentures, and set up for themselves by -representing somebody else. Three of our best bygone comedians belong -to this class, and may claim some brief record at our hands. - -Oxberry, who was distinguished for the way in which he acted personages -who were less remarkable for their simplicity than for their silliness, -was a pupil of Stubbs, the animal painter, and subsequently was in -the house of Ribeau, the bookseller. The attractions of the private -theatres in Queen Anne Street and Berwick Street were too much for him. -Oxberry’s first appearance was made at the former place, as Hassan, -in the ‘Castle Spectre.’ The well-known players, Mrs. W. West and -John Cooper, acted together as Alonzo and Leonora in ‘The Revenge,’ -at a private theatre in Bath, to the horror of their friends and the -general scandalising of the city of which they were natives. The Bath -manager looked on the young pair with a business eye, and the youthful -amateurs were soon enrolled among the professionals. In their first -stages, professionals scarcely reckon above amateurs. They play what -they can, and such comic actors as Wilkinson and Harley are not the -only pair of funny fellows upon record who played the most lofty -tragedy in opposition to each other. Little Knight, as he used to be -called, was, like Long Oxberry, intended for art, but he too took to -private acting, and passed thence to the stage, where he was supreme in -peasants, and particularly rustics, of sheer simplicity of character. -His Sim in ‘Wild Oats’ was an exquisite bit of acting, and this is said -without any disparagement of Mr. D. James, who recently acted the part -at Mr. Belmore’s benefit with a natural truthfulness which reminded -old play-goers of the ‘real old thing.’ If Mr. Knight did not succeed -in pictorial art, he left a son who did--the gentleman who so recently -retired from the secretaryship of the Royal Academy. The two names of -Knight and Harley were, for a long time, pleasant in the ears of the -patrons of the drama. John Pritt Harley was intended for many things, -but amateur acting made a capital comedian of him. His father was a -reputable draper and mercer--and jealous actors used to say that he -sold stays and that his son helped to make them. The truth is that he -was first devoted to surgery, but Harley ‘couldn’t abide it.’ Next he -tried the law, and sat on a stool with the edge of a desk pressing into -him till he could bear it no longer. There was, at the time, a company -of amateurs who performed in the old Lyceum, and there, and at other -private theatres, Harley worked away as joyously as he ever played; and -worked harder still through country theatres, learning how to starve -as well as act, and to fancy that a cup of tea and a penny loaf made a -good dinner--which no man could make upon them. His opportunity came -when, in 1815, Mr. Arnold, who had watched some part of his progress, -brought him out at the Lyceum--his old amateur playing ground--as -Marcelli, in ‘The Devil’s Bridge.’ Harley lived a highly-esteemed actor -and a most respectable bachelor. Some little joking used to be pointed -at him in print, on account of an alleged attachment between him and -Miss Tree, the most graceful of dancers and of columbines. But Miss -Tree was a Mrs. Quin--though she had scarcely seen her husband, since -she was compelled to marry him in her childhood. The nicest pointed -bit of wit was manufactured in a hoaxing announcement of a benefit -to be taken by both parties. The pieces advertised were ‘A Tale of -_Mystery_,’ and a ‘Harley-Quinade.’ The names of the parties could -not have been more ingeniously put together in sport. Harley, though -a mannerist, was an excellent actor to the last. When he was stricken -with apoplexy, while playing Bottom, in the ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ -at the Princess’s Theatre, in Charles Kean’s time, he was carried -home, and the last words he uttered were words in his part: ‘I feel an -exposition to sleep coming over me.’ And straightway the unconscious -speaker slept--for aye! - -We must not add to the grievances of Ireland by altogether overlooking -Erin’s private theatricals. From the day in 1544, when Bale’s -‘Pammachius’ was acted by amateurs at the market cross of Kilkenny, -to the last recent record of Irish amateur acting, in the ‘Dublin -Evening Mail,’ this amusement has been a favourite one among the ‘West -Britons.’ The practice did not die out at the Union. Kilkenny, Lurgan, -Carton, and Dublin had their private stages. When the amateur actors -played for charity’s sake everybody took private boxes and nobody paid -for them. In 1761, the ‘Beggars’ Opera’ was played at the Duke of -Leinster’s (Carton). Dean Marly played Lockit, and wrote and spoke the -prologue, in which the reverend gentleman thus alluded to himself: - - - But when this busy mimic scene is o’er - All shall resume the worth they had before; - Lockit himself his knavery shall resign, - And lose the Gaoler in the dull Divine. - - -The above was not quite as dignified as Milton’s ‘Arcades,’ played by -the children of the Dowager Countess of Derby, at her house, Harefield -Place; or as ‘Comus,’ acted by the young Egertons before the Earl of -Bridgewater, at Ludlow Castle. Perhaps it was more amusing. - -One of our own best amateur actresses was the Princess Mary of -Cambridge (now Duchess of Teck). This excellent lady had once to -commence the piece (a musical piece, written for the occasion by an -amateur) on a private stage in one of the noblest of our country -mansions. An illustrious audience was waiting for the curtain to go up; -but the kindly-hearted princess was thinking of some less illustrious -folks, who were not among that audience and whom she desired to see -there, namely, the servants of the household--as many as could be -spared. They had had much trouble, and she hoped they would be allowed -to share in the amusement. There was some difficulty; but it was only -when she was informed that the servants were really ‘in front,’ that -the ‘Queen of Hearts’ (her part in the piece) answered that she was -ready to begin the play. She never acted better than on this occasion. - - - - -_THE SMELL OF THE LAMPS._ - - -As we look at the two volumes of Mr. Planché’s autobiography we -experience a sensation of delight. They remind us of a story told of -Maria Tree, long after she had become Mrs. Bradshaw, and was accustomed -to luxuries unknown in her early and humble life. She was one night -crossing the stage behind the curtain, on a short way to a private -box, when she stopped for a moment, and, as she caught the well-known -incense of the foot-lights, joyously exclaimed, ‘The smell of the -lamps! How I love it!’ Therewith she spoke of the old times, when she -worked hard--that is, ‘played,’ for the support of others as well as -for her own support; and what a happy time it was, and how she wished -it could all come over again! The noble peer who had the honour of -escorting her, looked profoundly edified, smiled good-humouredly, -and then completed his duty as escort. Here we open Mr. Planché’s -book, and catch from it a ‘smell of the lamps.’ Yes, there must have -been--must be--something delicious in it to those who have achieved -success. To old play-goers there is a similar delight in books of -stage reminiscences which include memories of great actors whom those -play-goers have seen in their youth. A few of these still survive to -talk of the old glories and to prove by comparison of ‘cast’ that for -the costly metal of other days we have nothing now but pinchbeck. We -have heard one of the old gentlemen of the _ancien régime_ talk, with -unfeigned emotion, of the way in which ‘The Gamester’ used to be acted -by Mrs. Siddons, John Kemble, Charles Kemble, and George Frederick -Cooke. How ladies sobbed and found it hard to suppress a shriek; how -gentlemen veiled their eyes to hide the impertinent tears, and tried -to look as if nothing were the matter; and, how people who had seen -the dreadful tragedy more than once, and dreaded to witness it again, -were so fascinated that they would stand in the box-passages gazing -through the glass panels of the box doors, beholding the action of the -drama, but sparing themselves the heartbreaking utterances of the chief -personages. Within a few weeks we have heard a veteran play-goer give -imitations of John Kemble in ‘Coriolanus,’ which he last played more -than half a century ago! It had the perfect enunciation which was the -chief merit of the Kemble school; it was dignified; it gave an idea of -a grand actor, and it was a pleasure conferred on the hearers such as -Charles Mathews the elder used to confer on his audiences ‘At Home,’ -when he presented them with Tate Wilkinson, and they were delighted to -make acquaintance with the famous man who had so long before got, as -the old Irishwoman said at Billy Fullam’s funeral, his ‘pit order at -last.’ - -While we wait for a paper-cutter to open the closed pages of Mr. -Planché’s book, we will just remark that those were days when audiences -were differently arranged to what they are now. In the little -summer-house in the Haymarket, when stalls were not yet invented, -the two-shilling gallery was the rendezvous of some of the richest -tradesmen in Pall Mall and the neighbourhood around. At that period, -London tradesmen lived and slept at their places of business. They did -not pass their nights at a country house. London audiences were made up -almost entirely of London people. In the present day, they are largely -made up of visitors from the country. In proportion as travelling -companies of actors of merit increase and continue to represent plays -sometimes better than they are represented in London, country visitors -will cease to go to ‘the play,’ as it is called, in the metropolis, and -will find some other resort where they can shuffle off the mortal coil -of tediousness which holds them bound during their absence from home. - -In good old times the pit was the place, not only for the critics, but -for the most eminent men of the day. Indeed, not only eminent men, but -ladies also, whose granddaughters, as they sweep into the stalls, would -think meanly of their grandmothers and grandfathers, and would shudder -at the thought of themselves, being in that vulgar part of the house. -It is an excellent vulgarity that sits there. Nineteen out of twenty, -perhaps ninety out of a hundred, of persons in the pit are the truest -patrons of the drama; they pay for the places; and, generally speaking, -the places are made as uncomfortable as if the occupiers were intruders -of whom the managers would be glad to get rid. - -The best proof of the quality of the old pittites is to be found in -the diary of the Right Hon. William Windham (1784-1810). One of the -entries in the first-named year records a breakfast with Sir Joshua -Reynolds, a visit to Miss Kemble, and ‘went in the evening to the pit -with Mrs. Lukin.’ The play was ‘The Gamester.’ A day or two afterwards -the great statesman went with Steevens and Miss Kemble to see ‘Measure -for Measure.’ ‘After the play,’ writes Windham, ‘went with Miss Kemble -to Mrs. Siddons’s dressing-room; met Sheridan there.’ What interest -Windham took in that actress is illustrated in another entry: ‘Feb. 1, -1785. Drove to Mrs. Siddons in order to communicate a hint on a passage -in Lady Macbeth, which she was to act the next night. Not finding her -at home, went to her at the play-house.’ Well might Mrs. Siddons write, -on inviting Windham to tea: ‘I am sure you would like it; and you can’t -be to learn that I am truly sensible of the honour of your society.’ - -The pits in the London theatres have undergone as great a change, -though a different one, as the pit at the opera, which now only -nominally exists, if it exist at all. It is now an area of stalls; -the old price for admission is doubled, and the entertainment is not -worth an eighth of what charged for it compared with that of the olden -time, when for an eight-and-sixpenny pit ticket you had Grisi, Mario, -Lablache, and Tamburini, with minor vocalists, thorough artists, in -the same opera. What a spectacle was the grand old house! The old -aristocracy had their boxes for the season, as they had their town -and country houses. You got intimate with them by sight; it was a -pleasure to note how the beautiful young daughters of each family -grew in gracefulness. You took respectful part in the marriages. At -each opening season you marked whether the roses bloomed or paled -upon the young cheeks, and you sympathised accordingly. You spoke of -Lord Marlshire’s look with a hearty neighbourly feeling, and you were -glad that Lady Marlshire really seemed only the eldest sister of a -group of beauties who were her daughters. As for the sons of those -great families, they were in full dress, sauntering or gossiping in -that Elysium ill-naturedly called ‘Fops’ Alley’; they were exchanging -recognitions with friends and kinsmen in all parts of the house. If you -heard a distant laugh--loud enough where the laughers were moved to -it--you might be sure it was caused by Lord Alvanley, who was telling -some absurdly jocose story to a group of noble Young Englanders in the -pit passage under the boxes. We have seen the quiet entry of a quiet -man into a private box make quite a stir. Every stranger felt that the -quiet man was a man of mark; he came to snatch a momentary joy, and -then away to affairs of state again; he was the prime minister. Dozens -of opera-goers have recorded their _souvenirs_ of the old glorious days -when the opera, as they say, was an institution, opened only twice a -week: whereas each house is merely an ordinary theatre, with audiences -that are never, two nights running, chiefly made up of the same -_habitués_. They have told what friendly interest used to be aroused -when the Duchess of Kent and her daughter, the Princess Victoria, took -their seats every opera night. We seem again to hear a ringing laugh, -and we know it comes from the sparkling English lady with an Italian -title, the Countess St. Antonio. We seem again to see that marvellously -audacious-looking pair, Lady Blessington and Count D’Orsay, gauging -the house and appearing to differ as to conclusions. The red face of -the Duchess of St. Albans and the almost as ruddy vessel from which -her tea was poured have been described over and over again; and, in -the records of other chroniclers we fancy that once more there come -upon us the voices of two gentlemen who talked so above the singers -that a remonstrant ‘Hush!’ went round the building. The offenders were -the Duke of Gloucester and Sir Robert Wilson. The soldier would draw -out of sight, and the prince would make a sort of apologetic remark in -a voice a little higher than that which had given offence. These are -reminiscences chronicled in the memoirs, diaries, and fugitive articles -of old opera-goers. - -Mr. Planché must have been among those ancient lovers of music and -of song, and that he should record his experiences is a thing to be -grateful for, especially as he writes of the battle and joys of life -while he is still in harness and the wreathed bowl is in his hand. -In 1818, he began with burlesque--‘Amoroso, King of Little Britain,’ -written for amateurs, and taken by Harley, unknown to the author, -to Drury Lane. In 1872, after fifty-four years of work, Mr. Planché -executed the better portion of ‘Babil and Bijou,’ which, compared -with ‘Amoroso,’ is as the _Great Eastern_ steamer to a walnut-shell. -We heartily welcome all chroniclers of an art that lives only in -the artist, and never survives him in tradition. Our own collection -begins with Downes, and Mr. Planché’s emerald-green volumes will find -room there. Scores of biographies are ‘squeezing’ room for him. Fred -Reynolds’s portrait seems to say, ‘Let Planché come next to me.’ As we -look at those dramatic historians we are struck with their usefulness -as well as their power of entertaining. For example, a paragraph in one -of the most ancient of dramatic chronicles--the ‘Roscius Anglicanus,’ -by old Downes, the prompter--is of infinite use to the reputation of -Shakespeare. Dryden, who produced _his_ version of ‘The Tempest’ to -show how Shakespeare _ought_ to have written it, maintained that after -the Restoration our national poet was not much cared for by the people, -and that for a long time two plays of Beaumont and Fletcher were acted -for one of Shakespeare. In Downes’s record the prompter registers -the revival of ‘Hamlet;’ and, without any reference to Dryden, or -knowledge, indeed, of his depreciation of Shakespeare, he states that -the tragedy in question brought more money to the house and more -reputation to the players than any piece by any other author during a -great number of years. - -To some nameless chronicler we owe a knowledge of the fact that -Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ was played on board ship, in Shakespeare’s time, -by sailors. Why was this left unnoticed when the royal captain of the -_Galatea_ took the chair at the last Theatrical Fund dinner? But for -the chroniclers we should be ignorant that, just six hundred years -ago, the Chester mysteries and passion-plays were at their highest -point of attraction. Indeed, they could never have been unattractive; -for all those who undertook to witness the performance during about -a month’s season were promised to be relieved from hundreds of years -of the fire of purgatory. What a delicious feeling to the earnest -play-goer, that the more regularly he went to the play on these -occasions, the more pleasantly he would work out his salvation! The -different dramatic scenes were represented by the best actors in the -Chester trading companies. One would like to know on what principle the -distribution of parts was made by the manager. Why should the Tanners -have been chosen to play the ‘Fall of Lucifer’? What virtue was there -in the Blacksmiths, that they should be especially appointed to enact -‘The Purification’? or, in the Butchers, that they should represent -‘The Temptation’? or, in the Bakers, that they should be deemed the -fittest persons to illustrate ‘The Last Supper’? One can understand -the Cooks being selected for ‘The Descent into Hell,’ because they -were accustomed to stand fire; but what of angelical or evangelical -could be found exclusively in the Tailors, that they should be cast for -‘The Ascension’? Were the Skinners, whose mission it was to play ‘The -Resurrection,’ not deemed worthy of going higher? Or, were the Tailors -lighter men, and more likely to rise with alacrity? - -We are inclined to think that the idea of plays being naughty things -and players more than naughty persons in the early days is a vulgar -error. Plays must have been highly esteemed by the authorities, or -Manningtree in Essex (and probably many another place) would not have -enjoyed its privilege of holding a fair by tenure of exhibiting a -certain number of stage plays annually. - -There was undoubtedly something Aristophanic in many of the early -plays. There was sharp satire, and sensitive ribs which shrank from -the point of it. When the Cambridge University preachers satirised -the Cambridge town morals the burgesses took the matter quietly; but -when the Cambridge University players (students) caricatured the town -manners in 1601, exaggerating their defects on the University stage, -there was much indignation. - -The presence of Queen Elizabeth at plays in London, and the acting of -them in the mansions which she honoured by a visit, are proofs of the -dignity of the profession. We have her, in the year last named, at one -of the most popular of London theatres, with a bevy of fair listening -maids of honour about her. This was in her old age. ‘I have just come,’ -writes Chamberlain to Charlton, ‘from the Blackfriars, where I saw her -at the play with all her _candida auditrices_.’ At Christmas time, -Carlile writes to Chamberlain, ‘There has been such a small court this -Christmas, that the guard were not troubled to keep doors at the plays -and pastimes.’ - -And if the name of Elizabeth should have a sweet savour to actors -generally, not less delicious to dramatic memories should be the mayor -of Abingdon, in that queen’s time, who invited so many companies of -players to give a taste of their quality in that town for fee and -reward. If any actor to whom the history of the stage be of interest -should turn up at Abingdon, let him get the name of this play-loving -mayor, and hang it over the fire-place of the best room of the Garrick, -or rather of the club that _will_ be--the social, cosey, comfortable, -professional, not palatial nor swellish, but homelike house, that the -Garrick was in its humbler and happier days. - -Now the companies the Mayor had down to Abingdon included the -Queen’s players, the Earl of Leicester’s players, the players of -the Earl of Worcester, of Lord Sussex, of the Earl of Bath, of Lord -Berkely, of Lord Shrewsbury, of Lord Derby, and of Lord Oxford. Is -there no one who can get at the names of these actors, and of the -pieces they played--played for rewards varying from twenty pence to -twenty shillings? Will that thoroughly English actor, one of the few -accomplished comedians of the well-trained times now left to us, be the -more successfully urged to the task, if we remind him that, in 1573, -his professional namesake, Mr. Compton, took his players to Abingdon, -and earned four shillings by the exercise of their talents? - -The Elizabethan time was a very lively one. It had its theatrical -cheats and its popular riots. We learn from State records that on the -anniversary of the Queen’s accession, November, 1602, ‘One Verner, of -Lincoln’s Inn, gave out bills of a play on Bankside, to be acted by -persons of account; price of entry, 2_s._ 6_d._ or 1_s._ 6_d._ Having -got most of the money he fled, but was taken and brought before the -Lord Chief Justice, who made a jest of it, and bound him over in 5_l._ -to appear at the sessions. The people, seeing themselves deluded, -revenged themselves on the hangings, chairs, walls, &c., and made a -great spoil. There was much good company, and many noblemen.’ - -The Queen died in March, 1603. There were the usual ‘blacks,’ but the -court and stage were brilliant again by Christmas. Early in January of -the following year people were talking of the gay doings, the brilliant -dresses, the noble dramas, the grand bear-baitings, the levity, -dancing, and the golden play, which had solemnised the Christmas just -ended. Thirteen years later Shakespeare died, and in little more than -half a century small spirits whispered that he was not such a great -spirit himself after all. - -In Mr. Planché’s professional autobiography, which makes us as -discursive as the biographer himself, there is a seeming inclination -to overpraise some actors of the present time at the expense of those -whom we must consider their superiors in bygone days. As far as this -may tend to show that there is no actor so good but that his equal may -in time be discovered, we have no difference with the author of these -‘Recollections.’ It is wonderful how speedily audiences recover the -loss of their greatest favourites. Betterton, who restored the stage -soon after Monk had restored the monarchy, was called ‘the glory and -the grief’ of that stage. The glory while he acted and lived in the -memories of those who had seen him act. To the latter his loss was an -abiding grief. For years after Betterton’s decease it was rank heresy -to suppose that he might be equalled. Pope, in expressive, yet not the -happiest of his verses, has alluded to this prejudice. The prejudice, -nevertheless, was unfounded. Betterton remains indeed with the prestige -of being an actor who has not been equalled in many parts, who has been -excelled in none. Old playgoers, who could compare him in his decline -with young Garrick in his vigour, were of different opinions as to -the respective merits of these two great masters of their art. We may -fairly conclude that Garrick’s Hamlet was as ‘great’ as Betterton’s; -that the latter’s Sir John Brute was hardly equal to Garrick’s Abel -Drugger; and that the Beverley of the later actor was as perfect an -original creation as the Jaffier of Betterton. - -When Wilks made the ‘Constant Couple, or a Trip to the Jubilee,’ a -success by the spirit and ease with which he played the part of Sir -Harry Wildair, Farquhar, the author of the comedy, said ‘That he made -the part will appear from hence: whenever the stage has the misfortune -to lose him Sir Harry Wildair may go to the Jubilee.’ Nevertheless, -Margaret Woffington achieved a new success for that play by the fire -and joyousness of her acting. When Wilks died, poets sang in rapturous -grief of his politeness, grace, gentility, and ease; and they protested -that a supernatural voice had been heard moaning through the air-- - - - Farewell, all manly Joy! - And ah! true British Comedy, adieu! - Wilks is no more. - - -Notwithstanding this, British comedy did not die; Garrick’s Ranger was -good compensation for Wilks’s Sir Harry. - -When Garrick heard of Mrs. Cibber’s death, in 1766, he exclaimed, ‘Mrs. -Cibber dead! Then tragedy has died with her!’ At that very time a -little girl of twelve years of age was strolling from country theatre -to country theatre, and she was destined to be an actress of higher -quality and renown than even Mrs. Cibber, namely, Sarah Siddons. Mrs. -Pritchard could play Lady Macbeth as grandly as Mrs. Siddons; and Mrs. -Crawford (Spranger Barry’s widow), who laughed at the ‘paw and pause’ -of the Kemble school, was a Lady Randolph of such force and pathos -that Sarah feared and hated her. Not many years after Garrick had -pronounced Tragedy and Cibber to have expired together, his own death -was described as having eclipsed the harmless gaiety of nations, and -Melpomene wept with Thalia for their common adopted son, and neither -would be comforted. But as Siddons was compensation for Mrs. Cibber, so -the Kembles, to use an old simile, formed the very fair small change -for Garrick. When Kemble himself departed, his most ardent admirers or -worshippers could not assert that his legitimate successor could not be -found. Edmund Kean had already supplanted him. The romantic had thrust -out the classic; the natural had taken place of the artificial; and -Shakespeare, by flashes of the Kean lightning, proved more attractive -than the stately eloquence of ‘Cato,’ or the measured cadences of -‘Coriolanus.’ - -Edmund Kean, however, has never had a successor in certain parts. Mrs. -F. Kemble has justly said of him: ‘Kean is gone, and with him are gone -Shylock, Richard, and Othello.’ Mrs. Siddons, at her first coming, did -not dethrone the old popular favourites. After she had withdrawn from -the stage, Miss O’Neill cast her somewhat under the shadow of oblivion; -but when old Lady Lucy Meyrick saw Mrs. Siddons’s Lady Macbeth in her -early triumph, she acknowledged the fine conception of the character, -but the old lady, full of ancient dramatic memories, declared that, -compared with Mrs. Pritchard and Mrs. Cibber, Mrs. Siddons’s grief was -the grief of a cheesemonger’s wife. Miss Hawkins is the authority for -this anecdote, the weak point in which is that in Lady Macbeth the -player is not called upon to exhibit any illustration of grief. - -We have said that Kean never had a superior in certain parts. Elliston -considered himself to be superior in one point; and by referring to -some particular shortcoming in other actors Elliston contrived to -establish himself as _facile princeps_ of dramatic geniuses--in his own -opinion. This we gather from Moncrieff, whom Elliston urged to become -his biographer. He would not interfere with Moncrieff’s treatment of -the subject. ‘I will simply call your attention, my dear fellow,’ said -Elliston, ‘to three points, which you _may_ find worthy of notice, when -you draw your parallels of great actors. Garrick could not sing; I -can. Lewis could not act tragedy; I can. Mossop could not play comedy; -I can. Edmund Kean never wrote a drama; I have.’ In the last comparison -Elliston was altogether out. In the cheap edition of ‘Their Majesties’ -Servants’ I have inserted a copy of a bill put up by Kean, in 1811, at -York, in the ball-room of the Minster Yard of which city Edmund Kean -and his young wife announced a two nights’ performance of scenes from -plays, imitations, and songs, the whole enacted by the poor strolling -couple. In that bill Mr. Kean is described as ‘late of the Theatres -Royal, Haymarket and Edinburgh, and author of “The Cottage Foundling, -or Robbers of Ancona,” now preparing for immediate representation at -the theatre Lyceum.’ We never heard of this representation having taken -place. Hundreds of French dramas once came into the cheap book market -from the Lyceum, where they had been examined for the purpose of seeing -whether any of them could be made useful in English dresses. Some of -them undoubtedly were. Kean’s manuscript drama may still be lying among -the Arnold miscellanies; if found, we can only hope that the owner will -make over ‘The Cottage Foundling _and_ the Robbers of Ancona’ to the -Dramatic College. The manuscript would be treasured there as long as -the College itself lasts. How long that will be we cannot say; probably -as long as the College serves its present profitable purpose. We could -wish that the _emeriti_ players had a more lively lookout. A view from -its doorway over the heath is as cheerful as that of an empty house to -the actor who looks through the curtain at it on his benefit night! - -Edmund Kean’s loss has not been supplied as Mrs. Siddons’s was, to a -certain extent, and to that actress’s great distaste, by Miss O’Neill; -but Drury Lane has flourished with and by its Christmas pantomimes. -Audiences cannot be what they were in Mr. Planché’s younger days. They -examine no coin that is offered to them. They take what glitters as -real currency, and are content. When we were told the other day of -a player at the Gaiety representing Job Thornberry in a moustache, -we asked if the pit did not shave him clean out of the comedy? Job -Thornberry in a moustache! ‘Well,’ was the rejoinder, ‘he only follows -suit. He imitates the example of Mr. Sothern, who played Garrick in a -moustache.’ We were silent, and thought of the days when actors dressed -their characters from portraits, as William Farren did his Frederick -and his Charles XII. - -If Mr. Planché’s book had not been as suggestive as it is purely -historical we should not have been so long coming to it. But he records -a fact or makes a reflection, and straightway a reader, who has long -memories of books or men, goes far back into older records in search -of contrasts or of parallels. We come to him now definitely, and do -not again mean to let him go, as far as his dramatic experiences are -concerned. Mr. Planché makes even his birth _theatrical_; he says, ‘I -believe I made my first appearance in Old Burlington Street on the -27th of February, 1796, about the time the farce begins’ (used to -begin?) ‘at the Haymarket, that is, shortly after one o’clock in the -morning.’ The Haymarket season, however, ran at that time only from -June to September. In spite of ourselves, Mr. Planché’s record of his -birth leads us to a subject that is, however, in connection with the -record. We find that Mr. Planché was not only of the Kemble and Kean -periods, since which time the stage has been ‘nothing’ especial, but -that he was born under both. On the night of his birth John Kemble -played Manly in ‘The Plain Dealer,’ with a cast further including Jack -Bannister, the two Palmers, Dodd, Suett, and Mrs. Jordan! Think of the -dolls and puppets and groups of sticks whom people are now asked to -recognise as artists, and who gain more in a night than the greatest -of the above-named players earned in a week. A few nights later -Edmund Kean, if he himself is to be credited rather than theatrical -biographers, made his first appearance on any stage as the ‘Robber’s -Boy’ on the first night the ‘Iron Chest’ was acted--a play in which -the boy was destined to surpass, in Sir Edward Mortimer, the original -representative, John Kemble. At the other house little Knight, the -father of the present secretary of the Royal Academy, made his _début_ -in London; and the father of Mr. Macready was playing _utility_ with -a finish that, if he were alive to do it now, would entitle him to a -name on ‘posters’ three feet high, and to the sarcasm of managers, who -readily pay comedians who ‘draw’ and laugh at _them_ and at the public -who are drawn by them. But here is Mr. Planché waiting. - -Well! he seems to have been backward in speaking; though he says, as -a proof to the contrary, that he spoke Rolla’s speech to his soldiers -shortly after he had found his own. ‘Pizarro,’ we will observe, was -not produced till 1799, and was not printed _then_. But, on the other -hand, Mr. Planché, like Pope, seems to have lisped in numbers, for at -ten he wrote odes, sonnets, and particularly an address to the Spanish -patriots, which he describes as ‘really terrible to listen to.’ When -he passed into his teens, the serious question of life turned up. He -could not be made to be a watchmaker, the calling of his good father, -a French refugee. Barrister, artist, geometrician, cricketer, were -vocations which were considered and set aside. His tutor in geometry -died before the pupil could discover the quadrature of the circle; -and the other callings not seeming to give him a chance, Mr. Planché -bethought himself that, as he was fond of writing, he was especially -qualified to become a bookseller. It was while he was learning this -_métier_ that his dramatic propensities were further developed. They -had begun early; he had been ‘bribed to take some nasty stuff when an -urchin, on one occasion, by the present of a complete harlequin’s suit, -mask, wand, and all, and on another by that of a miniature theatre -and strong company of pasteboard actors,’ in whose control he enjoyed -what Charles Dickens longed to possess--a theatre given up to him, -with absolute despotic sway, to do what he liked with, house, actors -and pieces, monarch of all he surveyed. Mr. Kent has published this -‘longing’ in his ‘Charles Dickens as a Reader,’ and added one shadow -on Dickens’s character to the many which Mr. Forster has made public, -and which thoughtful biographers ought to have suppressed. We allude -particularly to where Dickens describes his mother as advertising to -receive young ladies as pupils in a boarding school, without having the -means to make preparations for their reception; also his showing-up of -his own father as Micawber; and above all, his recording that he never -had forgiven and never would forgive his mother for wishing him to go -back to his humble work at the blacking-maker’s instead of to school. -The light which thoughtless worshippers place before their favourite -saint often blackens him at least as much as it does him honour. - -While under articles with the bookseller Mr. Planché amused himself -as amateur actor at the then well-known private theatres in Berwick -Street, Catherine Street, Wilton Street, and Pancras Street. The -autobiographer says he there ‘murdered many principal personages of -the acting drama in company with several accomplices who have since -risen to deserved distinction upon the public boards.’ He adds, the -probability, had he continued his line of art, of his becoming by -this time ‘a very bad actor, had not “the sisters three and such odd -branches of learning” occasioned me by the merest accident to become -an indifferent dramatist.’ He says jocosely that finding nothing in -Shakespeare or Sheridan worthy of him, he wrote for amateurs the -burlesque entitled ‘Amoroso, King of Little Britain,’ which one of -the company showed to Harley, who at once put it on the stage of -Drury Lane in April 1818. There, night after night, Queen Coquetinda -stabbed Mollidusta, King Amoroso stabbed the Queen, Roastando stabbed -Amoroso, who however stabbed _his_ stabber, the too amorous cook--all -to excellent music and capitally acted, whether in the love-making, -the killing, or the recovery. Drury Lane Theatre is described by Mr. -Planché as being at the time ‘in a state of absolute starvation.’ Yet -it was a season in which Kean led in tragedy and Elliston in comedy, -and David Fisher played Richard and Hamlet as rival to the former, and -little Clara Fisher acted part of Richard the Third in ‘Lilliput.’ -Drury Lane had not had so good a company for years; and besides revived -pieces of sterling merit it brought out ‘Rob Roy the Gregarach,’ and -the ‘Falls of Clyde;’ and Kean played Othello and Richard, Hamlet and -Reuben Glenroy, Octavian and Sir Giles, Shylock and Luke, Sir Edward -Mortimer and King John, Oroonoko, Richard Plantagenet (‘Richard Duke of -York’), and Selim (‘Bride of Abydos’); Barabbas (‘Jew of Malta’), Young -Norval, Bertram, and, for his benefit, Alexander the Great, Sylvester -Daggerwood, and Paul in ‘Paul and Virginia.’ Nevertheless the success -of ‘Amoroso’ was the _popular_ feature of that Drury Lane season. It -made Mr. Planché become a dramatist in earnest. ‘At this present date,’ -he says, ‘I have put upon the stage, of one description and another, -seventy-six pieces.’ - - - - -_A LINE OF FRENCH ACTRESSES._ - - -The English stage has not been wanting in an illustrious line of right -royal queens of tragedy. Mrs. Barry is the noble founder, and perhaps -the noblest queen of that brilliant line. Then came Mrs. Cibber, Mrs. -Pritchard, Mrs. Spranger Barry (Mrs. Crawford), Mrs. Siddons (who hated -Mrs. Crawford for not abdicating), and Miss O’Neill, whom Mrs. Siddons -equally disliked for coming after her. - -With all these the lovers of dramatic literature are well acquainted. -Of the contemporary line of French tragedy queens very little is known -in this country; nevertheless the dynasty is one of great brilliancy, -and the details are not without much dramatic interest. - -In the year 1644, in the city of Rouen, there lived a family named -Desmares, which family was increased in that year by the birth of a -little girl who was christened Marie. Corneille, born in the same city, -was then eight-and-thirty years of age. Rouen is now proud of both -of them--poet and actress. The actress is only known to fame by her -married name. The clever Marie Desmares became the wife of the player, -Champmeslé. Monsieur was to Madame very much what poor Mr. Siddons -was to his illustrious consort. Madame, or Mademoiselle, or _La_ -Champmeslé, as she was called indifferently, associated with Corneille -by their common birth-place, was more intimately connected with Racine, -who was her senior by five years. La Champmeslé was in her twenty-fifth -year when she made her _début_ in Paris as Hermione, in Racine’s -masterpiece, ‘Andromaque.’ For a long time Paris could talk of nothing -but the new tragedy and the new actress. The part from which the piece -takes its name was acted by Mdlle. Duparc, whom Racine had carried off -from Molière’s company. The author was very much interested in this -lady, the wife of a M. Duparc. Madame was, when a widow, the mother -of a very posthumous child indeed. The mother died. She was followed -to the grave by a troop of the weeping adorers of her former charms, -‘and,’ says Racine, alluding to himself, ‘the most interested of them -was half dead as he wept.’ - -The poet was aroused from his grief by a summons from the king, who, in -presence of the sensitive Racine’s bitterest enemy, Louvois, accused -him of having robbed and poisoned his late mistress. The accusation was -founded on information given by the infamous woman, Voisin, who was a -poisoner by passion and profession, and was executed for her devilish -practices. The information was found to be utterly false, and Racine, -absolved, soon found consolation and compensation. - -He became the master of La Champmeslé, and taught her how to play the -heroines of the dramas which he wrote expressly for her. She, in her -turn, became the mistress of her tutor. Of his teaching indeed she -stood in little need, except to learn from him his ideas and object, as -author of the play. She was not only sublime, but La Champmeslé was the -first sublime actress that had hitherto appeared on the French stage. -Madame de Sévigné wrote to her daughter:-- - - - La Champmeslé is something so extraordinary that you have never - seen anything like it in all your life. One goes to hear the - actress, and not the play. I went to see ‘Ariadne’ for her sake - alone. The piece is inspired: the players execrable. But as soon - as La Champmeslé comes upon the stage a murmur of gladness runs - throughout the house, and the tears of the audience flow at her - despair. - - -The magic of the actress lured Madame de Sévigné’s son, the young -Marquis, from the side of Ninon de l’Enclos. ‘He is nothing but a -pumpkin fricasseed in snow,’ said the perennial beauty. After the young -nobleman thought proper to inform his mother of the interest he took in -La Champmeslé, Madame de Sévigné was so proud that she wrote and spoke -of her son’s mistress as her daughter-in-law! To her own daughter she -wrote as follows of the representation of Racine’s ‘Bajazet,’ in which -La Champmeslé acted Roxane: - - - The piece appeared to me fine. My daughter-in-law seemed to me - the most miraculously good actress I had ever seen; a hundred - thousand times better than Des Œillets; and I, who am allowed to - be a very fair player, am not worthy of lighting the candles for - her to act by. Seen near, she is plain, and I am not astonished - that my son was ‘choked’ at his first interview with her; but when - she breaks into verse she is adorable. I wish you could have come - with us after dinner; you would not have been bored. You would - probably have shed one little tear, since I let fall a score. You - would have admired your sister-in-law. - - -Two months later the mother sent to her daughter a copy of the piece, -and wrote: ‘If I could send you La Champmeslé with it you would admire -it, but without her it loses half its value.’ - -Racine, as Madame de Sévigné said, wrote pieces for his mistress, and -not for posterity. ‘If ever,’ she remarked, ‘he should become less -young, or cease to be in love, it will be no longer the same thing.’ -The interpreter of the poet produced her wonderful effects dressed in -exaggerated court costume, and delivering her _tirades_ in a cadenced, -sing-song, rise-and-fall style, marking the rhymes rather than keeping -to the punctuation. It was the glory of the well-educated _arlequin_ -and _columbine_, ‘dans leur Hostel de Bourgogne,’ to act whole scenes -of mock tragedy in the manner of La Champmeslé and her companions. It -was such high-toned burlesque as the gifted Robson’s Medea was to the -Medea of Ristori. - -Lovers consumed fortunes to win the smiles they sought from the plain -but attractive actress. Dukes, courtiers, simple gentlemen, flung -themselves and all they had at her feet. La Fontaine wrote verses in -worship of her, when he was not helping her complaisant husband to -write comedies. Boileau, in the most stinging of epigrams, has made the -conjugal immorality immortal, and de Sévigné has made the nobly-endowed -actress live for ever in her letters. - -After Racine shut his eyes, as complaisantly as the husband, to the -splendid infidelities of La Champmeslé--when temptation was powerless, -and religion took the place of passionate love--he moralised on the -sins of his former mistress. ‘The poor wretch,’ he wrote contemptuously -to his son, ‘in her last moments, refused to renounce the stage.’ -Without such renunciation the Church barred her way to heaven! Racine, -however, was misinformed. La Champmeslé died (1698) like so many of -her gayest fellows, ‘_dans les plus grands sentiments de piété_.’ Her -widowed husband, when the rascal quality died out of him, kept to -drink, and he turned now and then to devotion. One morning, in the year -1708, he went to the church of the Cordeliers, and ordered two masses -for the repose of the souls of his mother and of his wife; and he put -thirty sous into the hand of the _sacristain_ to pay for them. The man -offered him ten sous as change. But M. Champmeslé put the money back: -‘Keep it,’ he said, ‘for a third mass for myself. I will come and hear -it.’ Meanwhile he went and sat at the door of a tavern (_L’Alliance_) -waiting for church time. He chatted gaily with his comrades, promised -to join them at dinner, and as he rose to his feet he put his hand to -his head, uttered a faint shriek, and fell dead to the ground. - -As Racine formed La Champmeslé, so did the latter form her niece as her -successor on the stage--Mdlle. Duclos, who reigned supreme; but she was -a less potential queen of the drama than her mistress. Her vehemence -of movement once caused her to make an ignoble fall as she was playing -Camille in ‘Les Horaces.’ Her equally vehement spirit once carried her -out of her part altogether. At the first representation of La Motte’s -‘Inés de Castro’ the sudden appearance of the children caused the pit -to laugh and to utter some feeble jokes. Mdlle. Duclos, who was acting -Inés, was indignant. ‘Brainless pit!’ she exclaimed, ‘you laugh at -the finest incident in the piece!’ French audiences are not tolerant -of impertinence on the stage; but they took this in good part, and -listened with interest to the remainder of the play. - -Mdlle. Duclos, like her aunt, chanted or recitatived her parts. The -French had got accustomed to the sing-song cadences of their rhymed -plays, when suddenly a new charm fell upon their delighted ears. -The new charmer was Adrienne Lecouvreur--a hat-maker’s daughter, an -amateur actress, then a strolling player. In 1717 she burst upon Paris, -and in one month she enchanted the city by her acting in Monimia, -Electra, and Bérénice, and had been named one of the king’s company -for the first parts in tragedy and comedy. Adrienne’s magic lay in her -natural simplicity. She spoke as the character she represented might be -expected to speak. This natural style had been suggested by Molière, -and had been attempted by Baron, but unsuccessfully. It was given to -the silver-tongued Adrienne to subdue her audience by this exquisite -simplicity of nature. The play-going world was enthusiastic. Whence did -the new charmer come? She came from long training in the provinces, and -was the glory of many a provincial city before, in 1717, she put her -foot on the stage of the capital, and at the age of twenty-seven began -her brilliant but brief artistic career of thirteen years. Tracing -her early life back, people found her a baby, true child of Paris. In -her little-girlhood she saw ‘Polyeucte’ at the playhouse close by her -father’s house. She immediately got up the tragedy, with other little -actors and actresses. Madame la Présidente La Jay, hearing of the -ability of the troupe and of the excellence of Adrienne as Pauline at -the rehearsals in a grocer’s warehouse, lent the court-yard of her -hotel in the Rue Garancière, where a stage was erected, and the tragedy -acted, in presence of an audience which included members of the noblest -families in France. All Paris was talking of the marvellous skill of -the young company, but especially of Adrienne, when the association -called the ‘Comédie Française,’ which had the exclusive right of acting -the legitimate drama, arose in its spite, screamed ‘Privilege!’ and got -the company suppressed. - -The little Adrienne, however, devoted herself to the stage; and when -she came to Paris, after long and earnest experience in the provinces, -her new subjects hailed their new queen--queen of tragedy, that is to -say; for when she took comedy by the hand the muse bore with, rather -than smiled upon her; and, wanting sympathy, Adrienne felt none. -Outside the stage her heart and soul were surrendered to the great -soldier and utterly worthless fellow, Maurice de Saxe. He was the only -man to whom she ever gave her heart; and he had given his to so many -there was little left for her worth the having. What little there was -was coveted by the Princesse de Bouillon. Adrienne died while this -aristocratic rival was flinging herself at the feet of the handsome -Maréchal; and the wrathful popular voice, lamenting the loss of the -dramatic queen, accused the princess of having poisoned the actress. - -Adrienne Lecouvreur (whose story has been twice told in French dramas, -and once marvellously illustrated by the genius of Rachel), before she -made her exit from the world, thought of the poor of her district, and -she left them several thousands of francs. The curé of St.-Sulpice was -told of the death and of the legacy. The good man took the money and -refused to allow the body to be buried in consecrated ground. Princes -of the church went to her _petits soupers_, but they would neither say -‘rest her soul’ nor sanction decent rest to her body; and yet charity -had beautified the one, as talent and dignity had marked the other. The -corpse of this exquisite actress (she was only forty when she died) -was carried in a _fiacre_, accompanied by a faithful few, to a timber -yard in the Faubourg St.-Germain; a hired porter dug the shallow grave -of the tragedy queen; and I remember, in my youthful days, a stone -post at the corner of the Rue de Bourgogne and the Rue de Grenelle -which was said to stand over the spot where Monimia had been so -ingloriously buried. It was then a solitary place, significantly named -La Grenouillière. - -And when this drama had closed, a valet of Baron, the great tragedian, -looked at an old woman who attended in a box lobby of the Comédie -Française, and they mutually thought of their daughter as the successor -to poor Adrienne Lecouvreur. Their name was Gaussem; but when, a -year after Adrienne’s death, they succeeded in getting the young -girl--eighteen, a flower of youth, beauty, and of simplicity, most -exquisite, even if affected--they changed their name to Gaussin. As -long as she was young, Voltaire intoxicated her with the incense of his -flattery. He admired her Junie, Andromaque, Iphigénie, Bérénice; but he -worshipped her for her perfect acting in parts he had written--Zaïre -(in which there is a ‘bit of business’ with a veil, which Voltaire -stole from the ‘handkerchief’ in ‘Othello,’ the author of which he -pretended to despise)--Zaïre, Alzire; and in other characters Voltaire -swore that she was a miracle of acting. But La Gaussin never equalled -Adrienne. She surpassed Duclos in ‘Inés de Castro:’ she was herself to -be surpassed by younger rivals. At about forty Voltaire spoke of his -once youthful idol as _that old girl_! - -La Gaussin had that excellent thing in woman--a sympathetic voice. -Her pathos melted all hearts to the melodious sorrow of her own. -In Bérénice, her pathetic charm had such an effect on one of the -sentinels, who, in those days, were posted at the wings, that he -unconsciously let his musket fall from his arm. Her eyes were as -eloquent as her voice was persuasive. In other respects, Clairon (an -actress) has said of her that La Gaussin had instinct rather than -intelligence, with beauty, dignity, gracefulness, and an invariably -winning manner which nothing could resist. Her great fault, according -to the same authority, was sameness. Clairon added that she played -Zaïre in the same manner as she did Rodogune. It is as if an English -actress were to make no difference between Desdemona and Lady Macbeth. - -When La Gaussin had reached the age of forty-seven the French pit did -what the French nation invariably does--smote down the idol which it -had once worshipped. The uncrowned queen married an Italian ballet -dancer, one Tevolaigo, who rendered her miserable, but died two years -before her, in 1767. It is, however, said that Mdlle. La Gaussin was -led to withdraw from the stage out of sincerely religious scruples. A -score of French actresses have done the same thing, and long before -they had reached the _quarantaine_. - -There is a good illustration of how unwilling the French audiences -were to lose a word of La Gaussin’s utterances in Cibber’s ‘Apology.’ -‘At the tragedy of “Zaïre,”’ he says, ‘while the celebrated Mdlle. -Gossin (_sic_) was delivering a soliloquy, a gentleman was seized with -a sudden fit of coughing, which gave the actress some surprise and -interruption, and, his fit increasing, she was forced to stand silent -so long that it drew the eyes of the uneasy audience upon him; when a -French gentleman, leaning forward to him, asked him if this actress had -given him any particular offence, that he took so public an occasion to -resent it? The English gentleman, in the utmost surprise, assured him -that, so far from it, he was a particular admirer of her performance; -that his malady was his real misfortune, and that if he apprehended any -return of it he would rather quit his seat than disoblige either the -actor or the audience.’ Colley calls this the ‘publick decency’ of the -French theatre. - -The Mdlle. Clairon, named above, took up the inheritance which her -predecessor had resigned. Claire Joseph Hippolyte Legris de Latude -were her names; but, out of the first, she made the name by which she -became illustrious. Her life was a long one--1723-1803. She acted from -childhood to middle age; first as sprightly maiden, then in opera, -till Rouen discovered in her a grand _tragédienne_, and sent her up to -Paris, which city ratified the warrant given by the Rouennais. She made -her first appearance as Phèdre, and the Parisians at once worshipped -the new and exquisite idol. - -The power that Mdlle. Clairon held over her admirers, the sympathy -that existed between them, is matter of notoriety. She was once acting -Ariane in Thomas Corneille’s tragedy, at Marseilles, to an impassioned -southern audience. In the last scene of the third act, where she is -eager to discover who her rival can be in the heart of Theseus, the -audience took almost as eager a part; and when she had uttered the -lines in which she mentions the names of various beauties, but does not -name, because she does not suspect, her own sister, a young fellow who -was near her murmured, with the tears in his eyes, ‘It is Phædra! it is -Phædra!’--the name of the sister in question. Clairon was one of those -artists who conceal their art by being terribly in earnest. In her days -the pit stood, there were no seats; _parterre_ meant exactly what it -says, ‘on the ground.’ The audience there gathered as near the stage -as they could. Clairon, in some of her most tragic parts, put such -intensity into her acting that as she descended the stage, clothed in -terror or insane with rage, as if she saw no pit before her and would -sweep through it, the audience there actually recoiled, and only as the -great actress drew back did they slowly return to their old positions. - -The autobiographical memoirs of Mdlle. Clairon give her rank as author -as well as actress. Her style was declamatory, rather heavy, and marked -by dramatic catchings of the breath which were among the faults that -weaker players imitated. It was the conventional style, not to be -rashly broken through in Paris; she accordingly first tried to do so -at Bordeaux in 1752. ‘I acted,’ she tells us, ‘the part of Agrippina, -and from first to last I played according to my own ideas. This simple, -natural, unconventional style excited much surprise in the beginning; -but, in the very middle of my first scene, I distinctly heard the words -from a person in the pit, “That is really fine!”’ It was an attempt -to change the sing-song style, just as Mdlle. Clairon attempted to -change the monotonous absurdity of the costume worn by actresses; -but she was preceded by earlier reformers, Adrienne Lecouvreur, for -instance. Her inclination for natural acting was doubtless confirmed on -simply hearing Garrick recite passages from English plays in a crowded -French drawing-room. She did not understand a word of English, but she -understood Garrick’s expression, and, in her enthusiasm, Mdlle. Clairon -kissed Roscius, and then gracefully asked pardon of Roscius’s wife for -the liberty she had taken. - -It is said that Clairon was one of those actresses who kept themselves -throughout the day in the humour of the character they were to act at -night. It is obvious that this might be embarrassing to her servants -and unpleasant to her friends, family, and visitors. A Lady Macbeth -vein all day long in a house would be too much of a good thing; but -Mdlle. Clairon defended the practice, as others did: ‘How,’ she would -say, ‘could I be exalted, refined, imperial at night, if through the -day I had been subdued to grovelling matters, every-day commonness, -and polite servility?’ There was something in it; and in truth the -superb Clairon, in ordinary life, was just as if she had to act every -night the most sublimely imperious characters. With authors she was -especially arbitrary, and to fling a manuscript part in the face of the -writer, or to box his ears with it, was thought nothing of. Even worse -than that was ‘only pretty Fanny’s way.’ - -The cause of Mdlle. Clairon’s retirement from the stage was a singular -one. An actor named Dubois had been expelled from membership with the -company of the Théâtre Français, on the ground that his conduct had -brought dishonour on the profession. An order from the King commanded -the restoration of Dubois, till the question could be decided. For -April 15, 1765, the ‘Siege of Calais’ was accordingly announced, with -Dubois in his original character. On that evening, Lekain, Molé, and -Brizard, advertised to play, did not come down to the theatre at all. -Mdlle. Clairon arrived, but immediately went home. There was an awful -tumult in the house, and a general demand that the deserters should be -clapped into prison. The theatre was closed: Lekain, Molé, and Brizard -suffered twenty-four days’ imprisonment, and Mdlle. Clairon was shut -up in Fort L’Évêque. At the re-opening of the theatre Bellecourt -offered a very humble apology in the names of all the company; but -Mdlle. Clairon refused to be included, and she withdrew altogether from -the profession. - -On a subsequent evening, when she was receiving friends at her own -house, the question of the propriety of her withdrawal was rather -vivaciously discussed, as it was by the public generally. Some officers -were particularly urgent that she should return, and play in the -especially popular piece the ‘Siege of Calais.’ ‘I fancy, gentlemen,’ -she replied, ‘that if an attempt was made to compel you to serve with a -fellow-officer who had disgraced the profession by an act of the utmost -baseness, you would rather withdraw than do so?’ ‘No doubt we should,’ -replied one of the officers, ‘but we should not withdraw on a day of -_siege_.’ Clairon laughed, but she did not yield. She retired in 1765, -at the age of forty-two. - -Clairon, being great, had many enemies. They shot lies at her as -venomous as poisoned arrows. They identified her as the original of the -shameless heroine in the ‘Histoire de Frétillon.’ With her, however, -love was not sporadic. It was a settled sentiment, and she loved but -one at a time; among others, Marmontel (see his Memoirs), the Margrave -of Anspach, and the comedian Larive. After all, Clairon had a divided -sway. The rival queen was Marie Françoise Dumesnil. The latter was -much longer before the public. The life of Mademoiselle Dumesnil was -also longer, namely, from 1711 to 1803. Her professional career in -Paris reached from 1737, when she appeared as Clytemnestra, to 1776, -when she retired. For eleven years after Clairon’s withdrawal Dumesnil -reigned alone. She was of gentle blood, but poor; she was plain, but -her face had the beauty of intelligence and expression. When Garrick -was asked what he thought of the two great _tragédiennes_, Clairon and -Dumesnil, he replied, ‘Mdlle. Clairon is the most perfect actress I -have seen in France.’ ‘And Mdlle. Dumesnil?’ ‘Oh!’ rejoined Garrick, -‘when I see Mdlle. Dumesnil I see no actress at all. I behold only -Semiramis and Athalie!’--in which characters, however, she for many -years wore the _paniers_ that were in vogue. She is remembered as the -first tragic actress who actually ran on the stage. It was in ‘Mérope,’ -when she rushed to save Ægisthe, exclaiming, ‘Hold! he is my son!’ She -reserved herself for the ‘points,’ whether of pathos or passion. The -effect she produced was the result of nature; there was no art, no -study. She exercised great power over her audiences. One night having -delivered her famous fine in Clytemnestra, - - - Je maudirais les dieux, s’ils me rendaient le jour, - - -an old captain standing near her clapped her on the back, with the -rather rough compliment of ‘Va-t-en chienne, à tous les diables!’ Rough -as it was, Dumesnil was delighted with it. On another occasion, Joseph -Chénier, the dramatist, expressed a desire, at her own house, to hear -her recite. It is said that she struck a fearful awe into him, as she -replied, ‘Asséyez-vous, Néron, et prenez votre place!’--for, as she -spoke, she seemed to adopt the popular accusation that Joseph had been -accessory to the guillotining of his brother, the young poet, André -Chénier. Her enemies asserted that Dumesnil was never ‘up to the mark’ -unless she had taken wine, and a great deal of it. Marmontel insists -that she caused his ‘Héraclides’ to fail through her having indulged in -excess of wine; but Fleury states that she kept up her strength during -a tragedy by taking chicken broth with a little wine poured into it. - -Mademoiselle Dumesnil retired, as we have said, in 1776. The stage was -next not unworthily occupied by Mdlle. Raucourt. But meanwhile there -sprang up two young creatures destined to renew the rivalry which had -existed between Clairon and Dumesnil. While these were growing up the -French Revolution, which crushed all it touched, touched the Comédie -Française, which fell to pieces. It pulled itself together, after a -manner, but it was neither flourishing nor easy under the republic. -The French stage paid its tribute to prison and to scaffold. - -When the storm of the Revolution had swept by, that stage became once -more full of talent and beauty. Talma reappeared, and soon after three -actresses set the town mad. There was Mdlle. Georges, a dazzling -beauty of sixteen, a mere child, who had come up from Normandy, and -who knew nothing more of the stage than that richly dressed actors -there represented the sorrows, passion, and heroism of ancient times. -Of those ancient times she knew no more than what she had learned -in Corneille and Racine. But she had no sooner trod the stage, as -Agrippina, than she was at once accepted as a great mistress of her -art. Her beauty, her voice, her smile, her genius and her talent, -caused her to be hailed queen; but not quite unanimously. There was -already a recognised queen of tragedy on the same stage, Mdlle. -Duchesnois. This older queen (originally a dressmaker, next, like Mrs. -Siddons, a lady’s-maid), was as noble an actress as Mdlle. Georges, but -her noble style was not supported by personal beauty. She was, perhaps, -the ugliest woman that had ever held an audience in thrall by force of -her genius and ability alone. While song-writers celebrated the charms -of Mdlle. Georges, portrait-painters, too cruelly faithful, placed the -sublime ugliness of Mdlle. Duchesnois in the shop windows. There she -was to be seen in character, with one of the lines she had to utter in -it, as the epigraph: - - - Le roi parut touché de mes faibles attraits. - - -Even Talleyrand stooped to point a joke at her expense. A certain lady -had no teeth. Mdlle. Duchesnois _had_, but they were not pleasant to -see. ‘If,’ said Talleyrand, alluding to the certain lady, ‘If Madame ----- had teeth, she would be as ugly as Mdlle. Duchesnois.’ - -Between these two queens of tragedy the company of the Théâtre Français -were as divided in their allegiance as the public themselves. The -Emperor Napoleon and Queen Hortense were admirers of Mdlle. Georges; he -covered her with diamonds, and he is said to have lent her those of his -wife Josephine, who was the friend of Mdlle. Duchesnois. Bourbonites -and Republicans also adopted Mdlle. Duchesnois, who was adopted by -Mdlle. Dumesnil. Talma paid allegiance to the same lady, while Lafon -swore only by Mdlle. Georges, in whose behalf Mdlle. Raucourt once -nearly strangled Duchesnois. In society, every member of that awful -institution was compelled to choose a side and a night. One queen -played on a Monday, the other on a Wednesday; Mdlle. Georges on a -Friday, and Duchesnois again on Sunday; and on the intervening nights -the brilliant muse of comedy, Mdlle. Mars (as the daughter of Monvel, -the actor, always called herself), came and made Paris ecstatic with -her Elmire, her Célimène, and other characters. Of these three supreme -actresses, Mdlle. Mars alone never grew old on the stage, in voice, -figure, movement, action, feature, or expression. I recollect her well -at sixty, creating the part of Mdlle. de Belleisle, a young girl of -sixteen; and Mdlle. Mars that night was sixteen, and no more. It was -only by putting the _binocle_ to the eyes that you might fancy you -saw something older; but the voice! It was the pure, sweet, gentle, -penetrating, delicious voice of her youth--ever youthful. Jules Janin -describes the nights on which the brilliant and graceful Mdlle. Mars -acted as intervals of inexpressible charm, moments of luxurious rest. -Factions were silenced. The two queens of tragedy were forgotten for a -night, and all the homage was for the queen of comedy. - -The beauty, youth, and talent of Mdlle. Georges would probably have -secured her seat on an undisputed throne, only for the caprices that -accompany those three inestimable possessions. The youthful muse -suddenly disappeared. She rose again in Russia, whither she had been -tempted by the imperial liberality of Alexander the Czar. She was -queening it there in more queenly fashion than ever; her name glittered -on the walls of Moscow, when the Grand Army of France scattered all -such glories and wrecked its own. A quarter of a million of men -perished in that bloody drama, but the tragedy queen contrived to get -safe and sound over the frontier. - -Thenceforth she gleamed like a meteor from nation to nation. Mdlle. -Duchesnois and Mdlle. Mars held the sceptres of tragedy and comedy -between them. They reigned with glory, and when their evening of life -came on they departed with dignity--Duchesnois in 1835. The more -impetuous Mdlle. Georges flashed now here now there, and blinded -spectators by her beauty, as she dazzled them by her talent. The joy of -acting, the ecstasy of being applauded, soon became all she cared for. -One time she was entrancing audiences in the most magnificent theatres; -at another, she was playing with strollers on the most primitive of -stages; but always with the same care. Now, the Parisians hailed the -return of their queen; in a month she was acting Iphigenia to the -Tartars of the Crimea! - -When the other once youthful queens of tragedy and comedy were -approaching the sunset glories of their reigns, Mdlle. Georges, in -her mature and majestic beauty too, seized a new sceptre, mounted -a new throne, and reigned supreme in a new kingdom. She became the -queen of drama--not melodrama--of that prose tragedy, which is full of -action, emotion, passion, and strong contrasts. Racine and Corneille -were no longer the fountains at which she quaffed long draughts of -inspiration. New writers hailed her as their muse and interpreter. -She was the original Christine at Fontainebleau, in Dumas’s piece so -named; and Victor Hugo wrote for her his terrible ‘Mary Tudor’ and his -‘Lucretia Borgia.’ It was a delicious terror, a fearful delight, a -painful pleasure, to see this wonderful woman transform herself into -those other women, and seem the awful reality which she was only--but -earnestly, valiantly, artistically--acting. She could be everything by -turns: proud and cruel as Lady Macbeth; tender and gentle as Desdemona. -Mdlle. Georges, however, found a rival queen in drama, as she had -done in tragedy--Madame Allan Dorval, who made weeping a luxury worth -the paying for. Competitors, perhaps, rather than rivals. There was -concurrency, rather than opposition. One of the prettiest incidents -in stage annals occurred on the occasion of these artists being twice -‘called,’ after a representation of ‘Mary Tudor,’ in which Mdlle. -Georges was the Queen and Madame Dorval Lady Jane Grey. After the -two actresses had gracefully acknowledged the ovation of which they -were the objects, Madame Dorval, with exquisite refinement and noble -feeling, kissed the hand of Mdlle. Georges, as if she recognised in her -the still supremely reigning queen. It was a pleasure to see this; -it is a pleasure to remember it; and it is equally a pleasure to make -record of it here. - -When all this brilliant talent began to be on the wane, and play-goers -began to fear that all the thrones would be vacant, a curious scene -used to occur nightly in summer time in the Champs Élysées. Before -the seated public, beneath the trees, an oldish woman used to appear, -with a slip of carpet on her arm, a fiddle beneath it, and a tin cup -hanging on her finger. She was closely followed by a slim, pale, dark, -but fiery-eyed girl, whose thoughts seemed to be with some world far -away. When the woman had spread the carpet, had placed the cup at one -corner, and had scraped a few hideous notes on the fiddle, the pale -dark-eyed girl advanced on the carpet and recited passages from Racine -and Corneille. With her beautiful head raised, with slight, rare, but -most graceful action, with voice and emphasis in exact accord with -her words, that pale-faced, inspired girl, enraptured her out-of-door -audience. After a time she was seen no more, and it was concluded that -her own inward fire had utterly consumed her, and she was forgotten. -By-and-by there descended on the deserted temple of tragedy a new -queen--nay, a goddess, bearing the name of Rachel. As the subdued and -charmed public gazed and listened and sent up their incense of praise -and their shout of adulation, memories of the pale-faced girl who -used to recite beneath the stars in the Champs Élysées came upon them. -Some, however, could see no resemblance. Others denied the possibility -of identity between the abject servant of the muse in the open air, -and the glorious, though pale-faced, fiery-eyed queen of tragedy, -occupying a throne which none could dispute with her. When half her -brief, splendid, extravagant, and not blameless reign was over, Mdlle. -Rachel gave a ‘house-warming’ on the occasion of opening her new and -gorgeously-furnished mansion in the Rue Troncin. During the evening the -hostess disappeared, and the _maître d’hôtel_ requested the crowded -company in the great saloon so to arrange themselves as to leave space -enough for Mdlle. Rachel to appear at the upper end of the room, as -she was about to favour the company with the recital of some passages -from Racine and Corneille. Thereupon entered an old woman with strip -of carpet, fiddle, and tin pot, followed by the queen of tragedy, in -the shabbiest of frocks, pale, thoughtful, inspired, and with a sad -smile that was not altogether out of tune with her pale meditations; -and then, the carpet being spread, the fiddle scraped, and the cup -deposited, Rachel trod the carpet as if it were the stage, and recited -two or three passages from the masterpieces of the French masters in -dramatic poetry, and moved her audience according to her will, in -sympathy and delight. When the hurricane of applause had passed, -and while a murmuring of enjoyment seemed as its softer echo, Rachel -stooped, picked up the old tin cup, and, going round with it to collect -gratuities from the company, said, ‘Anciennement, c’était pour maman; à -présent, c’est pour les pauvres.’ - -The Rachel career was of unsurpassable splendour. Before it declined -in darkness and set in premature painful death, the now old queen of -tragedy, Mdlle. Georges, met the sole heiress of the great inheritance, -Mdlle. Rachel, on the field of the glory of both. Rachel was then at -the best of her powers, at the highest tide of her triumphs. They -appeared in the same piece, Racine’s ‘Iphigénie.’ Mdlle. Georges was -Clytemnestre; Rachel played Ériphile. They stood in presence, like the -old and the young wrestlers, gazing on each other. They each struggled -for the crown from the spectators, till, whether out of compliment, -which is doubtful, or that she was really subdued by the weight, power, -and majestic grandeur of Mdlle. Georges, Ériphile forgot to act, and -seemed to be lost in admiration at the acting of the then very stout, -but still beautiful, mother of the French stage. - -The younger rival, however, was the first to leave the arena. She acted -in both hemispheres, led what is called a stormy life, was as eccentric -as she was full of good impulses, and to the last she knew no more of -the personages she acted than what she learned of them from the pieces -in which they were represented. Rachel died utterly exhausted. The wear -and tear of her professional life was aggravated by the want of repose, -the restlessness, and the riot of the tragedy queen at home. She was -royally buried. In the _foyer_ of the Théâtre Français Rachel and Mars, -in marble, represent the Melpomene and Thalia of France. They are both -dead and forgotten by the French public. - -For years after Mdlle. Duchesnois had vanished from the scene, Mdlle. -Georges may be said to have languished out her life. One day of snow -and fog, in January 1867, a funeral procession set out from Passy, -traversed the living city of Paris, and entered through the mist the -city of the dead, Père la Chaise. Alexandre Dumas was chief mourner. -‘In that coffin,’ said Jules Janin, ‘lay more sorrows, passions, -poetry, and hopes than in a thousand proud tombs in the cemetery of -Père la Chaise.’ She who had represented and felt and expressed all -these sentiments, emotions, and ideas, was the last survivor of the -line of dramatic queens in France. - -That line had its Lady Jane Grey, its queen for an hour; one who was -loved and admired during that time, and whose hard fate was deplored -for full as long a period. About the year 1819-20 there appeared at -the Odéon a Mdlle. Charton. She made her _début_ in a new piece, -‘Lancastre,’ in which she acted Queen Elizabeth. Her youth and beauty, -combined with extraordinary talent, took the public mind prisoner. -Here was a young goddess who would shower delight when the maturer -divinities had gone back to Olympus. The lithographed portrait of -Mdlle. Charton was in all the shops and was eagerly bought. Suddenly -she ceased to act. A jealous lover had flung into that beautiful -and happy face a cup of vitriol, and destroyed beauty, happiness, -and partially the eyesight, for ever. The young actress refused to -prosecute the ruffian, and sat at home suffering and helpless, till she -became ‘absorbed in the population’--that is to say, starved, or very -nearly so. She had one poor female friend who helped just to keep her -alive. In this way the once proud young beauty literally went down life -into old age and increase of anguish. She dragged through the horrible -time of the horrible Commune, and then she died. Her body was carried -to the common pauper grave at Montmartre, and one poor actor who had -occasionally given her what help he could, a M. Dupuis, followed her to -that bourn. - -Queens as they were, their advent to such royalty was impeded by every -obstacle that could be thrown in their way. The ‘Society’ of French -actors has been long noted for its cruel illiberality and its mean -jealousy, especially the ‘Society’ that has been established since the -Revolution--or, to speak correctly, during the Revolution which began -in 1789, and which is now in the eighty-fourth year of its progress. -The poor and modest Duchesnois had immense difficulty in being allowed -to appear at all. The other actors would not even speak to her. When -she was ‘called’ by an enthusiastic audience no actor had the gallantry -to offer a hand to lead her forward. A poor player, named Florence, at -length did so, but on later occasions he was compelled to leave her -to ‘go on’ alone. When Mdlle. Rachel, ill-clad and haggard, besought -a well-known _sociétaire_ to aid her in obtaining permission to make -her _début_ on the stage of the Théâtre Français, he told her to get -a basket and go and sell flowers. On the night of her triumph, when -she _did_ appear, and heaps of bouquets were flung at her feet, on her -coming forward after the fall of the curtain, she flung them all into a -basket, slung it from her shoulders, went to the actor who had advised -her to go and vend flowers, and kneeling to him, asked him, half in -smiles and half in tears, if he would not buy a nosegay! It is said -that Mdlle. Mars was jealous of the promise of her sister, Georgina. -Young _débutantes_ are apt to think that the aged queens should abandon -the parts of young princesses, and when the young _débutantes_ have -become old they are amazed at the impertinence of new comers who expect -them to surrender the juvenile characters. The latest successful -_débutante_, Mdlle. Rousseil and M. Mounae Sully, are where they now -are in spite of their fellows who were there before them. - - - - -_SOME ECCENTRICITIES OF THE FRENCH STAGE._ - - -The future historian of the French Stage will not want for matter to -add to a history which has already had many illustrators and writers. -Just a year ago, I saw a magnificent funeral pass from the church of -Notre Dame de Lorette. ‘_C’est Lafont, le grand Comédien!_’ was the -comment of the spectators. ‘Poor Glatigny!’ said another, ‘was not thus -buried--like a prince!’ Wondering who Glatigny might be, I, in the -course of that day, took up a French paper in the reading-room of the -Grand Hôtel, in which the name caught my eye, and I found that Glatigny -had been one of the eccentric actors of the French stage. He was -clever, but reckless; he had a bad memory, but when it was in fault, he -could _improvise_--with impudence, but effect. - -Glatigny once manifested his improvising powers in a very extraordinary -manner. The story, on the authority of the Paris papers, runs thus: - -Passing in front of the Mont-Parnasse Theatre, he saw the name of his -friend Chevilly in the play-bill. Glatigny entered by the stage-door, -and asked to see him. He was told that Chevilly was on the stage, and -could not be spoken to; he was acting in Ponsard’s ‘Charlotte Corday.’ -Glatigny, thereupon, and to the indignant astonishment of the manager, -coolly walked forward to the side of Chevilly, as the latter was -repeating the famous lines-- - - - Non, je ne crois pas, moi, - Que tout soit terminé quand on n’a plus de roi; - C’est le commencement. - - -As Chevilly concluded these words, he stared in inexpressible surprise -at Glatigny, and exclaiming: ‘What, you here!’ shook him cordially by -the hand, as if both were in a private room, and not in the presence of -a very much perplexed audience. The audience did not get out of their -perplexity by finding that Ponsard’s play was altogether forgotten, and -that the two players began talking of their private affairs, walking -up and down the stage the while, as if they had been on the boulevards -or in the gardens of the Tuileries. At length, said Glatigny, ‘I am -afraid, that I perhaps intrude?’ ‘Not at all!’ said Chevilly. ‘I am -sure I do,’ rejoined Glatigny, ‘so farewell. When you have finished, -you will find me at the café, next door.’ The eccentric player had -reached the wing, when he returned, saying: ‘By-the-by, before we -part, shall we sing together a little _couplet de facture_?’ ‘With -all my heart,’ was the reply; and both of them, standing before the -foot-lights, sang a verse from some old vaudeville, on the pleasure of -old friends meeting unexpectedly, and which used to bring the curtain -down with applause. - -At this duet, the public entered into the joke--they could not hiss, -for laughing,--and the most joyous uproar reigned amongst them, till -Glatigny retired as if nothing had happened, and Chevilly attempted -seriously to resume his part in ‘Charlotte Corday.’ - -There was a serious as well as a comic tinge in Glatigny’s experiences. -On one morning in February, 1869, some country folk, returning from the -market at Tarbes, saw a man stretched fast asleep on the steps of the -theatre. It was early dawn, and snow was gently falling. The peasants -shook the sleeper, told him, when half awake, of the danger he was -in by thus exposing himself, and asked him what he was doing there? -‘Well,’ said Glatigny, ‘I am waiting for the manager;’ he turned round -to go to sleep again, and the country folk left him to his fate. Later -in the day, he shook himself, by way of toilet and breakfast, and made -his call upon the manager. ‘My name,’ he said, ‘is Albert Glatigny. -I am a comedian and a poet. At the present moment, I have no money, -but am terribly hungry. Have you any vacancy in your company, leading -tragedian or lamp-cleaner?’ The manager asked him if he was perfect in -the part of Pylades. ‘Thoroughly so!’ was the answer. ‘All the better,’ -said the manager; ‘we play “Andromaque,” to-night; my Pylades is ill. -You will replace him. Good morning!’ - -When the evening came, Glatigny put on the Greek costume, and entered -on the stage, without knowing a single line of his part. That was -nothing. When his turn came, he improvised a little reply to Pyrrhus. -Glatigny now and then had a line too short by a syllable or two, but he -made up for it by putting a syllable or two over measure in the line -that followed. He knew the bearing of the story, and he improvised as -naturally as if he were taking part in a conversation. The audience -was not aware of anything unusual. The manager who, at first, was -ready to tear his hair from his head, wisely let Glatigny take his own -course, and when the play was ended he offered the eccentric fellow an -engagement, at the stupendous salary of sixty francs a month! - -Never was there a man who led a more unstable and wandering life. One -day, he would seem fixed in Paris; the week after he was established -in Corsica; and after disappearing from the world that knew him, he -would turn up again at the Café de Suède, with wonderful stories of his -errant experiences. With all his mad ways there was no lack of method -in Glatigny’s mind when he chose to discipline it. French critics -speak with much favour of the grace and sweetness of his verses, and -quote charming lines from his comedy, ‘Le Bois,’ which was successfully -acted at the Odéon. Glatigny had a hard life withal. It was for bread -that he became a strolling player,--that he gave some performances at -the Alcazar, as an improvisatore--and, finally, that he woke up one -fine morning, with republican opinions. - -Probably not a few play-goers among us who were in Paris in 1849 will -forget the first representation of ‘Adrienne Lecouvreur,’ in the April -of that year. Among the persons of the drama was the Abbé de Chazeuil, -which was represented by M. Leroux, and well represented; a perfect -_abbé de boudoir_, loving his neighbour’s wife, and projecting a -revolution by denouncing the fashion of wearing patches! M. Leroux, -like Michonnet in the play, was eager to become a _sociétaire_ of -the Théâtre Français, but (like poor Firmin, whose memory was not so -blameless as his style and genius--and who committed suicide, like -Nourrit, by flinging himself out of the window of an upper storey) -Leroux was not a ‘quick study,’ and, year by year, he fell into the -background, and had fewer parts assigned to him. The actor complained. -The answer was that his memory was not to be trusted. He rejoined that -it had never been trustworthy, and yet he had got on, in a certain -sense, without it. The rejoinder was not accepted as satisfactory. The -oblivious player (with all his talent) fell into oblivion. He not only -was not cast for new parts, but many of his old ones that he had really -got by heart were consigned to other members of the company. Leroux -was, before all things, a Parisian, and yet, in disgust, he abandoned -Paris. He wandered through the provinces, found his way to Algiers, and -there, after going deeper and deeper still, did not forget one thing -for which he had been cast in the drama of life--namely, his final exit. - -Political feeling has often led to eccentric results on, and in front -of, the French stage. With all the Imperial patronage of the drama, -the public never lost an opportunity of laughing at the vices of the -Imperial _régime_. When Ponsard’s ‘Lucréce’ was revived at the Odéon, -the public were simply bored by Lucretia’s platitudes at home and the -prosings of her husband in the camp. But when Brutus abused the Senate, -and scathing sarcasm was flashed against the extravagance of the -women of the court, and their costume, the pit especially, the house -generally, burst forth into a shout of recognition and derision. It is -to be observed that the acute Emperor himself often led the applause on -passages which bore political allusions, and which denounced tyranny -in supreme lords or in their subordinates. When the Emperor did not -take the initiative, the people did. At the first representation -of Augier’s ‘La Contagion,’ there was a satirical passage against -England. The audience accepted it with laughter; but when the actor -added: ‘After all, the English are our best friends, and are a free -people!’ the phrase was received with a thundering _Bravo!_ from the -famous Pipe-en-bois, who sat, wild and dishevelled, in the middle of -the pit, and whose exclamation aroused tumultuous echoes. At another -passage, ‘There comes a time when baffled truths are affirmed by -thunder-claps!’ the audience tried to encore the phrase. M. Got was too -well-trained an actor to be guilty of obeying, but the house shouted, -‘_Vivent les coups de tonnerre!_’ ‘Thunder-claps for ever!’ and the -passive Cæsar looked cold and unmoved across that turbulent pit. - -The French public is cruel to its idols whose powers have passed away. -The French stage is ungrateful to its old patrons who can no longer -confer patronage. When the glorious three days of 1830 had overthrown -the Bourbon Charles X., King of France and Navarre, and put in his -place Louis Philippe, King of the French, and the ‘best of republics,’ -the actors at the Odéon inaugurated their first representation under -the ‘Revolution’ by acting Pichat’s tragedy of ‘William Tell’ and -Molière’s ‘Tartuffe.’ All the actors were ignoble enough to associate -themselves with the downfall of a dynasty many kings of which had been -liberal benefactors of the drama. In ‘William Tell’ Ligier stooped to -the anachronism of wearing a tri-coloured rosette on the buffskin tunic -of Tell. In ‘Tartuffe’ all the actors and actresses but one wore the -same sign of idiocy. Tartuffe himself wore the old white ribbon of the -Bourbons, but only that the symbol which once was associated with much -glory might be insulted in its adversity. Dorine, the servant, tore the -white rosette from Tartuffe’s black coat amid a hurricane of applause -from the hot-headed heroes of the barricades, who had by fire, sword, -artillery, and much slaughter, set on the throne the ‘modern Ulysses.’ -Eighteen years later, that Ulysses shared the fate of all French -objects of idolatry, and was rudely tumbled down from his high estate. -At the Porte St. Martin, Frederic Lemaître played a chiffonier in one -of the dramas in which he was so popular. In his gutter-raking at -night, after having tossed various objects over his shoulder into his -basket, he drove his crook into some object which he held up for the -whole house to behold. It was a battered kingly crown, and when, with a -scornful chuckle, he flung it among the rags and bones in the basket on -his back, the vast mob of spectators did not hiss him from the stage; -they greeted the unworthy act by repeated salvoes of applause! - -Turning from eccentric actors to eccentric pieces, there may be -reckoned among the latter a piece called ‘Venez,’ which was first -produced, a few years ago, at Liége. A chief incident in the piece is -where a pretty actress, seeking an engagement, is required by the young -manager, as a test of her competency, to give to the above word as many -varied intonations as might be possible. One of these proves to be so -exquisitely seductive that the manager offers a permanent engagement -for life, which is duly accepted. From Liége to Compiègne is a long -step, but it brings us to another eccentricity. Nine years ago, at one -of the Imperial revels there, certain of the courtiers and visitors -acted in an apropos piece, named ‘Les Commentaires de César.’ The -Prince Imperial represented the Future, without having the slightest -idea of it. Prosper Mérimée, Academician, poet, and historian, acted -the Past, of which he had often written so picturesquely. In the more -farcical part which followed the prologue, the most prominent personage -was the Princesse de Metternich (wife of the Austrian ambassador), who -played the part of a French cabman out on strike. She tipped forth the -Paris slang, and sang a character song, with an audacity which could -not be surpassed by the boldest of singing actresses at any of the -popular minor theatres. The august audience were convulsed at this -manifestation of high dramatic art--in its way! These fêtes led to much -extravagance in dress, and to much contention thereon between actresses -and managers. - -The directors of the Palais Royal Theatre have frequently been at -law with their first ladies. Mdlle. Louisa Ferraris, in 1864, signed -an engagement to play there for three years at a salary beginning at -2,400 francs, and advancing to 3,000 and 3,600 francs, with a forfeit -clause of 12,000 francs. The salary would hardly have sufficed to pay -the lady’s shoemaker. In the course of the engagement the ‘Foire aux -Grotesques’ was put in rehearsal. In the course of this piece Mdlle. -Ferraris had to say to another actress, ‘I was quite right in not -inviting you to my ball, for you could not have come in a new dress, -as you owe your dressmaker 24,000 francs!’ As this actress was really -deeply indebted to that important personage, she begged that this -speech, which seemed a deliberate insult to her, might be altered. -Mdlle. Ferraris, in spite of the authors, who readily changed the -objectionable phrase, continued, however, to repeat the original words. -As she was peremptorily ordered to omit them she flung up her part, -whereupon the directors applied to the law to cancel her engagement -for breach of contract, and to award them 12,000 francs damages. -Mademoiselle repented and offered to resume the part. On this being -declined she entered a cross action to gain the 12,000 francs for -breach of contract on the directors’ side. The Tribunal de Commerce, -after consideration, cancelled the engagement, but condemned Mdlle. -Ferraris to pay 2,000 francs damages and the costs of suit. It is to -the stage, and not to the empress, that inordinate luxury in dress -is to be attributed. Sardou, in ‘La Famille Bénoiton,’ has been -stigmatised as the forerunner of such an exaggerated luxury that no -private purse was sufficient to pay for the toilette of a woman whose -maxim was, _La mode à tout prix_. - -Two or three years ago there was an actress at the Palais Royal Theatre -known as Antonia de Savy. Her real name was Antoinette Jathiot. Her -salary was 1,200 francs for the first year, 1,800 francs for the -second: not three-and-sixpence a night in English money. But out of the -three-and-sixpences Mdlle. Antonia was bound to provide herself with -‘linen, shoes, stockings, head-dresses, and all theatrical costumes -requisite for her parts, except foreign costumes totally different -from anything habitually worn in France.’ For any infringement of -these terms Mademoiselle was to pay a fine of 10,000 francs--about -her salary for half-a-dozen years. Circumstances led Antonia to be -wayward, and the management entered on a suit for the cancelling of -the engagement on the ground of her refusing to play a particular -part, and her unpunctuality. Her counsel, M. G. Chaix d’Est Ange, -pleaded that the lady was a minor, that her father had not given his -consent to such an engagement, and that it was an imposition on her -youth and inexperience. The other side replied that Mdlle. Jathiot -had ceased to be a minor since the engagement was signed; that as -to her inexperience, she was a very experienced young lady in the -ways of Parisian life; that the engagement was concluded with her -because she dressed in the most magnificent style, and that it would -be profitable to the theatre as well as to herself to exhibit those -magnificent dresses on the stage; and that as to her respected sire, -he was a humble clerk, living in a garret in the Rue Saint-Lazare, -and had no control whatever over a daughter who lived in the style of -a princess, spent fabulous sums in maintaining it, and had the most -perfect ‘turn-out’ in the way of carriage, horses, and servants in the -French capital. The plaintiffs asked to be relieved from this modest -young lady, and to be awarded damages for her insubordination and -unpunctuality. The Tribunal de Commerce ordered the engagement to be -cancelled, and the defendant to pay 1500 francs damages and the costs -of suit. But the Imperial Court of Appeal took another view of the -case. They refused in any way to sanction such an immoral notion as -that the terms of the contract were not disadvantageous for the minor -because it was known that she got her living in a way that could not -be avowed. They quashed the judgment of the Tribunal de Commerce, and -ordered the managers of the Palais Royal to pay all the costs. - -The most singular of all law cases between French actresses and -managers was one the names of the parties to which have slipped -out of my memory. It arose out of the refusal of a young actress, -who had not lost her womanly modesty, to ‘go on’ in the dress -provided for her, which would hardly have afforded her more covering -than a postage-stamp. In the lawsuit which followed this act of -insubordination, the modest young lady was defeated, and was rebuked -by the magistrate for infringing the laws of the stage, of which -the manager was the irresponsible legislator! The actress preferred -the cancelling of her engagement to the degradation of such nightly -exposure as was demanded by the manager and was sanctioned by the -magistrate. - -I have said above that the eccentric extravagance of dress--the other -extreme from next to none at all--was not a consequence of an example -set by the empress. But there is something to be said on both sides. -Only two years ago Mdlles. Fargueil, Bernhardt, and Desclées made -public protest against the _pièces aux robes_, in which they were -required to dress like empresses (of fashion) at their own expense. -They traced the ruinous custom to the period when the Imperial Court -was at Compiègne, and when the actresses engaged or ‘invited’ to play -to the august company there were required by the inexorable rule of the -Court to obey the sumptuary laws which regulated costume. Every lady -was invited for three days; each day she was to wear three different -dresses, and no dress was to be worn a second time. Count Bacciochi, -the grand chamberlain, kept a sharp eye on the ladies of the drama. -Histrionic queens and countesses were bound to be attired as genuinely -as the historical dignitaries themselves. The story might be romance, -the outward and visible signs were to be all reality. The awful Grand -Chamberlain once banished an actress from the Court stage at Compiègne -for the crime of wearing mock pearls when she was playing the part of a -duchess! - -This evil fashion, insisted on by dreadful Grand Chamberlains, was -adopted by Paris managers, who hoped to attract by dresses--the very -skirt of any one of which would swallow more than a _vicaire’s_ yearly -income--and by a river of diamonds on a fair neck, whatever might -be in the head above it. A young actress who hoped to live by such -salary as her brains alone could bring her, and who would presume to -wear sham jewellery or machine-made lace, was looked upon as a poor -creature who would never have a reputation--that is, such a reputation -as her gorgeously attired sisters, who did not particularly care to -have _any_ but that for which the most of them dressed themselves. -When the empire fell the above-named actresses thought that a certain -republican simplicity might properly take the place of an imperial -magnificence. Or they maintained that if stage-ladies were required to -find stage-dresses that cost twenty times their salary, the cost of -providing such dresses should fall on the stage-proprietors, and not -on the stage-ladies. It is said that the bills Mdlle. Fargueil had to -pay for her dresses in ‘La Famille Bénoiton’ and ‘Patrie’ represented -a sum total which, carefully invested, would have brought her in a -comfortable annuity! This may be a little exaggerated, but the value -of the dresses may be judged of from one fact, namely, that the Ghent -lace which Mdlle. Fargueil wore on her famous blue dress in ‘La Famille -Bénoiton’ was worth very nearly 500_l._ - -How the attempt to introduce ‘moderation’ into the stage laws of -costume has succeeded, the most of us have seen. It has not succeeded -at all. Certain actresses are proud to occupy that bad preeminence from -which they are able to set the fashion. ‘_Mon chancelier vous dira le -reste!_’ - -One of the eccentricities of the modern French stage is the way in -which it deals with the most delicate, or, rather, the most indelicate -subjects and people. The indelicate people and subject may indeed be -coarsely represented and outspoken, but they must observe certain -recognised, though undefined rules. There must be an innocent young -lady among the wicked people, and the lady (the _ingénue_) and her -ingenuousness must be respected. One fly may taint a score of carcases -and make a whole pot of ointment stink, but one _ingénue_ keeps a -French piece of nastiness comparatively pure, and the public taste -for the impure is satisfied with this little bit of sentimentality. -The subjects which many French authors have brought on the stage do -not, it is to be hoped, hold a true mirror up to French nature. If -so, concubinage, adultery, and murder reign supreme. The changes have -been rung so often on this triple theme that an anonymous writer -has proposed that the theme should be represented, once for all, in -something of the following form, and that dramatic authors should -then turn to fresh woods and pastures new: ‘Scene.--A Drawing-room; -a married lady is seated, her lover at her feet; the folding-door at -back opens, and discovers husband with a double-barrelled revolver. -He fires and kills married lady and her lover. Husband then advances -and contemplates his victims. After a pause, he exclaims: “A thousand -pardons! I have come to a room on the wrong flat!” Curtain slowly -descends.’ This represents quite as faithfully the iniquities which, -according to the modern French drama, prevail universally in society, -as the dramas of Florian achieve the mission which was assigned to him -of illustrating _les petites vertus de tous les jours_--the little -virtues of everyday life. - -The name of Mademoiselle Aimée Desclées reminds me of our Lord -Chamberlain. Extremes meet, in the mind as well as elsewhere! That -actress, who, after many years of hard struggle, floated triumphantly -as La Dame aux Camélias, and after a few years’ progress over sunny -seas slowly sank in sight of port, was discovered and brought out by M. -Dumas _fils_. A year or two ago she came to London with his plays, the -above ‘Dame,’ the ‘Princesse Georges,’ the ‘Visite de Noces,’ and some -others. But they stank in the nostrils of our Lord Chamberlain, and he -would no more allow them to be produced than the Lord Mayor would allow -corrupt meat to be exposed for sale in a City market. Great was the -outcry that arose thereupon, from the French inhabitants, and some of -the ignorant natives of London. The Chamberlain’s prudery and English -delicacy generally were made laughing-stocks. But, gently! Is it known -that the French themselves have raised fiercer outcry against plays -which our Lord Chamberlain has refused to license than ever Jeremy -Collier raised against that disgusting school of English comedy which -Dryden founded, and the filth of which was not compensated for by the -wit, such as it is, of Congreve, or the humour, if it may be so called, -of Wycherly? The _Gaulois_ and the _Figaro_, papers which cannot be -charged with over straitlacedness, have blushed at the adulterous -comedy of France as deeply as the two harlequins at Southwark Fair -blushed at the blasphemy of Lord Sandwich. A French critic, M. -Fournier, referring to the ‘Visite de Noces’ of the younger Dumas, -remarks that ‘the theatre ought not to be a surgical operating theatre, -or a dissecting-room. There are operations,’ he adds, ‘which should -not be performed on the stage, unless, indeed, a placard be posted at -the doors, “Women not admitted!”’ With respect to this suggestion, M. -Hostein, another critic, says: ‘People ask if the “Visite de Noces” be -proper for ladies to see. Men generally reply with an air of modesty, -that no woman who respects herself would go to see it. Capital puff!’ -exclaims M. Hostein, ‘they flock to it in crowds!’ Not _all_, however. -Not even all men. Men with a regard for ‘becomingness’ are warned by -indignant French critics. The dramatic critic of the ‘France’ thus -vigorously speaks to the point: ‘We say it with regret, with sadness, -in no other country, no other civilised city, in no other theatre of -Europe, would the new piece of M. Dumas _fils_ be possible, and we -doubt whether there could be found elsewhere than in Paris a public who -would applaud it even by mistake. The “Visite de Noces” has obtained -a striking and decided success; so much the worse for the author and -for us. If our tastes, if our sentiments, if our conscience be so -perjured and perverted that we accept without repugnance and encourage -with our cheers such pictures, we are truly _en décadence_.’ Such is -the judgment of the leading critics. One of them, indeed, tersely -said, ‘the piece will have a success of indignation and money.’ The -public provided both, and the author accepted the latter. The women -who were of his audience and were _not_ indignant were of the same -nature as those who listen to cases in our divorce courts. But the Lord -Chamberlain is fully justified in refusing a licence to play French -pieces which French critics have denounced as degrading to the moral -and the national character. The only fault to be found is in the manner -of the doing it; which in the Chamberlain’s servants takes a rude and -boorish expression. Meanwhile, let us remark that the attention of -the Lord Chamberlain might well be directed to other matters under -his control. If a fire, some night, break out in a crowded theatre -(where, every night, there is imminent peril) he will be asked if he -had officially done all in his power to prevent such a calamity. And -if he were to put restraint on the performances of certain licenced -places of amusement, husseydom might deplore it, but there would be -one danger the less for young men for whose especial degradation these -entertainments seem at present to be permitted. While this matter is -being thought of, a study of that old-fashioned book ‘The Elegant -Letter-Writer,’ would perhaps improve the style of the Chamberlain’s -_subs_, and would not be lost on certain young gentlemen of Oxford. - -If not among the eccentricities--at least among the marvels of -modern French-actress life--may be considered the highly dramatic -entertainments given by some of the ladies in their own homes. - -Like the historical tallow-chandler, who, after retiring from business, -went down to the old manufactory on melting days, the actor, generally -speaking, never gets altogether out of his profession. Some who retire -give ‘readings,’ or return periodically to the stage, after no end of -‘final farewells’ for positively the last time, and nothing is more -common than to see concert singers (on holiday) at concerts. French -actresses have been especially addicted to keeping to their vocation, -even in their amusements. If they are not at the theatre they have -private theatricals at home; and, if not private theatricals, at least -what comes next to them, or most nearly resembles them. - -In the grand old days of the uninterrupted line of French actresses -there was a Mdlle. Duthé, who was first in the second line of -accomplished players. She was of the time of, and often a substitute -for, Mdlle. Clairon. The latter was never off the stage. She was always -acting. When she was released from Fort l’Évêque, where she had been -imprisoned for refusing to act with Dubois, whom she considered as -a disgrace to the profession, Clairon said to a bevy of actresses -in her heroic way, ‘The King may take my life, or my property, but -not my honour!’ ‘No, dear,’ responded the audacious Sophie Arnould, -‘certainly not. Where there is nothing, the King loses his rights!’ -Mdlle. Duthé belonged to these always-acting actresses. She is the -first on record who gave a _bal costumé_--a ball to which every guest -was to come in a theatrical or fancy dress. This was bringing amateur -acting into the ball-room. The invitation included the entire company -of the Théâtre Français, every one of whom came in a tragedy suit. -The non-professionals, authors, artists, _abbés_, _noblesse_, and -_gentils-hommes_ also donned character dresses; and ball and supper -constituted a wonderful success. An entertainment similar to the -above was given when Louis Philippe was king, by Mdlle. Georges, the -great _tragédienne_. All who were illustrious in literature, fine -arts, diplomacy, and so forth, elbowed one another in the actress’s -suite of splendid rooms. Théophile Gautier, we are told, figured as -an incroyable, Jules Janin as a Natchez Indian, and Victor Hugo, who -now takes the ‘Radical’ parts, was present _en Palicare_. But the most -striking of what may be called these amateur theatrical balls was -given last April by M. and Mdme. Judic, or rather by the latter, in -the name of both. According to the ‘Paris Journal,’ such things are -easily done--if you are able to do them. If you have an exquisitely -arranged house, though small, you may get three hundred dancers into it -with facility. You have only, if your house is in France, to send for -Belloir, who will clap a glass cover to your court-yard, lay carpets -here, hang tapestry there, place mirrors right and left from floor -to ceiling, and scatter flowers and chandeliers everywhere, and the -thing is done--particularly if you have an account at your bankers’. -Something like this was done on the night of Saturday, April 19, 1873, -when ‘La Rosière d’ici’ invited her guests to come in theatrical -array to her ball, which was to begin at midnight. According to the -descriptions of this spring festival, which were circulated by oral -or printed report, not every one was invited who would fain have been -there. The select company numbered the choicest of the celebrities of -the stage, art, and literature (with few exceptions), and _therefore_ -the ‘go’ and the gaiety of the _fête_ never paused for a single instant. - - - As for the costumes, says Jehan Valter, they who did not see the - picturesque, strange, and fantastic composition, have never seen - anything. Never was coachman so perfect a coachman as Grénier. - Never was waggoner more waggoner than Grévin. Moreover, there were - peasants from every quarter of the world, of every colour, and of - every age. There were stout market porters, incroyables, jockeys, - brigands, waltzing, schottisching, and mazourkaing; for the dance - went fast and furious on that memorable evening (or rather, - Sunday morning). And no wonder, for among the ladies were Madame - Judic, in the costume of a village bride; with Mesdames Moissier, - Gabrielle Gautier, Massart, and Gérandon, as the bridesmaids. - Alice Regnault was a châtelaine of the mediæval period, Hielbron - and Damain (the latter, the younger of the sister actresses - of that name, who played so charmingly little conversational - pieces in English drawing-rooms during the Franco-German war), - were country lasses; and, among others, were Blanche D’Antigny, - Debreux, Léontine Spelier, Esther David, Gournay, &c., &c.--in - short, all the young and pretty actresses of the capital were - present. At four o’clock in the morning a splendid supper brought - all the guests together, after which dancing was resumed till - seven. The festival terminated by the serving of a _soupe à - l’oignon à la paysanne_; this stirrup-cup of rustic onion soup was - presented in little bowls, with a wooden spoon in each! The sun - had been up a very long time before the last of the dancers, loth - to depart, had entered their carriages on their way home. - - -Such is the newest form in which theatrical celebrities get up and -enjoy costume-balls after their fashion. - -One eccentric matter little understood in this country is co-operation, -or collaboration, in the production of French pieces. There is an old -story of an ambitious gentleman offering M. Scribe many thousand francs -to be permitted to have his name associated with that of M. Scribe -as joint authors of a piece by the former, of which the ambitious -gentleman was to be allowed to write a line, to save his honour. Scribe -wrote in reply that it was against Scripture to yoke together a horse -and an ass. ‘I should like to know,’ asked the gentleman, ‘what right -you have to call me a horse?’ This showed that the gentleman had wit -enough to become a partner in a dramatic manufactory. Indeed, much less -than wit--a mere idea, is sufficient to qualify a junior partner. The -historian of ‘La Collaboration au Théâtre,’ M. Goizot, states that a -young provincial once called on Scribe with a letter of introduction -and a little comedy, in manuscript. Scribe talked with him, promised -to read the piece, and civilly dismissed him. The provincial youth -returned _au pays_, hoped, waited, and despaired; finally, at the -end of a year, he went up to Paris, and again called on M. Scribe. -With difficulty the dramatist recognised him; with more difficulty -could he recollect the manuscript to which his visitor referred, but -after consulting a note-book, he took out a manuscript vaudeville of -his own and proposed to read it to the visitor. It was that of his -popular piece ‘La Chanoinesse.’ The visitor submitted, but he became -delighted as he listened. The reading over, he ventured to refer to his -own manuscript. ‘I have just read it to you,’ said Scribe, ‘with my -additions. Your copy had an idea in it; ideas are to me everything. I -have made use of yours, and you and I are authors of “La Chanoinesse.”’ - -Collaboration rarely enables us to see the share of each author in the -work. The bouquet we fling to the successful pair is smelt by both. The -lately deceased Mr. P. Lébrun made the reception speech when M. Émile -Angier was admitted to one of the forty seats of the French Academy. -There was a spice of sarcasm in the following words addressed to one -of the two authors of ‘Le Gendre de M. Poirier:’ ‘What is your portion -therein? and are we not welcoming, not only yourself, to the Academy, -but also your _collaborateur_ and friend?’ The fact is that in the -highest class of co-operative work the work itself is founded on a -single thought. The thought is discussed through all its consequences, -till the moment for giving it dramatic action arrives, and then the -pens pursue their allotted work. There is, however, another method. MM. -Legouvé and Prosper Dinaux wrote their drama of ‘Louise de Lignerolles’ -in this way. The two authors sat face to face at the same table, and -wrote the first act. The two results were read, compared, and finally, -out of what was considered the best work in the two, a new act was -selected with some new writing in addition. Thus three acts were really -constructed to build up one. This ponderous method is not followed -by many writers. Indeed, how some co-operative dramatists work is -beyond conjecture. A vaudeville in one act sometimes has four authors; -indeed, several of these single-act pieces have been advertised as the -work of a dozen; in one case, according to M. Goizot, of _sixteen_ -authors, who probably chatted, laughed, drank, and smoked the piece -into existence at a café; and the piece becoming a reality, the whole -company of revellers were named as the many fathers of that minute -bantling. - -Undoubtedly the most marvellous example of dramatic eccentricity -that was ever put upon record is the one which tells us of a regular -performance by professional actors in a public theatre, before an -ordinary audience, who had extraordinary interest in the drama. The -locality was in Paris, in the old theatre of the Porte Saint-Martin. -The piece was the famous melodrama, ‘La Pie Voleuse,’ on which Rossini -founded ‘La Gazza Ladra,’ and which, under the name of ‘The Maid -and the Magpie,’ afforded such a triumph to Miss Kelly as that lady -may remember with pride; for we believe that most accomplished and -most natural of all actresses still survives--or was surviving very -lately--with two colleagues at least of the olden time, Mrs. W. West -and Miss Love. When ‘La Pie Voleuse’ was being acted at the above-named -French theatre, the allied armies had invaded France; a portion of the -invading force had entered Paris. The circumstance now to be related -is best told on French authority. An English writer might almost -be suspected of calumniating the French people by narrating such -an incident, unsupported by reference to the source from which he -derived it. We take it from one of the many dramatic _feuilletons_ of -M. Paul Foucher, an author of several French plays, a critic of French -players and play-writers, and a relative, by marriage, of M. Victor -Hugo. This is what M. Paul Foucher tells us: ‘On the evening of the -second entry of the foreign armies into Paris, the popular melodrama -“La Pie Voleuse,” was being acted at the Porte Saint-Martin. There was -one thousand eight hundred francs in the house, which at that time -was considered a handsome receipt. During the performance the doors -were closed, because the rumbling noise of the cannon, rolling over -the stones, interrupted the interest of the dialogue, and it rendered -impossible the sympathetic attention of the audience.’ Frenchmen there -were who were ashamed of this heartless indifference for the national -tragedy. Villemot was disgusted at this elasticity of the Parisian -spirit, and he added to his rebuke these remarkable words:--‘I take -pleasure in hoping that we may never again be subjected to the same -trial, and that, in any case, we may bear it in a more dignified -fashion.’ How Paris bore it, when the terrible event again occurred, -is too well known to be retold; but the incident of ‘La Pie Voleuse’ -is perhaps the most eccentric of the examples of dramatic and popular -eccentricity to be found in the annals of the French stage. - - - - -_NORTHUMBERLAND HOUSE AND THE PERCYS._ - - -When Hotspur treads the stage with passionate grace, the spectator -hardly dreams of the fact that the princely original lived, paid taxes, -and was an active man of his parish, in Aldersgate Street. _There_, -however, stood the first Northumberland House. By the ill-fortune of -Percy it fell to the conquering side in the serious conflict in which -Hotspur was engaged; and Henry IV. made a present of it to his queen, -Jane. Thence it got the name of the Queen’s Wardrobe. Subsequently it -was converted into a printing office; and in the course of time, the -first Northumberland House disappeared altogether. - -In Fenchurch Street, not now a place wherein to look for nobles, the -great Earls of Northumberland were grandly housed in the time of Henry -VI.; but vulgar citizenship elbowed the earls too closely, and they -ultimately withdrew from the City. The deserted mansion and grounds -were taken possession of by the roysterers. Dice were for ever rattling -in the stately saloons. Winners shouted for joy, and blasphemy was -considered a virtue by the losers. As for the once exquisite gardens, -they were converted into bowling-greens, titanic billiards, at which -sport the gayer City sparks breathed themselves for hours in the summer -time. There was no place of entertainment so fashionably frequented as -this second Northumberland House; but dice and bowls were at length to -be enjoyed in more vulgar places, and ‘the old seat of the Percys was -deserted by fashion.’ On the site of mansion and gardens, houses and -cottages were erected, and the place knew its old glory no more. So -ended the second Northumberland House. - -While the above mansions or palaces were the pride of all Londoners -and the envy of many, there stood on the strand of the Thames, at -the bend of the river, near Charing Cross, a hospital and chapel, -whose founder, William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, had dedicated it to -St. Mary, and made it an appanage to the Priory of Roncesvalle, in -Navarre. Hence the hospital on our river strand was known by the name -of ‘St. Mary Rouncivall.’ The estate went the way of such property at -the dissolution of the monasteries; and the first lay proprietor of -the forfeited property was a Sir Thomas Cawarden. It was soon after -acquired by Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton, son of the first Earl -of Surrey. Howard, early in the reign of James I., erected on the site -of St. Mary’s Hospital a brick mansion which, under various names, -has developed into that third and present Northumberland House which -is about to fall under pressure of circumstances, the great need of -London, and the argument of half a million of money. - -Thus the last nobleman who clung to the Strand, which, on its south -side, was once a line of palaces, has left it for ever. The bishops -were the first to reside on that river-bank outside the City walls. -Nine episcopal palaces were once mirrored in the then clear waters of -the Thames. The lay nobles followed, when they felt themselves as safe -in that fresh and healthy air as the prelates. The chapel of the Savoy -is still a royal chapel, and the memories of time-honoured Lancaster -and of John, the honest King of France, still dignify the place. But -the last nobleman who resided so far from the now recognised quarters -of fashion has left what has been the seat of the Howards and Percys -for nearly three centuries, and the Strand will be able no longer to -boast of a duke. It also recently possessed an English earl; but _he_ -was only a modest lodger in Norfolk Street. - -When the Duke of Northumberland went from the Strand, there went with -him a shield with very nearly nine hundred quarterings; and among them -are the arms of Henry VII., of the sovereign houses of France, Castile, -Leon, and Scotland, and of the ducal houses of Normandy and Brittany! -_Nunquam minus solus quam cum solus_, might be a fitting motto for -a nobleman who, when he stands before a glass, may see therein, not -only the Duke, but also the Earl of Northumberland, Earl Percy, Earl -of Beverley, Baron Lovaine of Alnwick, Sir Algernon Percy, Bart., two -doctors (LL.D. and D.C.L.), a colonel, several presidents, and the -patron of two-and-twenty livings. - -As a man who deals with the merits of a book is little or nothing -concerned with the binding thereof, with the water-marks, or with the -printing, but is altogether concerned with the life that is within, -that is, with the author, his thoughts, and his expression of them, -so, in treating of Northumberland House, we care much less for notices -of the building than of its inhabitants--less for the outward aspect -than for what has been said or done beneath its roof. If we look with -interest at a mere wall which screens from sight the stage of some -glorious or some terrible act, it is not for the sake of the wall or -its builders: our interest is in the drama and its actors. Who cares, -in speaking of Shakespeare and Hamlet, to know the name of the stage -carpenter at the Globe or the Blackfriars? Suffice it to say, that -Lord Howard, who was an amateur architect of some merit, is supposed -to have had a hand in designing the old house in the Strand, and -that Gerard Christmas and Bernard Jansen are said to have been his -‘builders.’ Between that brick house and the present there is as -much sameness as in the legendary knife which, after having had a new -handle, subsequently received in addition a new blade. The old house -occupied three sides of a square. The fourth side, towards the river, -was completed in the middle of the seventeenth century. The portal -retains something of the old work, but so little as to be scarcely -recognisable, except to professional eyes. - -From the date of its erection till 1614 it bore the name of Northampton -House. In that year it passed by will from Henry Howard, Lord -Northampton, to his nephew, Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk, from -whom it was called Suffolk House. In 1642, Elizabeth, daughter of -Theophilus, second Earl of Suffolk, married Algernon Percy, tenth Earl -of Northumberland, and the new master gave his name to the old mansion. -The above-named Lord Northampton was the man who has been described as -foolish when young, infamous when old, an encourager, at threescore -years and ten, of his niece, the infamous Countess of Essex; and who, -had he lived a few months longer, would probably have been hanged for -his share, with that niece and others, in the mysterious murder of Sir -Thomas Overbury. Thus, the founder of the house was noble only in name; -his successor and nephew has not left a much more brilliant reputation. -He was connected, with his wife, in frauds upon the King, and was -fined heavily. The heiress of Northumberland, who married his son, came -of a noble but ill-fated race, especially after the thirteenth Baron -Percy was created Earl of Northumberland in 1377. Indeed, the latter -title had been borne by eleven persons before it was given to a Percy, -and by far the greater proportion of the whole of them came to grief. -Of one of them it is stated that he (Alberic) was appointed Earl in -1080, but that, _proving unfit for the dignity_, he was displaced, and -a Norman bishop named in his stead! The idea of turning out from high -estate those who were unworthy or incapable is one that might suggest -many reflections, if it were not _scandalum magnatum_ to make them. - -In the chapel at Alnwick Castle there is displayed a genealogical -tree. At the root of the Percy branches is ‘Charlemagne;’ and there -is a sermon in the whole, much more likely to scourge pride than to -stimulate it, if the thing be rightly considered. However this may be, -the Percys find their root in Karloman, the Emperor, through Joscelin -of Louvain, in this way: Agnes de Percy was, in the twelfth century, -the sole heiress of her house. Immensely rich, she had many suitors. -Among these was Joscelin, brother of Godfrey, sovereign Duke of -Brabant, and of Adelicia, Queen Consort of Henry the First of England. -Joscelin held that estate at Petworth which has not since gone out -of the hands of his descendants. This princely suitor of the heiress -Agnes was only accepted by her as husband on condition of his assuming -the Percy name. Joscelin consented; but he added the arms of Brabant -and Louvain to the Percy shield, in order that, if succession to those -titles and possessions should ever be stopped for want of an heir, his -claim might be kept in remembrance. Now, this Joscelin was lineally -descended from ‘Charlemagne,’ and, _therefore_, that greater name lies -at the root of the Percy pedigree, which glitters in gold on the walls -of the ducal chapel in the castle at Alnwick. - -Very rarely indeed did the Percys, who were the earlier Earls of -Northumberland, die in their beds. The first of them, Henry, was slain -(1407) in the fight on Bramham Moor. The second, another Henry (whose -father, Hotspur, was killed in the hot affair near Shrewsbury), lies -within St. Alban’s Abbey Church, having poured out his lifeblood in -another Battle of the Roses, fought near that town named after the -saint. The blood of the third Earl helped to colour the roses, which -are said to have grown redder from the gore of the slain on Towton’s -hard-fought field. The forfeited title was transferred, in 1465, to -Lord John Nevill Montagu, great Warwick’s brother; but Montagu soon -lay among the dead in the battle near Barnet. The title was restored -to another Henry Percy, and that unhappy Earl was murdered, in 1489, -at his house, Cucklodge, near Thirsk. In that fifteenth century there -was not a single Earl of Northumberland who died a peaceful and natural -death. - -In the succeeding century the first line of Earls, consisting of six -Henry Percys, came to an end in that childless noble whom Anne Boleyn -called ‘the Thriftless Lord.’ He died childless in 1537. He had, -indeed, two brothers, the elder of whom might have succeeded to the -title and estates; but both brothers, Sir Thomas and Sir Ingram, had -taken up arms in the ‘Pilgrimage of Grace.’ Attainder and forfeiture -were the consequences; and in 1551 Northumberland was the title of the -dukedom conferred on John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, who lost the dignity -when his head was struck off at the block, two years later. - -Then the old title, Earl of Northumberland, was restored in 1557, -to Thomas, eldest son of that attainted Thomas who had joined the -‘Pilgrimage of Grace.’ Ill-luck still followed these Percys. Thomas -was beheaded--the last of his house who fell by the hands of the -executioner--in 1572. His brother and heir died in the Tower in 1585. - -None of these Percys had yet come into the Strand. The brick house -there, which was to be their own through marriage with an heiress, was -built in the lifetime of the Earl, whose father, as just mentioned, -died in the Tower in 1585. The son, too, was long a prisoner in -that gloomy palace and prison. While Lord Northampton was laying the -foundations of the future London house of the Percys in 1605, Henry -Percy, Earl of Northumberland, was being carried into durance. There -was a Percy, kinsman to the Earl, who was mixed up with the Gunpowder -Plot. For no other reason than relationship with the conspiring Percy, -the Earl was shut up in the Tower for life, as his sentence ran, and -he was condemned to pay a fine of thirty thousand pounds. The Earl -ultimately got off with fifteen years’ imprisonment and a fine of -twenty thousand pounds. He was popularly known as the Wizard Earl, -because he was a studious recluse, companying only with grave scholars -(of whom there were three, known as ‘Percy’s Magi’) and finding -relaxation in writing rhymed satires against the Scots. - -There was a stone walk in the Tower which, having been paved by the -Earl, was known during many years as ‘My Lord of Northumberland’s -Walk.’ At one end was an iron shield of his arms; and holes in which he -put a peg at every turn he made in his dreary exercise. - -One would suppose that the Wizard Earl would have been very grateful to -the man who restored him to liberty. Lord Hayes (Viscount Doncaster) -was the man. He had married Northumberland’s daughter, Lucy. The -marriage had excited the Earl’s anger, as a _low match_, and the proud -captive could not ‘stomach’ a benefit for which he was indebted to a -son-in-law on whom he looked down. This proud Earl died in 1632. Just -ten years after, his son, Algernon Percy, went a-wooing at Suffolk -House, in the Strand. It was then inhabited by Elizabeth, the daughter -and heiress of Theophilus, Earl of Suffolk, who had died two years -previously, in 1640. Algernon Percy and Elizabeth Howard made a merry -and magnificent wedding of it, and from the time they were joined -together the house of the bride has been known by the bridegroom’s -territorial title of Northumberland. - -The street close to the house of the Percys, which we now know as -Northumberland Street, was then a road leading down to the Thames, and -called Hartshorn Lane. Its earlier name was Christopher Alley. At the -bottom of the lane the luckless Sir Edmundsbury Godfrey had a stately -house, from which he walked many a time and oft to his great wood wharf -on the river. But the glory of Hartshorn Lane was and is Ben Jonson. -No one can say where rare Ben was born, save that the posthumous child -first saw the light in Westminster. ‘Though,’ says Fuller, ‘I cannot, -with all my industrious inquiry, find him in his cradle, I can fetch -him from his long coats. When a little child he lived in Hartshorn -Lane, Charing Cross, where his mother married a bricklayer for her -second husband.’ Mr. Fowler was a master bricklayer, and did well with -his clever stepson. We can in imagination see that sturdy boy crossing -the Strand to go to his school within the old church of St. Martin -(then still) in the Fields. It is as easy to picture him hastening of a -morning early to Westminster, where Camden was second master, and had -a keen sense of the stuff that was in the scholar from Hartshorn Lane. -Of all the figures that flit about the locality, none attracts our -sympathies so warmly as that of the boy who developed into the second -dramatic poet of England. - -Of the countesses and duchesses of this family, the most singular was -the widow of Algernon, the tenth Earl. In her widowhood she removed -from the house in the Strand (where she had given a home not only to -her husband, but to a brother) to one which occupied the site on which -White’s Club now stands. It was called Suffolk House, and the proud -lady thereof maintained a semi-regal state beneath the roof and when -she went abroad. On such an occasion as paying a visit, her footmen -walked bareheaded on either side of her coach, which was followed -by a second, in which her women were seated, like so many ladies in -waiting! Her state solemnity went so far that she never allowed her son -Joscelin’s wife (daughter of an Earl) to be seated in her presence--at -least till she had obtained permission to do so. - -Joscelin’s wife was, according to Pepys, ‘a beautiful lady indeed.’ -They had but one child, the famous heiress, Elizabeth Percy, who -at four years of age was left to the guardianship of her proud and -wicked old grandmother. Joscelin was dead, and his widow married -Ralph, afterwards Duke of Montague. The old Dowager Countess was a -matchmaker, and she contracted her granddaughter, at the age of twelve, -to Cavendish, Earl of Ogle. Before this couple were of age to live -together, Ogle died. In a year or two after, the old matchmaker engaged -her victim to Mr. Thomas Thynne, of Longleat; but the young lady had no -mind to him. In the Hatton collection of manuscripts there are three -letters addressed by a lady of the Brunswick family to Lord and Lady -Hatton. They are undated, but they contain a curious reference to part -of the present subject, and are thus noticed in the first report of -the Royal Commission on Historical Manuscripts: ‘Mr. Thinn has proved -his marriage with Lady Ogle, but she will not live with him, for fear -of being “rotten before she is ripe.” Lord Suffolk, since he lost his -wife and daughter, lives with his sister, Northumberland. They have -here strange ambassadors--one from the King of Fez, the other from -Muscovett. All the town has seen the last; he goes to the play, and -stinks so that the ladies are not able to take their muffs from their -noses all the play-time. The lampoons that are made of most of the -town ladies are so nasty that no woman would read them, else she would -have got them for her.’ - -‘Tom of Ten Thousand,’ as Thynne was called, was murdered (shot dead -in his carriage) in Pall Mall (1682) by Königsmark and accomplices, -two or three of whom suffered death on the scaffold. Immediately -afterwards, the maiden wife of two husbands _really_ married Charles, -the proud Duke of Somerset. In the same year, Banks dedicated to her -(_Illustrious Princess_, he calls her) his ‘Anna Bullen,’ a tragedy. -He says: ‘You have submitted to take a noble partner, as angels have -delighted to converse with men;’ and ‘there is so much of divinity and -wisdom in your choice, that none but the Almighty ever did the like’ -(giving Eve to Adam) ‘with the world and Eden for a dower.’ Then, after -more blasphemy, and very free allusions to her condition as a bride, -and fulsomeness beyond conception, he scouts the idea of supposing that -she ever should die. ‘You look,’ he says, ‘as if you had nothing mortal -in you. Your guardian angel scarcely is more a deity than you;’ and so -on, in increase of bombast, crowned by the mock humility of ‘my muse -still has no other ornament than truth.’ - -The Duke and Duchess of Somerset lived in the house in the Strand, -which continued to be called Northumberland House, as there had long -been a _Somerset_ House a little more to the east. Anthony Henley once -annoyed the above duke and showed his own ill-manners by addressing -a letter ‘to the Duke of Somerset, over against the trunk-shop at -Charing Cross.’ The duchess was hardly more respectful when speaking -of her suburban mansion, Sion House, Brentford. ‘It’s a hobbledehoy -place,’ she said; ‘neither town nor country.’ Of this union came a son, -Algernon Seymour, who in 1748 succeeded his father as Duke of Somerset, -and in 1749 was created Earl of Northumberland, for a particular -reason. He had no sons. His daughter Elizabeth had encouraged the -homage of a handsome young fellow of that day, named Smithson. She was -told Hugh Smithson had spoken in terms of admiration of her beauty, and -she laughingly asked why he did not say as much to herself. Smithson -was the son of ‘an apothecary,’ according to the envious, but, in -truth, the father had been a physician, and earned a baronetcy, and -was of the good old nobility, the landowners, with an estate, still -possessed by the family, at Stanwick, in Yorkshire. Hugh Smithson -married this Elizabeth Percy, and the earldom of Northumberland, -conferred on her father, was to go to her husband, and afterwards to -the eldest male heir of this marriage, failing which the dignity was to -remain with Elizabeth and her heirs male by any other marriage. - -It is at this point that the present line of Smithson-Percys begins. -Of the couple who may be called its founders so many severe things -have been said, that we may infer that their exalted fortunes and best -qualities gave umbrage to persons of small minds or strong prejudices. -Walpole’s remark, that in the earl’s lord-lieutenancy in Ireland ‘their -vice-majesties scattered pearls and diamonds about the streets,’ is -good testimony to their royal liberality. Their taste may not have -been unexceptionable, but there was no touch of meanness in it. In -1758 they gave a supper at Northumberland House to Lady Yarmouth, -George II.’s old mistress. The chief ornamental piece on the supper -table represented a grand _chasse_ at Herrenhausen, at which there was -a carriage drawn by six horses, in which was seated an august person -wearing a blue ribbon, with a lady at his side. This was not unaptly -called ‘the apotheosis of concubinage.’ Of the celebrated countess -notices vary. Her delicacy, elegance, and refinement are vouched for -by some; her coarseness and vulgarity are asserted by others. When -Queen Charlotte came to England, Lady Northumberland was made one of -the ladies of the queen’s bed-chamber. Lady Townshend justified it to -people who felt or feigned surprise, by remarking, ‘Surely nothing -could be more proper. The queen does not understand English, and can -anything be more necessary than that she should learn the vulgar -tongue?’ One of the countess’s familiar terms for conviviality was -‘junkitaceous,’ but ladies of equal rank had also little slang words -of their own, called things by the very plainest names, and spelt -_physician_ with an ‘f.’ - -There is ample testimony on record that the great countess never -hesitated at a jest on the score of its coarseness. The earl was -distinguished rather for his pomposity than vulgarity, though a vulgar -sentiment marked some of both his sayings and doings. For example, when -Lord March visited him at Alnwick Castle, the Earl of Northumberland -received him at the gates with this queer sort of welcome: ‘I believe, -my lord, this is the first time that ever a Douglas and a Percy met -here in friendship.’ The censor who said, ‘Think of this from a -Smithson to a true Douglas,’ had ample ground for the exclamation. -George III. raised the earl and countess to the rank of duke and -duchess in 1766. All the earls of older creation were ruffled and angry -at the advancement; but the honour had its drawback. The King would not -allow the title to descend to an heir by any other wife but the one -then alive, who was the true representative of the Percy line. - -The old Northumberland House festivals were right royal things in their -way. There was, on the other hand, many a snug, or unceremonious, or -eccentric party given there. Perhaps the most splendid was that given -in honour of the King of Denmark in 1768. His majesty was fairly -bewildered with the splendour. There was in the court what was called -‘a pantheon,’ illuminated by 4,000 lamps. The King, as he sat down to -supper, at the table to which he had expressly invited twenty guests -out of the hundreds assembled, said to the duke, ‘How did you contrive -to light it all in time?’ ‘I had two hundred lamplighters,’ replied the -duke. ‘That was a stretch,’ wrote candid Mrs. Delany; ‘a dozen could -have done the business;’ which was true. - -The duchess, who in early life was, in delicacy of form, like one -of the Graces, became, in her more mature years, fatter than if the -whole three had been rolled into one in her person. With obesity came -‘an exposition to sleep,’ as Bottom has it. At ‘drawing-rooms’ she -no sooner sank on a sofa than she was deep in slumber; but while she -was awake she would make jokes that were laughed at and censured the -next day all over London. Her Grace would sit at a window in Covent -Garden, and be _hail fellow well met_ with every one of a mob of tipsy -and not too cleanly-spoken electors. On these occasions it was said -she ‘signalised herself with intrepidity.’ She could bend, too, with -cleverness to the humours of more hostile mobs; and when the Wilkes -rioters besieged the ducal mansion, she and the duke appeared at a -window, did salutation to their masters, and performed homage to the -demagogue by drinking his health in ale. - -Horace Walpole affected to ridicule the ability of the duchess as a -verse writer. At Lady Miller’s at Batheaston some rhyming words were -given out to the company, and anyone who could, was required to add -lines to them so as to make sense with the rhymes furnished for the end -of each line. This sort of dancing in fetters was called _bouts rimés_. -‘On my faith,’ cried Walpole, in 1775, ‘there are _bouts rimés_ on a -buttered muffin by her Grace the Duchess of Northumberland.’ It may be -questioned whether anybody could have surmounted the difficulty more -cleverly than her Grace. For example: - - - The pen which I now take and brandish, - Has long lain useless in my standish. - Know, every maid, from her own patten - To her who shines in glossy satin, - That could they now prepare an oglio - From best receipt of book in folio, - Ever so fine, for all their puffing, - I should prefer a butter’d muffin; - A muffin, Jove himself might feast on, - If eaten with Miller, at Batheaston. - - -To return to the house itself. There is no doubt that no mansion of -such pretensions and containing such treasures has been so thoroughly -kept from the vulgar eye. There is one exception, however, to this -remark. The Duke (Algernon) who was alive at the period of the first -Exhibition threw open the house in the Strand to the public without -reserve. The public, without being ungrateful, thought it rather a -gloomy residence. Shut in and darkened as it now is by surrounding -buildings--canopied as it now is by clouds of London smoke--it is less -cheerful and airy than the Tower, where the Wizard Earl studied in his -prison room, or counted the turns he made when pacing his prison yard. -The Duke last referred to was in his youth at Algiers under Exmouth, -and in his later years a Lord of the Admiralty. As Lord Prudhoe, he was -a traveller in far-away countries, and he had the faculty of seeing -what he saw, for which many travellers, though they have eyes, are not -qualified. At the pleasant Smithsonian house at Stanwick, when he was -a bachelor, his household was rather remarkable for the plainness of -the female servants. Satirical people used to say the youngest of them -was a grandmother. Others, more charitable or scandalous, asserted -that Lord Prudhoe was looked upon as a father by many in the country -round, who would have been puzzled where else to look for one. It was -his elder brother Hugh (whom Lord Prudhoe succeeded) who represented -England as Ambassador Extraordinary at the coronation of Charles X. at -Rheims. Paris was lost in admiration at the splendour of this embassy, -and never since has the _hôtel_ in the Rue de Bac possessed such a -gathering of royal and noble personages as at the _fêtes_ given there -by the Duke of Northumberland. His sister, Lady Glenlyon, then resided -in a portion of the fine house in the Rue de Bourbon, owned and in part -occupied by the rough but cheery old warrior, the Comte de Lobau. When -that lady was Lady Emily Percy, she was married to the eccentric Lord -James Murray, afterwards Lord Glenlyon. The bridegroom was rather of -an oblivious turn of mind, and it is said that when the wedding morn -arrived, his servant had some difficulty in persuading him that it was -the day on which he had to get up and be married. - -There remains only to be remarked, that as the Percy line has been -often represented only by an heiress, there have not been wanting -individuals who boasted of male heirship. - -Two years after the death of Joscelin Percy in 1670, who died the -last male heir of the line, leaving an only child, a daughter, who -married the Duke of Somerset, there appeared, supported by the Earl of -Anglesea, a most impudent claimant (as next male heir) in the person -of James Percy, an Irish trunkmaker. This individual professed to -be a descendant of Sir Ingram Percy, who was in the ‘Pilgrimage of -Grace,’ and was brother of the sixth earl. The claim was proved to be -unfounded; but it may have rested on an _illegitimate_ foundation. -As the pretender continued to call himself Earl of Northumberland, -Elizabeth, daughter of Joscelin, ‘took the law’ of him. Ultimately he -was condemned to be taken into the four law courts in Westminster Hall, -with a paper pinned to his breast, bearing these words: ‘The foolish -and impudent pretender to the earldom of Northumberland.’ - -In the succeeding century, the well-known Dr. Percy, Bishop of Dromore, -believed himself to be the true male representative of the ancient line -of Percy. He built no claims on such belief; but the belief was not -only confirmed by genealogists, it was admitted by the second heiress -Elizabeth, who married Hugh Smithson. Dr. Percy so far asserted his -blood as to let it boil over in wrath against Pennant when the latter -described Alnwick Castle in these disparaging words: ‘At Alnwick -no remains of chivalry are perceptible; no respectable train of -attendants; the furniture and gardens are inconsistent; and nothing, -except the numbers of unindustrious poor at the castle gate, excited -any one idea of its former circumstances.’ - -‘Duke and Duchess of Charing Cross,’ or ‘their majesties of Middlesex,’ -were the mock titles which Horace Walpole flung at the ducal couple of -his day who resided at Northumberland House, London, or at Sion House, -Brentford. Walpole accepted and satirised the hospitality of the London -house, and he almost hated the ducal host and hostess at Sion, because -they seemed to overshadow his mimic feudal state at Strawberry! After -all, neither early nor late circumstance connected with Northumberland -House is confined to memories of the inmates. Ben Jonson comes out upon -us from Hartshorn Lane with more majesty than any of the earls; and -greatness has sprung from neighbouring shops, and has flourished as -gloriously as any of which Percy can boast. Half a century ago, there -was a long low house, a single storey high, the ground floor of which -was a saddler’s shop. It was on the west side of the old Golden Cross, -and nearly opposite Northumberland House. The worthy saddler founded -a noble line. Of four sons, three were distinguished as Sir David, -Sir Frederick, and Sir George. Two of the workmen became Lord Mayors -of London; and an attorney’s clerk, who used to go in at night and -chat with the men, married the granddaughter of a king and became Lord -Chancellor. - - - - -_LEICESTER FIELDS._ - - -In the reign of James I. there was an open space of ground north of -what is now called Leicester Square (which by some old persons is -still called Leicester Fields), and which was to the London soldiers -and civilians of that day very much what Wormwood Scrubs is to the -military and their admirers of the present time. Prince Henry exercised -his artillery there, and it continued to be a general military -exercise-ground far into the reign of Charles I. People trooped -joyfully over the lammas land paths to witness the favourite spectacle. -The greatest delight was excited by charges of cavalry against lines -or masses of dummies, through which the gallant warriors and steeds -plunged and battled--thus teaching them not to stop short at an -impediment, but to dash right through it. - -In 1631 there were unmistakable signs that this land was going to be -built over, and people were aghast at the pace at which London was -growing. Business-like men were measuring and staking; the report -was that the land had been given to Sydney, Earl of Leicester. Too -soon the builders got possession, and the holiday folk with military -proclivities no longer enjoyed their old ecstasy of accompanying the -soldiery to Paggington’s tune of - - - My masters and friends and good people, draw near. - - -Why Sydney was allowed to establish himself on the lammas land no one -can tell. All that we know is, that Lord Carlisle wrote from Nonsuch, -in August 1631, to Attorney-General Heath, informing him that it was -the king’s pleasure that Mr. Attorney should prepare a licence to the -Earl of Leicester to build upon a piece of ground called Swan Close, in -St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, a house convenient for his habitation.’ - -The popular idea of Earl of Leicester is Elizabeth’s Robert Dudley. -Well, that earl had a sister, Mary, who married Sir Henry Sydney, of -Penshurst. This couple had a son, whom they called Robert, and whom -King James created at successive periods Baron Sydney, Viscount Lisle, -and Earl of Leicester. And this Earl Robert had a son who, in 1626, -succeeded to the earldom, and to him King Charles, in 1631, gave Swan -Close and some other part of the lammas land, whereon he erected the -once famous Leicester House. - -This last Robert was the father of the famous and rather shabby -patriot, Algernon Sydney, also of the handsome Henry. He is still more -famous as having for daughter Dorothy, the ‘Sacharissa’ with whom -Waller pretended to be in love, and he gave his family name to Sydney -Alley. When, some few years later, the Earl of Salisbury (Viscount -Cranbourn) built a house in the neighbourhood, he partly copied the -other earl’s example, and called the road which led to his mansion -Cranbourn Alley. - -The lammas land thus given away was land which was open to the poor -after Lammastide. Peter Cunningham quotes two entries from the St. -Martin’s rate-books to this effect: ‘To received of the Honble. Earle -of Leicester for ye Lamas of the ground that adjoins the Military Wall, -3_l._’ The ‘military wall’ was the boundary of the Wormwood Scrubs of -that day. The Earl also had to pay ‘for the lamas of the ground whereon -his house and garden are, and the field that is before his house, near -to Swan Close.’ The field before his house is now Leicester Square, -‘but Swan Close,’ says Peter, ‘is quite unknown.’ Lord Carlisle’s -letter in the State Paper Office states that the house was to be built -‘_upon_ Swan Close.’ - -It was a palatial mansion, that old Leicester House. It half filled -the northern side of the present square, on the eastern half of that -side. Its noble gardens extended beyond the present Lisle Street. At -first that street reached only to the garden wall of Leicester House. -When the garden itself disappeared the street was lengthened. It was -a street full of ‘quality,’ and foreign ambassadors thought themselves -lodged in a way not to dishonour their masters if they could only -secure a mansion in Lisle Street. - -Noble as the mansion was, Robert Sydney Earl of Leicester is the only -earl of his line who lived in it, and his absences were many and of -long continuance. He was a thrifty man, and long before he died, in -1677, he let the house to very responsible tenants. One of these was -Colbert. If the ordinary run of ambassadors were proud to be quartered -in Lisle Street, the proper place for the representative of ‘_L’Etat -c’est moi_,’ and for the leader of civilisation, was the palace in -Leicester Fields; and there France established herself, and there and -in the neighbourhood, in hotels, cafés, restaurants, _charcutiers_, -_commissionnaires_, refugees, and highly-coloured ladies, she has been -ever since. - -Colbert probably the more highly approved of the house as it had been -dwelt in already by a queen. On February 7, 1662, the only queen that -ever lived in Drury Lane--the Queen of Bohemia (daughter of James -I.)--removed from Drury House and its pleasant gardens, now occupied by -houses and streets, at the side of the Olympic Theatre, to Leicester -House. Drury House was the residence of Lord Craven, to whom it was -popularly said that the widowed queen had been privately married. Her -occupancy of Leicester House was not a long one, for the queen died -there on the 12th of the same month. - -Six years later, in 1668,the French ambassador, Colbert, occupied -Leicester House. Pepys relates how he left a joyous dinner early, on -October 21, to join Lord Brouncker, the president, and other members -of the Royal Society, in paying a formal return visit to Colbert; but -the party had started before Pepys arrived at the Society’s rooms. The -little man hastened after them; but they were ‘gone in’ and ‘up,’ and -Pepys was too late to be admitted. His wife, perhaps, was not sorry, -for he took her to Cow Lane; ‘and there,’ he says, ‘I showed her the -coach which I pitch on, and she is out of herself for joy almost.’ - -It is easy to guess why the Royal Society honoured themselves by -honouring Colbert. The great Frenchman was something more than a -mere Marquis de Segnelai. Who remembers M. le Marquis? Who does not -know Colbert--the pupil of Mazarin, the astute politician, the sharp -finance-minister, the patron--nay, the pilot--of the arts and sciences -in France? The builder of the French Royal Observatory, and the founder -of the Academies of Painting and Sculpture and of the Sciences in -France, was just the man to pay the first visit to the Royal Society. -Leicester House was nobly tenanted by Colbert, and nobly frequented by -the men of taste and of talent whom he gathered about him beneath its -splendid roof. - -The house fell into other hands, and men who were extremely opposite to -philosophers were admitted within its walls _with_ philosophers, who -were expected to admire their handiwork. In October 1672, the grave -Evelyn called at Leicester House to take leave of Lady Sunderland, who -was about to set out for Paris, where Lord Sunderland was the English -ambassador. My lady made Evelyn stay to dinner, and afterwards sent -for Richardson, the famous fire-eater. A few years ago a company of -Orientals, black and white, exhibited certain feats, but they were too -repulsive (generally) to attract. What the members of this company did -was done two hundred years ago in Leicester Square by Richardson alone. -‘He devoured,’ says Evelyn, ‘brimstone on glowing coals before us, -chewing and swallowing them; he melted a large glass and eat it quite -up; then, taking a live coal on his tongue, he put on it a raw oyster, -the coal was blowed on with bellows till it flamed and sparkled in his -mouth, and so remained till the oyster gaped and was quite boiled. Then -he melted pitch and wax with sulphur, which he drank down as it flamed. -I saw it flaming in his mouth a good while. He also took up a thick -piece of iron, such as laundresses use to put in their smoothing-boxes, -when it was fiery hot, held it between his teeth, then in his hands, -and threw it about like a stone; but this I observed, that he cared -not to hold very long. Then he stood on a small pot, and bending his -body, took a glowing iron in his mouth from between his feet, without -touching the pot or ground with his hands; with divers other prodigious -feats.’ Such was the singular sort of entertainment provided by a lady -for a gentleman after dinner in the seventeenth century and beneath the -roof of Leicester House. - -Meanwhile Little France increased and flourished in and about the -neighbourhood, and ‘foreigners of distinction’ were to be found airing -their nobility in Leicester Square and the Haymarket--almost country -places both. - -Behind Leicester House, and on part of the ground which once formed -Prince Henry Stuart’s military parade ground, there was a riding -academy, kept by Major Foubert. In 1682, among the major’s resident -pupils and boarders, was a handsome dare-devil young fellow, who was -said to be destined for the Church, but who subsequently met his own -destiny in quite another direction. His name was Philip Christopher -Königsmark (Count, by title), and his furious yet graceful riding must -have scared the quieter folks pacing the high road of the fields. He -had with him, or rather _he_ was with an elder brother, Count Charles -John. This elder Count walked Leicester Fields in somewhat strange -company--a German Captain Vratz, Borosky, a Pole, and Lieutenant Stern, -a third foreigner. To what purpose they associated was seen after -that Sunday evening in February 1682, when three mounted men shot Mr. -Thomas Thynne (Tom of Ten Thousand) in his coach, at the bottom of the -Haymarket. Tom died of his wounds. Thynne had been shot because he had -just married the wealthy child-heiress, Lady Ogle. Count Charles John -thought _he_ might obtain the lady if her husband were disposed of. -The necessary disposal of him was made by the three men named above, -after which they repaired to the Counts lodgings and then scattered; -but they were much wanted by the police, and so was the Count; when it -was discovered that he had suddenly disappeared from the neighbourhood -of the ‘Fields,’ and had gone down the river. He was headed, and -taken at Gravesend. The subordinates were also captured. For some -time indeed Vratz could not be netted. One morning, however, an armed -force broke into a Swedish doctor’s house in Leicester Fields, and -soon after they brought out Vratz in custody, to the great delight -of the assembled mob. At the trial, the Count was acquitted. His -younger brother, Philip, swore to an _alibi_, which proved nothing, -and the King influenced the judges! The three hired murderers went to -the gallows, and thought little of it. Vratz excused the deed, on -the ground of murder not having been intended; ‘besides,’ said this -sample of the Leicester Fields foreigner of the seventeenth century, -‘I am a gentleman, and God will deal with me accordingly.’ The two -counts left England, and made their names notorious in Continental -annals. The French riding-master shut up his school behind Leicester -House, and removed to a spot where his name still lives: Foubert’s -Passage, in Regent Street, opposite Conduit Street, is the site of the -academy where that celebrated teacher once instructed young ladies and -gentlemen how to ‘witch the world with noble horsemanship.’ - -We have spoken of the square being almost in the country. It was not -the only one which was considered in the same light. In 1698 the author -of a book called ‘Mémoires et Observations faites par un Voyageur en -Angleterre,’ printed at the Hague in the above year, thus enumerates -the London squares or _places_: ‘Les places qui sont dans Londres, ou -pour mieux dire, dans les faubourgs, occupent des espaces qui, joints -ensemble, en fourniraient un suffisant pour bâtir une grande ville. Ces -places sont toutes environnées de balustrades, qui empêchant que les -carrosses n’y passant. Les principales sont celles de Lincoln’s Inn -Fields, de Moor Fields, de Southampton ou Blumsbury, de St. James, &c., -Covent Garden; de Sohoe, ou Place Royale, du Lion rouge (Red Lyon), du -Quarré d’Or (Golden Square), et de Leicester Fields.’ - -All these are said to be in the _suburbs_. Soho Square was called by -fashionable people, King Square. It was only vulgar folk who used the -prevailing name of Soho. - -From early in Queen Anne’s days till late in those of George I., the -representative of the Emperor of Germany resided in Leicester House. -It was said that Jacobites found admittance there, for plotting or -for refuge. It is certain that the imperial residence was never so -tumultuously and joyously surrounded as when Prince Eugene arrived in -Leicester Square, in the above Queen’s reign, on a mission from the -Emperor, to induce England to join with him in carrying on the war. -During his brief stay Leicester Fields was thronged with a cheering -mobility and a bowing nobility and gentry, hastening to ‘put a -distinguished respect’ on Marlborough’s great comrade, who was almost -too modest to support the popular honours put on himself. Bishop Burnet -and the Prince gossiping together at their frequent interviews at -Leicester House have quite a picturesque aspect. - -The imperial chaplain there was often as busy as his master. Here is a -sample of one turn of his office: - -One evening a man, in apparent hurry, knocked at the door of Leicester -House, the imperial ambassador’s residence. He was bent on being -married, and he accomplished that on which he was bent. This person was -the son of a cavalier squire; he was also a Templar, for a time; but he -hated law and Fleet Street, and he set up as near to being a courtier -as could be expressed by taking lodgings in Scotland Yard, which -was next door to the court then rioting at Whitehall. His name was -Fielding, and his business was to drink wine, make love, and live upon -pensions from female purses. Three kings honoured the rascal: Charles, -James, and William; and one queen did him a good turn. For a long -time Beau Fielding was the handsomest ass on the Mall. Ladies looked -admiringly and languishingly at him, and the cruel beau murmured, ‘Let -them look and die.’ Maidens spoke of him as ‘Adonis!’ and joyous widows -hailed him ‘Handsome as Hercules!’ It was a mystery how he lived; how -he maintained horses, chariot, and a brace of fellows in bright yellow -coats and black sarcenet sashes. They were the Austrian colours; for -Fielding thought he was cousin to the House of Hapsburg. - -Supercilious as he was, he had an eye to the widows. His literature was -in Doctors’ Commons, where he studied the various instances of marital -affection manifested by the late husbands of living widows. One day -he rose from the perusal of a will with great apparent satisfaction. -He had just read how Mr. Deleau had left his relict a town house in -Copthall Court, a Surrey mansion at Waddon, and sixty thousand pounds -at her own disposal. The handsome Hercules resolved to add himself to -the other valuables of which widow Deleau could dispose. - -Fielding knew nothing whatever of the widow he so ardently coveted; -but he, like love, could find out the way. There was a Mrs. Villars, -who had dressed the widow’s hair, and she undertook, for a valuable -consideration, to bring the pair gradually together. Fielding was -allowed to see the grounds at Waddon. As he passed along, he observed -a lady at a window. He put his hand on the left side of his waistcoat, -and bowed a superlative beau’s superlative bow; and he was at the high -top-gallant of his joy when he saw the graceful lady graciously smile -in return for his homage. This little drama was repeated; and at last -Mrs. Villars induced the lady to yield so very much all at once as to -call with her on Fielding at his lodgings. Three such visits were made, -and ardent love was made also on each occasion. On the third coming of -Hero to Leander, there was a delicious little banquet, stimulating to -generous impulses. The impulses so overcame the lady that she yielded -to the urgent appeals of Mrs. Villars and the wooer, and consented to a -private marriage in her lover’s chambers. The ecstatic Fielding leapt -up from her feet, where he had been kneeling, clapt on his jaunty hat -with a slap, buckled his bodkin sword to his side with a hilarious -snap, swore there was no time like the present, and that he would -himself fetch a priest and be back with him on the very swiftest of the -wings of love. - -That was the occasion on which, at a rather late hour, Fielding was -to be seen knocking at the front door of Leicester House. When the -door was opened his first inquiry was after the imperial ambassador’s -chaplain. The beau had, in James II.’s days, turned Papist; and when -Popery had gone out as William came in, he had not thought it worth -while to turn back again, and was nominally a Papist still. When the -Roman Catholic chaplain in Leicester House became aware of what his -visitor required, he readily assented, and the worthy pair might be -seen hastily crossing the square to that bower of love where the bride -was waiting. The chaplain satisfied her scruples as to the genuineness -of his priestly character, and in a twinkling he buckled beau and belle -together in a manner which, as he said, defied all undoing. - -‘Undoing?’ exclaimed the lover. ‘I marry my angel with all my heart, -soul, body, and everything else!’--and he put a ring on her finger -bearing the poesy _Tibi soli_--the sun of his life. - -In a few days the bubble burst. The lady turned out to be no rich -widow, but a Mrs. Wadsworth, who was given to frolicking, and who -thought this the merriest frolic of her light-o’-love life. Fielding, -who had passed himself off as a count, had not much to say in his own -behalf, and he turned the ‘sun of his life’ out of doors. Whither he -could turn he knew right well. He had long served all the purposes -of the Duchess of Cleveland, the degraded old mistress of Charles -II.; and within three weeks of his being buckled to Mrs. Wadsworth by -the Leicester Square priest he married Duchess Barbara. Soon after -he thrashed Mrs. Wadsworth in the street for claiming him as her -lawful husband, and he beat the Duchess at home for asserting that -Mrs. Wadsworth was right. Old Barbara did more. She put two hundred -pounds into that lady’s hand, to prosecute Fielding for bigamy, and -the Duchess promised her a hundred pounds a year for fifteen years -if she succeeded in getting him convicted. And the handsome Hercules -was convicted accordingly, at the Old Bailey, and was sentenced to be -burnt in the hand; but the rascal produced Queen Anne’s warrant to stay -execution. And so ended the Leicester Square wedding. - -As long as the Emperor’s envoy lived in Leicester Fields he was the -leader of fashion. Crowds assembled to see his ‘turn out.’ Sir Francis -Gripe, in the ‘Busy-body,’ tempts Miranda by saying, ‘Thou shalt be -the envy of the Ring, for I will carry thee to Hyde Park, and thy -equipage shall surpass the what-d’ye-call-’em ambassador’s.’ - -Leicester House was, luckily, to let when the Prince of Wales -quarrelled with his father, George I. In that house the Prince set up -a rival court, against attending which the ‘London Gazette’ thundered -dreadful prohibitions. But St. James’s was dull; Leicester House was -‘jolly’; and the fields were ‘all alive’ with spectators ‘hooraying’ -the arrivals. Within, the stately Princess towered among her graceful -maids. With regard to her diminutive husband it was said of his -visitors, - - - In his embroidered coat they found him, - With all his strutting dwarfs around him. - - -Most celebrated among the Leicester House maids of honour was the -young, bright, silvery-laughing, witty, well-bred girl, who could not -only spell, but could construe Cæsar--the maid of whom Chesterfield -wrote-- - - - Should the Pope himself go roaming, - He would follow dear Molly Lepell. - - -And there rattled that other Mary--Mary Bellenden, laughing at all her -lovers, the little, faithless Prince himself at the head of them. She -would mock him and them with wit of the most audacious sort, and tell -stories to the Princess, at which that august lady would laugh behind -her fan, while the wildest, and not the least beautiful of the maids -would throw back her handsome head, burst into uncontrollable laughter, -and then run across to shock prim Miss Meadows, ‘the prude,’ with the -same galliard story. Perhaps the most frolicksome nights at Leicester -House were when the Princess of Wales was in the card-room, where a -dozen tables were occupied by players, while the Prince, in another -room, gave topazes and amethysts to be raffled for by the maids of -honour, amid fun and laughter, and little astonishment when the prizes -were found to be more or less damaged. - -It was a sight for a painter to see these, with other beauties, -leaving Leicester Fields of a morning to hunt with the Prince near -Hampton. Crowds waited to see them return in the evening; and, when -they were fairly housed again and dressed for the evening, lovers -flocked around the young huntresses. Then Mary Bellenden snubbed her -Prince and master, and walked, whispering, with handsome Jack Campbell; -and Molly Lepell blushed and laughed encouragingly at the pleasant -phrases poured into her ear by John, Lord Hervey. There Sophy Bellenden -telegraphed with her fan to Nanty Lowther; and of _their_ love-making -came mischief, sorrow, despair, and death. And there were dark-looking -Lord Lumley and his Orestes, Philip Dormer Stanhope; and dark Lumley -is not stirred to laugh--as the maids of honour do, silently--as -Stanhope follows the Princess to the card-room, imitating her walk -and even her voice. This was the ‘Chesterfield’ who thought himself a -‘gentleman.’ The Princess leans on Lady Cowper’s shoulder and affects -to admire what she really scorns--the rich dress of the beautiful Mary -Wortley Montague. On one of the gay nights in Leicester House, when -the Princess appeared in a dress of Irish silk--a present from ‘the -Irish parson, Swift’--the Prince spoke in such terms of the giver as to -induce Lord Peterborough to remark, ‘Swift has now only to chalk his -pumps and learn to dance on the tightrope, to be yet a bishop.’ - -The above are a few samples of life in the royal household in Leicester -Square. There, were born, in 1721, the Duke of Cumberland, who was -so unjustly called ‘Butcher’; in 1723, Mary, who married the ‘brute’ -Prince of Hesse-Cassel; and in 1724, Louisa, who died--one of the -unhappy English Queens of Denmark. - -After the father of these children had become George II., his eldest -son, Frederick, Prince of Wales, established enmity with his sire, and -an opposition court at Leicester House, at Carlton House (which he -occupied at the same time), and at Kew. - -Frederick, Prince of Wales, has been the object of heavy censure, and -some of it, no doubt, was well-deserved. But he had good impulses -and good tastes. He loved music, and was no mean instrumentalist. He -manifested his respect for Shakespeare by proposing that the managers -of the two theatres should produce all the great poet’s plays in -chronological order, each play to run for a week. The Prince had some -feeling for art, and was willing to have his judgment regulated by -those competent to subject it to rule. - -In June 1749, some tapestry that had belonged to Charles I. was offered -to the Prince for sale. He was then at Carlton House, and he forthwith -sent for Vertue. The engraver obeyed the summons, and on being ushered -into the presence he found a group that might serve for a picture of -_genre_ at any time. The Prince and Princess were at table waiting -for dessert. Their two eldest sons, George and Edward, then handsome -children, stood in waiting, or feigned the service, each with a napkin -on his arm. After they had stood awhile in silence, the Prince said to -them, ‘This is Mr. Vertue. I have many curious works of his, which you -shall see after dinner.’ Carlton House was a store of art treasures. -The Prince, with Luke Schaub in attendance and Vertue accompanying, -went through them all. He spoke much and listened readily, and parted -only to have another art-conference in the following month. - -The illustrious couple were then seated in a pavilion, in Carlton House -garden. The Prince showed both knowledge and curiosity with respect to -art; and the party adjourned to Leicester House (Leicester Square), -where Mr. Vertue was shown all the masterpieces, with great affability -on the part of Frederick and his consort. The royal couple soon after -exhibited themselves to the admiring people, through whom they were -carried in two chairs over Leicester Fields back to Carlton House. -Thence the party repaired to Kew, and the engraver, after examining the -pictures, dined at the palace, ‘though,’ he says, ‘being entertained -there at dinner was not customary to any person that came from London.’ - -During the tenancy of Frederick, Prince of Wales, Leicester House -was the scene of political intrigues and of ordinary private life -occurrences: Carlton House was more for state and entertainment. -Leicester House and Savile House, which had been added to the former, -had their joyous scenes also. The story of the private theatricals -carried on in either mansion has been often told. The actors were, for -the most part, the Prince’s children. He who was afterwards George III. -was among the best of the players, but he had a good master. After his -first public address as king, Quin, proud of his pupil, exclaimed, -‘I taught the boy to speak.’ Some contemporary letter-writers could -scarcely find lofty phrases enough wherewith to praise these little -amateurs. Bubb Doddington, who served the Prince of Wales and lost -his money at play to him (‘I’ve nicked Bubb!’ was the cry of the -royal gambler, when he rose from the Leicester House card-tables with -Bubb’s money in his pocket), Bubb, I say, was not so impressed by the -acting of these boys and girls. He rather endured than enjoyed it. -On January 11, 1750, all that he records in his diary is, ‘Went to -Leicester House to see “Jane Grey” acted by the Prince’s children.’ -In the following May, Prince Frederick William was born in Leicester -House, ‘the midwife on the bed with the Princess, and Dr. Wilmot -standing by,’ and a group of ladies at a short distance. The time was -half an hour after midnight. ‘Then the Prince, the ladies, and some of -us,’ says Doddington, ‘sat down to breakfast in the next room--then -went to prayers, downstairs.’ In June the christening took place, in -Leicester House, the Bishop of Oxford officiating. ‘Nobody of either -sex was admitted into the room but the actual servants’ (that is, the -ladies and gentlemen of the household) ‘except Chief Justice Willes -and Sir Luke Schaub.’ Very curious were some of the holiday rejoicings -on this occasion. For example, here is a ‘setting out’ from Leicester -House to make a day of it, on June 28: ‘Lady Middlesex’ (the Prince’s -favourite), ‘Lord Bathurst, Mr. Breton, and I’ (writes Bubb) ‘waited -on their Royal Highnesses to Spitalfields, to see the manufactory of -silk, and to Mr. Carr’s shop, in the morning. In the afternoon the same -company, with Lady Torrington in waiting, went in private coaches to -Norwood Forest, to see a settlement of Gipsies. We returned and went -to Bettesworth, the conjurer, in hackney coaches.... Not finding him -we went in search of the little Dutchman, but were disappointed; and -concluded the particularities of this day by supping with Mrs. Cannon, -the Princess’s midwife.’ Such was the condescension of royalty and -royalty’s servants in the last century! - -In March, of the following year, Bubb Doddington went to Leicester -House. The Prince told him he ‘had catched cold’ and ‘had been -blooded.’ It was the beginning of the end. Alternately a little better -and much worse, and then greatly improved, &c., till the night of the -20th. ‘For half an hour before he was very cheerful, asked to see some -of his friends, ate some bread-and-butter and drank coffee.’ He was -‘suffocated’ in a fit of coughing; ‘the breaking of an abscess in his -side destroyed him. His physicians, Wilmot and Lee, knew nothing of his -distemper.... Their ignorance, or their knowledge, of his disorder, -renders them equally inexcusable for not calling in other assistance.’ -How meanly this prince was buried, how shabbily everyone, officially -in attendance, was treated, are well known. The only rag of state -ceremony allowed this poor Royal Highness was, that his body went in -one conveyance and his bowels in another--which was a compliment, no -doubt, but hardly one to be thankful for. - -The widowed Princess remained in occupation of the mansion in which her -husband had died. One of the pleasantest domestic pictures of Leicester -House is given by Bubb Doddington, under date November 17, 1753:-- - - - The Princess sent for me to attend her between eight and nine - o’clock. I went to Leicester House, expecting a small company and - a little musick, but found nobody but her Royal Highness. She made - me draw a stool and sit by the fireside. Soon after came in the - Prince of Wales and Prince Edward, and then the Lady Augusta, all - in an undress, and took their stools and sat round the fire with - us. We continued talking of familiar occurrences till between ten - and eleven, with the ease and unreservedness and unconstraint, - as if one had dropped into a sister’s house that had a family, - to pass the evening. It is much to be wished that the Princes - conversed familiarly with more people of a certain knowledge of - the world. - - -The Princess, however, did not want for worldly knowledge. About this -time the Princess Dowager of Wales was sitting pensive and melancholy, -in a room in Leicester House, while the two Princes were playing about -her. Edward then said aloud to George, ‘Brother, when we are men, you -shall marry, and I will keep a mistress.’ ‘Be quiet, Eddy,’ said his -elder brother, ‘we shall have anger presently for your nonsense. There -must be no mistresses at all.’ Their mother thereon bade them, somewhat -sharply, learn their nouns and pronouns. ‘Can you tell me,’ she asked -Prince Edward, ‘what a pronoun is?’ ‘Of course I can,’ replied the -ingenuous youth; ‘a pronoun is to a noun what a mistress is to a -wife--a substitute and a representative.’ - -The Princess of Wales continued to maintain a sober and dignified -court at Leicester House, and at Carlton House also. She was by no -means forgotten. Young and old rendered her full respect. One of the -most singular processions crossed the Fields in January 1756. Its -object was to pay the homage of a first visit to the court of the -Dowager Princess of Wales at Leicester House--the visitors being a -newly-married young couple, the Hon. Mr. Spencer and the ex-Miss Poyntz -(later Earl and Countess of Spencer). The whole party were contained in -two carriages and a ‘sedan chair.’ Inside the first were Earl Cowper -and the bridegroom. Hanging on from behind were three footmen in state -liveries. In the second carriage were the mother and sister of the -bride, with similar human adornments on the outside as with the first -carriage. Last, and alone, of course, as became her state, in a new -sedan, came the bride, in white and silver, as fine as brocade and -trimming could make it. The chair itself was lined with white satin, -was preceded by a black page, and was followed by three gorgeous -lackeys. Nothing ever was more brilliant than the hundred thousand -pounds’ worth of diamonds worn by the bride except her own tears in -her beautiful eyes when she first saw them and the begging letter of -the lover which accompanied them. As he handed her from the chair, -the bridegroom seemed scarcely less be-diamonded than the bride. His -shoe-buckles alone had those precious stones in them to the value of -thirty thousand pounds. They were decidedly a brilliant pair. Public -homage never failed to be paid to the Princess. In June 1763, Mrs. -Harris writes to her son (afterwards first Lord Malmesbury) at Oxford: -I was yesterday at Leicester House, where there were more people than -I thought had been in town.’ In 1766 Leicester House was occupied by -William Henry, Duke of Cumberland, the last royal resident of that -historical mansion, which was ultimately demolished in the year 1806. - -But there were as remarkable inhabitants of other houses as of -Leicester House. In 1733 there came into the square a man about whom -the world more concerns itself than it does about William Henry, and -that man is William Hogarth. - -There is no one whom we more readily or more completely identify with -Leicester Square than Hogarth. He was born in the Old Bailey in 1697, -close to old Leicester House, which, in Pennant’s days, was turned -into a coach factory. His father was a schoolmaster, who is, perhaps, -to be recognised in the following curious advertisement of the reign -of Queen Anne; ‘At Hogarth’s Coffee House, in St. John’s Gate, the -midway between Smithfield Bars and Clerkenwell, there will meet daily -some learned gentlemen who speak Latin readily, where any gentleman -that is either skilled in the language, or desirous to perfect himself -in speaking thereof, will be welcome. The Master of the House, in the -absence of others, being always ready to entertain gentlemen in that -language.’ It was in the above Queen’s reign that Hogarth went, bundle -in hand, hope in his heart, and a good deal of sense and nonsense -in his head, to Cranbourne Alley, Leicester Fields, where he was -’prentice bound to Ellis Gamble, the silver-plate engraver. There, -among other and nobler works, Hogarth engraved the metal die for the -first newspaper stamp (‘one halfpenny’) ever known in England. It was -in Little Cranbourne Alley that Hogarth first set up for himself for -a brief time, and left his sisters (it is supposed) to succeed him -there as keepers of a ‘frock shop.’ Hogarth studied in the street, as -Garrick did, and there was no lack of masks and faces in the little -France and royal England of the Leicester Fields vicinity. Much as -Sir James Thornhill disliked his daughter’s marriage with Hogarth, he -helped the young couple to set up house on the east side of Leicester -Fields. Thornhill did not, at first, account his son-in-law a painter. -‘They say he can’t paint,’ said Mrs. Hogarth once. ‘It’s a lie. Look -at that!’ as she pointed to one of his great works. Another day, as -Garrick was leaving the house in the Fields, Ben Ives, Hogarth’s -servant, asked him to step into the parlour. Ben showed David a head -of Diana, done in chalks. The player and Hogarth’s man knew the model. -‘There, Mr. Garrick!’ exclaimed Ives, ‘there’s a head! and yet they -say my master can’t paint a portrait.’ Garrick thought Hogarth had not -succeeded in painting the player’s, whereupon the limner dashed a brush -across the face and turned it against the wall. It never left Leicester -Square till widow Hogarth gave it to widow Garrick. - -It was towards the close of Hogarth’s career that James Barry, from -Cork--destined to make his mark in art--caught sight of a bustling, -active, stout little man, dressed in a sky-blue coat, in Cranbourne -Alley, and recognising in him the Hogarth whom he almost worshipped, -followed him down the east side of the square towards Hogarth’s house. -The latter, however, the owner did not enter, for a fight between two -boys was going on at the corner of Castle Street, and Hogarth, who, -like the statesman Windham, loved to see such encounters, whether the -combatants were boys or men, had joined in the fray. When Barry came up -Hogarth was acting ‘second’ to one of the young pugilists, patting him -on the back, and giving such questionable aid in heightening the fray -as he could furnish in such a phrase as, ‘Damn him if I would take it -of him! At him again!’ There is another version, which says that it was -Nollekens who pointed out to Northcote the little man in the sky-blue -coat, with the remark, ‘Look! that’s Hogarth?’ - -Hogarth seems to have been one of the first to set his face against -the fashion of giving vails to servants by forbidding his own to take -them from guests. In those days, not only guests but those who came -to a house to spend money, were expected to help to pay the wages of -the servants for the performance of a duty which they owed to their -master. It was otherwise with Hogarth in Leicester Square. ‘When I sat -to Hogarth’ (Cole’s MSS. collections, quoted in Cunningham’s ‘London’) -‘the custom of giving vails to servants was not discontinued. On -taking leave of the painter at the door I offered the servant a small -gratuity, but the man very politely refused it, telling me it would -be as much as the loss of his place if his master knew it. This was so -uncommon, and so liberal in a man of Hogarth’s profession at that time -of day, that it much struck me, as nothing of the kind had happened to -me before.’ - -Leicester Square will ever be connected with Hogarth at the _Golden -Head_. It was not, at his going there, in a flourishing condition, -but it improved. In the year 1735, in Seymour’s ‘Survey,’ Leicester -Fields are described as ‘a very handsome open square, railed about -and gravelled within. The buildings are very good and well inhabited, -and frequented by the gentry. The north and west rows of buildings, -which are in St. Anne’s parish, are the best (and may be said to be so -still), especially the north, where is Leicester House, the seat of the -Earl of Leicester; being a large building with a fair court before it -for the reception of coaches, and a fine garden behind it; the south -and east sides being in the parish of St. Martin’s.’ - -Next to this house is another large house, built by Portman Seymour, -Esq., which ‘being laid into Leicester House, was inhabited by their -present Majesties’ (George II. and Queen Caroline) ‘when Prince and -Princess of Wales.’ It was then that it was called ‘the pouting place -of princes.’ Lisle Street is then described as coming out of Prince’s -Street, and runs up to Leicester Garden wall. Both Lisle and Leicester -Streets are ‘large and well-built, and inhabited by gentry.’ - -In 1737 the ‘Country Journal, or Craftsman,’ for April 16, contained -the following acceptable announcement: ‘Leicester Fields is going to be -fitted up in a very elegant manner, a new wall and rails to be erected -all round, and a basin in the middle, after the manner of Lincoln’s Inn -Fields, and to be done by a voluntary subscription of the inhabitants.’ - -It was to Hogarth’s house Walpole went, in 1761, to see Hogarth’s -picture of Fox. Hogarth said he had promised Fox, if he would only sit -as the painter liked, ‘to make as good a picture as Vandyck or Rubens -could.’ Walpole was silent. ‘Why, now,’ said the painter, ‘you think -this very vain. Why should not a man tell the truth?’ Walpole thought -him mad, but Hogarth was sincere. When, after ridiculing the opinions -of Freke, the anatomist, some one said, ‘But Freke holds you for as -good a portrait-painter as Vandyck,’ ‘There he’s right!’ cried Hogarth. -‘And so, by G----, I am--give me my time, and let me choose my subject.’ - -If one great object of art be to afford pleasure, Hogarth has attained -it, for he has pleased successive generations. If one great end of art -be to afford instruction, Hogarth has shown himself well qualified, -for he has reached that end; he taught his contemporaries, and he -continues teaching, and will continue to teach, through his works. But -is the instruction worth having? Is the pleasure legitimate, wholesome, -healthy pleasure? Without disparagement to a genius for all that was -great in him and his productions, the reply to these questions may -sometimes be in the negative. The impulses of the painter were not -invariably of noble origin. It is said that the first undoubted sign -he gave of having a master-hand arose from his poor landlady asking -him for a miserable sum which he owed her for rent. In his wrath he -drew her portrait _in caricatura_. Men saw that it was clever, but -vindictive. - -There is no foundation for the story which asserts of George II. -that he professed no love for poetry or painting. This king has been -pilloried and pelted, so to speak, with the public contempt for having -an independent, and not unjustifiable, opinion of the celebrated -picture, the ‘March to Finchley.’ Hogarth had the impertinence to ask -permission that he might dedicate the work to the King, and the latter -observed, with some reason, that the fellow deserved to be picketed -for his insolence. When this picture was presented as worthy of royal -patronage, rebellion was afoot and active in the north (1745). The -Guards were sent thither, and Hogarth’s work describes them setting -out on their first stage to Finchley. The whole description or -representation is a gross caricature of the brave men (though they -may have sworn as terribly then as they did in Flanders) whose task -was to save the kingdom from a great impending calamity. All that is -noble is kept out of sight, all that is degrading to the subject, -with some slight exceptions, is forced on the view and memory of the -spectator. It has been urged by way of apology for this clever but -censurable work, that it was not painted at the moment of great popular -excitement, but subsequently. This is nothing to the purpose. What -is to the purpose is, that Hogarth represented British soldiers as a -drunken, skulking, thieving, cowardly horde of ruffians, who must be, -to employ an oft-used phrase, more terrible to their friends than their -enemies. The painter may have been as good a Whig as the King himself, -but he manifested bad taste in asking George II. to show favour to such -a subject; and he exhibited worse taste still in dedicating it to the -king of Prussia, as a patron of the arts. Hogarth was not disloyal, -perhaps, as Wilkes charged him with being, for issuing the print of -this picture, but it is a work that, however far removed from the -political element now, could not have afforded much gratification to -the loyal when it was first exhibited. - -Hogarth died in Leicester Square in 1764, and was buried at Chiswick. -There was an artist on the opposite side of the square who saw the -funeral from his window, and who had higher views of art than Hogarth. - -Towards the close of Hogarth’s career Joshua Reynolds took possession -of a house on the west side of Leicester Square. In the year in which -George III. ascended the throne (1760) Reynolds set up his famous chair -of state for his patrons in this historical square. - -It has been said that Reynolds, in the days of his progressive triumphs -in Leicester Square, thought continually of the glory of his being one -day placed by the side of Vandyck and Rubens, and that he entertained -no envious idea of being better than Hogarth, Gainsborough, and his old -master, Hudson. Reynolds, nevertheless, served all three in much the -same way that Dryden served Shakespeare; namely, he disparaged quite as -extensively as he praised them. Hogarth, on the east side of Leicester -Square, felt no local accession of honour when Reynolds set up his -easel on the western side. The new comer was social; the old settler -‘kept himself to himself,’ as the wise saw has it. ‘Study the works of -the great masters for ever,’ was, we are told, the utterance of Sir -Oracle on the west side. From the east came Hogarth’s utterance, in the -assertion, ‘There is only one school, and Nature is the mistress of -it.’ For Reynolds’s judgment Hogarth had a certain contempt. ‘The most -ignorant people about painting,’ he said to Walpole, ‘are the painters -themselves. There’s Reynolds, who certainly has genius; why, but -t’other day, he offered a hundred pounds for a picture that I would not -hang in my cellar.’ Hogarth undoubtedly qualified his sense with some -nonsense: ‘Talk of sense, and study, and all that; why, it is owing to -the good sense of the English that they have not painted better.’ - -It was at one of Reynolds’s suppers in the square that an incident took -place which aroused the wit-power of Johnson. The rather plain sister -of the artist had been called upon by the company, after supper, as -the custom was, to give a toast. She hesitated, and was accordingly -required, again according to custom, to give the ugliest man she knew. -In a moment the name of Oliver Goldsmith dropped from her lips, and -immediately a sympathising lady on the opposite side of the table rose -and shook hands with Miss Reynolds across the table. Johnson had heard -the expression, and had also marked the pantomimic performance of -sympathy, and he capped both by a remark which set the table in a roar, -and which was to an effect which cut smartly in three ways. ‘Thus,’ -said he, ‘the ancients, on the commencements of their friendships, -used to sacrifice a beast betwixt them.’ The affair ends prettily. A -few days after the ‘Traveller’ was published Johnson read it aloud -from beginning to end to delighted hearers, of whom Miss Reynolds was -one. As Johnson closed the book she emphatically remarked, ‘Well, I -never more shall think Dr. Goldsmith ugly.’ Miss Reynolds, however, -did not get over her idea. Her brother painted the portrait of the -new poet, in the Octagon Room in the Square; the mezzotinto engraving -of it was speedily all over the town. Miss Reynolds (who, it has been -said, used herself to paint portraits with such exact imitation of her -brother’s defects and avoidance of his beauties, that everybody but -himself laughed at them) thought it marvellous that so much dignity -could have been given to the poet’s face and yet so strong a likeness -be conveyed; for ‘Dr. Goldsmith’s cast of countenance,’ she proceeds to -inform us, ‘and indeed his whole figure from head to foot, impressed -every one at first sight with the idea of his being a low mechanic; -particularly, I believe, a journeyman tailor.’ This belief was -founded on what Goldsmith had himself once said. Coming ruffled into -Reynolds’s drawing-room, Goldsmith angrily referred to an insult which -his sensitive nature fancied had been put upon him at a neighbouring -coffee-house, by ‘a fellow who,’ said Goldsmith, ‘took me, I believe, -for a tailor.’ The company laughed more or less demonstratively, and -rather confirmed than dispelled the supposition. - -Poor Goldsmith’s weaknesses were a good deal played upon by that not -too polite company. One afternoon, Burke and a young Irish officer, -O’Moore, were crossing the square to Reynolds’s house to dinner. They -passed a group who were gaping at, and making admiring remarks upon, -some samples of beautiful foreign husseydom, who were looking out of -the windows of one of the hotels. Goldsmith was at the skirt of the -group, looking on. Burke said to O’Moore, as they passed him unseen, -‘Look at Goldsmith; by-and-by, at Reynolds’s you will see what I make -of this.’ At the dinner, Burke treated Goldsmith with such coolness, -that Oliver at last asked for an explanation. Burke readily replied -that his manner was owing to the monstrous indiscretion on Goldsmith’s -part, in the square, of which Burke and Mr. O’Moore had been the -witnesses. Poor Goldsmith asked in what way he had been so indiscreet? - -‘Why,’ answered Burke, ‘did you not exclaim, on looking up at those -women, what stupid beasts the crowd must be for staring with such -admiration at those _painted Jezebels_, while a man of your talent -passed by unnoticed?’--‘Surely, my dear friend,’ cried Goldsmith, -horror-struck, ‘I did not say so!’--‘If you had not said so,’ retorted -Burke, ‘how should I have known it?’--‘That’s true,’ answered -Goldsmith, with great humility; ‘I am very sorry; it was very foolish! -I do recollect that something of the kind passed through my mind, but -I did not think I had uttered it.’ - -It is a pity that Sir Joshua never records the names of his own guests; -but his parties were so much swelled by invitations given on the spur -of the moment, that it would have been impossible for him to set down -beforehand more than the nucleus of his scrambling and unceremonious, -but most enjoyable, dinners. Whether the famous Leicester Square -dinners deserved to be called enjoyable, is a question which anyone -may decide for himself, after reading the accounts given of them at -a period when the supervision of Reynolds’s sister, Frances, could -no longer be given to them. The table, made to hold seven or eight, -was often made to hold twice the number. When the guests were at last -packed, the deficiency of knives, forks, plates, and glasses made -itself felt. Everyone called, as he wanted, for bread, wine, or beer, -and lustily, or there was little chance of being served. - -There had once, Courtenay says, been sets of decanters and glasses -provided to furnish the table and enable the guests to help themselves. -These had gone the way of all glass, and had not been replaced; but -though the dinner might be careless and inelegant, and the servants -awkward and too few, Courtenay admits that their shortcomings only -enhanced the singular pleasure of the entertainment. The wine, cookery, -and dishes were but little attended to; nor was the fish or venison -ever talked of or recommended. Amidst the convivial, animated bustle -of his guests, Sir Joshua sat perfectly composed; protected partly by -his deafness, partly by his equanimity; always attentive, by help of -his trumpet, to what was said, never minding what was eaten or drunk, -but leaving everyone to scramble for himself. Peers, temporal and -spiritual, statesmen, physicians, lawyers, actors, men of letters, -painters, musicians, made up the motley group, ‘and played their -parts,’ says Courtenay, ‘without dissonance or discord.’ Dinner was -served precisely at five, whether all the company had arrived or -not. Sir Joshua never kept many guests waiting for one, whatever -his rank or consequence. ‘His friends and intimate acquaintance,’ -concludes Courtenay, ‘will ever love his memory, and will ever regret -those social hours and the cheerfulness of that irregular, convivial -table, which no one has attempted to revive or imitate, or was indeed -qualified to supply.’ - -Reynolds had a room in which his copyists, his pupils, and his -drapery-men worked. Among them was one of the cleverest and most -unfortunate of artists. Seldom is the name of Peter Toms now heard, but -he once sat in Hudson’s studio with young Reynolds, and in the studio -of Sir Joshua, as the better artist’s obedient humble servant; that -is to say, he painted his employer’s draperies, and probably a good -deal more, for Toms was a very fair portrait-painter. Peter worked -too for various other great artists, and a purchaser of any picture -of that time cannot be certain whether much of it is not from Toms’s -imitative hand. Peter’s lack of original power did not keep him out of -the Royal Academy, though in his day he was but a second-class artist. -He belonged, too, to the Herald’s Office, as the painters of the Tudor -period often did, and after filling in the canvasses of his masters in -England, he went to Ireland on his own account and in reliance on the -patronage of the Lord-Lieutenant, the Duke of Northumberland. Toms, -however, found that the Irish refused to submit their physiognomies to -his limning, and he waited for them to change their opinion of him in -vain. Finally, he lost heart and hope. His vocation was gone; but in -the London garret within which he took refuge he seems to have given -himself a chance for life or death. Pencil in one hand and razor in -the other, he made an effort to paint a picture, and apparently failed -in accomplishing it, for he swept the razor across his throat, and was -found the next morning stark dead by the side of the work which seems -to have smitten him with despair. - -Reynolds saw the ceremony of proclaiming George III. king in front of -Savile House, where the monarch had resided while he was Prince of -Wales. Into his own house came and went, for years, all the lofty -virtues, vices, and rich nothingnesses of Reynolds’s time, to be -painted. From his window he looked with pride on his gaudy carriage -(the Seasons, limned on the panels, were by his own drapery man, -Catton), in which he used to send his sister out for a daily drive. -From the same window he saw Savile House gutted by the ‘No Popery’ -rioters of 1780; fire has since swept all that was left of Page’s -house on the north side of the Square; and in 1787 Reynolds looked -on a newcomer to the Fields, Lawrence, afterwards Sir Thomas, who -set up his easel against Sir Joshua’s, but who was not then strong -enough to make such pretence. Some of the most characteristic groups -of those days were to be seen clustered round the itinerant quack -doctors--fellows who lied with a power that Orton, Luie, and even the -‘coachers’ of Luie, might envy. Leicester Square, in Reynolds’s days -alone, would furnish matter for two or three volumes. We have only -space to say further of Sir Joshua, that he died here in 1792, lay in -state in Somerset House, and that as the funeral procession was on its -way to St. Paul’s (with its first part in the Cathedral before the last -part was clear of Somerset House) one of the occupants in one of the -many mourning coaches said to a companion, ‘There is now, sir, a fine -opening for a portrait-painter.’ - -While Reynolds was ‘glorifying’ the Fields, that is to say, about -the year 1783, John Hunter, the great anatomist, enthroned science in -Leicester Square. His house, nearly opposite Reynolds’s, was next door -to that once occupied by Hogarth, on the east side, but north of the -painter’s dwelling. Hunter was then fifty-five years old. Like his -eminent brother, William, John Hunter had a very respectable amount of -self-appreciation, quite justifiably. - -The governing body of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital had failed, through -ignorance or favouritism, to recognise his ability and to reward his -assiduity. But John Hunter was of too noble a spirit to be daunted or -even depressed; and St. George’s Hospital honoured itself by bestowing -on him the modest office of house-surgeon. It was thirty years after -this that John Hunter settled himself in Leicester Square. There he -spent three thousand pounds in the erection of a building in the -rear of his house for the reception of a collection in comparative -anatomy. Before this was completed he spent upon it many thousands -of pounds,--it is said ninety thousand guineas! With him to work was -to live. Dr. Garthshore entered the museum in the Square early one -morning, and found Hunter already busily occupied. ‘Why, John,’ said -the physician, ‘you are always at work!’ ‘I am,’ replied the surgeon; -‘and when I am dead you will not meet very soon with another John -Hunter!’ He accused his great brother William of claiming the merit of -surgical discoveries which John had made; and when a friend, talking -to him, at his door in the Square, on his ‘Treatise on the Teeth,’ -remarked that it would be answered by medical men simply to make their -names known, Hunter rather unhandsomely observed: ‘Aye, we have all -of us vermin that live upon us.’ Lavater took correct measure of the -famous surgeon when he remarked, on seeing the portrait of Hunter: -‘That is the portrait of a man who thinks for himself!’ - -After John Hunter’s death his collection was purchased by Government -for fifteen thousand pounds. It was removed from Leicester Square -to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, to the College of Surgeons, where it still -forms a chief portion of the anatomical and pathological museum in -that institution. The site of the Hunterian Museum in Leicester Square -has been swallowed up by the Alhambra, where less profitable study of -comparative anatomy may now be made by all who are interested in such -pursuit. A similar destiny followed the other Hunterian Museum--that -established by William Hunter, in Great Windmill Street, at the top -of the Haymarket, where he built an amphitheatre and museum, with -a spacious dwelling-house attached. In the dwelling-house Joanna -Baillie passed some of her holiday and early days in London. She came -from her native Scottish heath, and the only open moor like unto it -where she could snatch a semblance of fresh air was the neighbouring -inclosure of Leicester Square! William Hunter left his gigantic and -valuable collection to his nephew, Dr. Baillie, for thirty years, to -pass then to the University of Glasgow, where William himself had -studied divinity, before the results of freedom of thought (both the -Hunters _would_ think for themselves) induced him to turn to the study -of medicine. The Hunterian Museum in Windmill Street, after serving -various purposes, became known as the Argyll Rooms, where human anatomy -(it is believed) was liberally exhibited under magisterial license and -the supervision of a severely moral police. - -Leicester Square has been remarkable for its exhibitions. Richardson, -the fire-eater, exhibited privately at Leicester House in 1672. A -century later there was a public exhibition on that spot of quite -another quality. The proprietor was Sir Ashton Lever, a Lancashire -gentleman, educated at Oxford. As a country squire he formed and -possessed the most extensive and beautiful aviary in the kingdom. -Therewith, Sir Ashton collected animals and curiosities from -all quarters of the world. This was the nucleus of the ‘museum’ -subsequently brought to Leicester Fields. Among the curiosities was a -striking likeness of George III. ‘cut in cannel coal;’ also Indian-ink -drawings and portraits; baskets of flowers cut in paper, and wonderful -for their accuracy; costumes of all ages and nations, and a collection -of warlike weapons which disgusted a timid beholder, who describes them -in the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine’ (May 1773) as ‘desperate, diabolical -instruments of destruction, invented, no doubt, by the devil himself.’ -Soon after this, this wonderful collection was exhibited in Leicester -House. There was a burst of wonder, as Pennant calls it, for a little -while after the opening; but the ill-cultivated world soon grew -indifferent to being instructed; and Sir Ashton got permission, with -some difficulty, from Parliament, to dispose of the whole collection by -lottery. Sir William Hamilton, Baron Dimsdale, and Mr. Pennant stated -to the Committee of the House of Commons that they had never seen a -collection of such inestimable value. ‘Sir Ashton Lever’s lottery -tickets,’ says an advertisement of January 28, 1785, ‘are now on sale -at Leicester House every day (Sundays excepted), from Nine in the -morning till Six in the evening, at One Guinea each; and as each ticket -will admit four persons, either together or separately, to view the -Museum, no one will hereafter be admitted but by the Lottery Tickets, -excepting those who have already annual admission.’ It is added that -the whole was to be disposed of owing ‘to the very large sum expended -in making it, and not from the deficiency of the daily receipts (as is -generally imagined), which have annually increased; the average amount -for the last three years being 1833_l._ per annum.’ It sounds odd that -a ‘concern’ is got rid of because it was yearly growing more profitable! - -Thirty-six thousand guinea-tickets were offered for sale. Only eight -thousand were sold. Of these Mr. Parkinson purchased two, and with -one of those two acquired the whole collection, against the other -purchasers and the twenty-two thousand chances held by Sir Ashton. -Mr. Parkinson built an edifice for his valuable prize in Blackfriars -Road, and for years, one of the things to be done was ‘to go to the -Rotunda.’ In 1806, the famous museum was dispersed by auction. The -Surrey Institution next occupied the premises, which subsequently -became public drinking-rooms and meeting place for tippling patriots, -who would fain destroy the Constitution of England as well as their own. - -But ‘man or woman, good my lord,’ let whosoever may be named in -connection with Leicester Square, there is one who must not be omitted, -namely, Miss Linwood. Penelope worked at her needle to no valuable -purpose. Miss Linwood was more like Arachne in her work, and something -better in her fortune. The dyer’s daughter of Colophon chose for her -subjects the various loves of Jupiter with various ladies whom poets -and painters have immortalised; and grew so proud of her work that, -for challenging Minerva to do better, the goddess changed her into a -spider. The Birmingham lady plied her needle from the time she could -hold one till the time her ancient hand lost its cunning. At thirteen -she worked pictures in worsted better than some artists could paint -them. No needlework, ancient or modern, ever equalled (if experts -may be trusted) the work of this lady, who found time to do as much -as if she had not to fulfil, as she did faithfully, the duties of a -boarding-school mistress. King, Queen, Court, and ‘Quality’ generally -visited Savile House, Leicester Fields, where Miss Linwood’s works were -exhibited, and were profitable to the exhibitor to the very last. They -were, for the most part, copies of great pictures by great masters, -modern as well as ancient. Among them was a Carlo Dolci, valued at -three thousand guineas. Miss Linwood, in her later days, retired -to Leicester, but she used to come up annually to look at her own -Exhibition. It had been open about half a century when the lady, in her -ninetieth year, caught cold on her journey, and died of it at Leicester -in 1844. She left her Carlo Dolci to Queen Victoria. Her other works, -sold by auction, barely realised a thousand pounds; but the art of -selling art by auction was not then discovered. - -In 1788, a middle-aged Irishman from county Meath, named Robert -Barker, got admission to Reynolds, to show him a half-circle view -from the Calton Hill, near Edinburgh, which Barker had painted in -water-colours on the spot. The poor but accomplished artist had been -unsuccessful as a portrait-painter in Dublin and Edinburgh. But he -had studied perspective closely, an idea had struck him, and he came -with it to Reynolds. The latter admired, but thought it impracticable. -The Irishman thought otherwise. Barker exhibited circular views -from nature, in London and also in the provinces, with indifferent -success. At last, in 1793, on part of the old site of Leicester House, -a building arose which was called the Panorama, and in which was -exhibited a view of the Russian fleet at Spithead. The spectator was -on board a ship in the midst of the scene and the view was all around -him. King George and Queen Charlotte led the fashionable world to -this most original exhibition. For many years there was a succession -of magnificent views of foreign capitals, tracts of country, ancient -cities, polar regions, battles, &c., exhibited; and ‘Have you been to -the new panorama?’ was as naturally a spring question as ‘Have you been -to the Academy?’ or the Opera? The exhibition of the ‘Stern Realities -of Waterloo’ alone realised a little fortune, and ‘Pandemonium,’ -painted by Mr. Henry Selous, was one of the latest of the great -successes. - -At the north-east corner of Leicester Square, the Barkers, father and -son, achieved what is called ‘a handsome competency.’ At the death of -the latter, Robert Burford succeeded him, and, for a time, did well; -but ‘Fashion’ wanted a new sensation. The panoramas in Leicester Square -and the Strand, admirable as they were, ceased to draw the public; -and courteous, lady-like, little Miss Burford, the proprietress, was -compelled to withdraw, utterly shipwrecked. She used to receive her -visitors like a true lady welcoming thorough ladies and gentlemen. The -end was sad indeed, for the last heard of this aged gentlewoman was -that she was enduring life by needle-work, rarely got and scantily -paid, in a lodging, the modest rent of which, duly paid, kept her short -of necessary food. An attempt was made to obtain her election to the -‘United Kingdom Beneficent Association,’ but with what result we are -unable to record. - -Shadows of old Leicester Square figures come up in crowds, demanding -recognition. They must be allowed to pass--to make a ‘march past,’ as -it were; as they glide by we take note of Mirabeau and Marat, Holcroft, -Opie, Edmund Kean, and Mulready, with countless others, to indite the -roll of whose names only would alone require a volume. - - - - -_A HUNDRED YEARS AGO._ - - -Perusing records that are a century old is something better than -listening to a centenarian, even if his memory could go back so far. -The records are as fresh as first impressions, and they bring before us -men and things as they were, not as after-historians supposed them to -be. - -The story which 1773 has left of itself is full of variety and of -interest. Fashion fluttered the propriety of Scotland when the old -Dowager Countess of Fife gave the first masquerade that ever took place -in that country, at Duff House. In England, people and papers could -talk or write of nothing so frequently as masquerades. ‘One hears so -much of them,’ remarked that lively old lady, Mrs. Delany, ‘that I -suppose the only method not to be tired of them is to frequent them.’ -Old-fashioned loyalty in England was still more shocked when the Lord -Mayor of London declined to go to St. Paul’s on the 30th of January to -profess himself sad and sorry at the martyrdom of Charles I. In the -minds of certain religious people there was satisfaction felt at the -course taken by the University of Oxford, which refused to modify -the Thirty-nine Articles, as more liberal Cambridge had done. Indeed, -such Liberalism as that of the latter, prepared ultra-serious people -for awful consequences; and when they heard that Moelfammo, an extinct -volcano in Flintshire, had resumed business, and was beginning to pelt -the air with red-hot stones, they naturally thought that the end of -a wicked world was at hand. They took courage again when the Commons -refused to dispense with subscription to the Thirty-nine Articles, by -a vote of 150 to 64. But no sooner was joy descending on the one hand -than terror advanced on the other. Quid-nuncs asked whither the world -was driving, when the London livery proclaimed the reasonableness of -annual parliaments. Common-sense people also were perplexed at the -famous parliamentary resolution that Lord Clive had wrongfully taken to -himself above a quarter of a million of money, and had rendered signal -services to his country! - -Again, a hundred years ago our ancestors were as glad to hear that -Bruce had got safely back into Egypt from his attempt to reach the Nile -sources, as we were to know that Livingstone was alive and well and in -search of those still undiscovered head-waters. A century ago, too, -crowds of well-wishers bade God speed to the gallant Captain Phipps, -as he sailed from the Nore on his way to that North-west Passage -which he did not find, and which, at the close of a hundred years, is -as impracticable as ever. And, though history may or may not repeat -itself, events of to-day at least remind us of those a hundred years -old. The Protestant Emperor William, in politely squeezing the Jesuits -out of his dominions, only modestly follows the example of Pope Clement -XIV., who, in 1773, let loose a bull for the entire suppression of -the order in every part of the world. Let us not forget too, that if -orthodox ruffians burnt Priestley’s house over his head, and would have -smashed all power of thought out of that head itself, the Royal Society -conferred on the great philosopher who was the brutally treated pioneer -of modern science, the Copley Medal, for his admirable treatise on -different kinds of air. - -But there was a little incident of the year 1773, which has had more -stupendous consequences than any other with which England has been -connected. England, through some of her statesmen, asserted her right -to tax her colonists, without asking their consent or allowing them to -be represented in the home legislature. In illustration of such right -and her determination to maintain it, England sent out certain ships -with cargoes of tea, on which a small duty was imposed, to be paid by -the colonists. The latter declined to have the wholesome herb at such -terms, but England forced it upon them. Three ships, so freighted, -entered Boston Harbour. They were boarded by a mob disguised as Mohawk -Indians, who tossed the tea into the river and then quietly dispersed. -A similar cargo was safely landed at New York, but it was under the -guns of a convoying man-of-war. When landed it could not be disposed -of, except by keeping it under lock-and-key, with a strong guard over -it, to preserve it from the patriots who scorned the cups that cheer, -if they were unduly taxed for the luxury. That was the little seed out -of which has grown that Union whose President now is more absolute -and despotic than poor George III. ever was or cared to be; little -seed, which is losing its first wholesomeness, and, if we may trust -transatlantic papers, is grown to a baleful tree, corrupt to the core -and corrupting all around it. Such at least is the American view--the -view of good and patriotic Americans, who would fain work sound reform -in this condition of things at the end of an eventful century, when -John Bull is made to feel, by Geneva and San Juan, that he will never -have any chance of having the best argument in an arbitration case, -where he is opposed by a system which looks on sharpness as a virtue, -and holds that nothing succeeds like success. - -Let us get back from this subject to the English court of a century -since. A new year’s day at court was in the last century a gala day, -which made London tradesmen rejoice. There were some extraordinary -figures at that of 1773, at St. James’s, but no one looked so much -out of ordinary fashion as Lord Villiers. His coat was of pale purple -velvet turned up with lemon colour, ‘and embroidered all over’ (says -Mrs. Delany) ‘with SSes of pearl as big as peas, and in all the spaces -little medallions in beaten gold--_real solid_! in various figures of -Cupids _and the like_!’ - -The court troubles of the year were not insignificant; but the good -people below stairs had their share of them. If the King continued to -be vexed at the marriages of his brothers Gloucester and Cumberland -with English ladies, the King’s servants had sorrows of their own. -The newspapers stated that ‘the wages of his Majesty’s servants were -miserably in arrear; that their families were consequently distressed, -and that there was great clamour for payment.’ The court was never more -bitterly satirised than in some lines put in circulation (as Colley -Cibber’s) soon after Lord Chesterfield’s death, to whom they were -generally ascribed. They were written before the decease of Frederick, -Prince of Wales. The laureate was made to say-- - - - Colley Cibber, right or wrong, - Must celebrate this day, - And tune once more his tuneless song - And strum the venal lay. - - Heav’n spread through all the family - That broad, illustrious glare, - That shines so flat in every eye - And makes them all so stare! - - Heav’n send the Prince of royal race - A little coach and horse, - A little meaning in his face, - And money in his purse. - - And, as I have a son like yours, - May he Parnassus rule. - So shall the crown and laurel too - Descend from fool to fool. - - -Satire was, indeed, quite as rough in prose as it was sharp in song. -One of the boldest paragraphs ever penned by paragraph writers of the -time appeared in the ‘Public Advertiser’ in the summer of 1773. A -statue of the King had been erected in Berkeley Square. The discovery -was soon made that the King himself had paid for it. Accordingly, the -‘Public Advertiser’ audaciously informed him that he had paid for his -statue, because he well knew that none would ever be spontaneously -erected in his honour by posterity. The ‘Advertiser’ further advised -George III. to build his own mausoleum for the same reason. - -And what were ‘the quality’ about in 1773? There was Lord Hertford -exclaiming, ‘By Jove!’ because he objected to swearing. Ladies -were dancing ‘Cossack’ dances, and gentlemen figured at balls in -black coats, red waistcoats, and red sashes, or quadrilled with -nymphs in white satin--themselves radiant in brown silk coat, with -cherry-coloured waistcoat and breeches. Beaux who could not dance took -to cards, and the Duke of Northumberland lost two thousand pounds at -quince before half a dancing night had come to an end. There was Sir -John Dalrymple winning money more disastrously than the duke lost it. -He was a man who inveighed against corruption, and who took bribes from -brewers. Costume balls were in favour at court, Chesterfield was making -jokes to the very door of his coffin; and he was not the only patron -of the arts who bought a Claude Lorraine painted within the preceding -half-year. The macaronies, having left off gaming--they had lost all -their money--astonished the town by their new dresses and the size -of their nosegays. Poor George III. could not look admiringly at the -beautiful Miss Linley at an oratorio, without being accused of ogling -her. It was at one of the King’s balls that Mrs. Hobart figured, ‘all -gauze and spangles, like a spangle pudding.’ This was the expensive -year when noblemen are said to have made romances instead of giving -balls. The interiors of their mansions were transformed, walls were -cast down, new rooms were built, the decorations were superb (three -hundred pounds was the sum asked only for the loan of mirrors for a -single night), and not only were the dancers in the most gorgeous of -historical or fancy costumes, but the musicians wore scarlet robes, -and looked like Venetian senators on the stage. It was at one of these -balls that Harry Conway was so astonished at the agility of Mrs. -Hobart’s bulk that he said he was sure she must be hollow. - -She would not have been more effeminate than some of our young -legislators in the Commons, who, one night in May, ‘because the House -was very hot, and the young members thought it would melt their rouge -and wither their nosegays,’ as Walpole says, all of a sudden voted -against their own previously formed opinions. India and Lord Clive were -the subjects, and the letter-writer remarks that the Commons ‘being so -fickle, Lord Clive has reason to hope that after they have voted his -head off they will vote it on again the day after he has lost it.’ - -When there were members in the Commons who rouged like pert girls or -old women, and carried nosegays as huge as a lady mayoress’s at a City -ball, we are not surprised to hear of macaronies in Kensington Gardens. -There they ran races on every Sunday evening, ‘to the high amusement -and contempt of the mob,’ says Walpole. The mob had to look at the -runners from outside the gardens. ‘They will be ambitious of being -fashionable, and will run races too.’ Neither mob nor macaronies had -the swiftness of foot or the lasting powers of some of the running -footmen attached to noble houses. Dukes would run matches of their -footmen from London to York, and a fellow has been known to die rather -than that ‘his grace’ who owned him should lose the match. Talking of -‘graces,’ an incident is told by Walpole of the cost of a bed for a -night’s sleep for a duchess, which may well excite a little wonder now. -The king and court were at Portsmouth to review the fleet. The town -held so many more visitors than it could accommodate that the richest -of course secured the accommodation. ‘The Duchess of Northumberland -gives forty guineas for a bed, and must take her chambermaid into -it.’ Walpole, who is writing to the Countess of Ossory, adds: ‘I did -not think she would pay so dear for _such_ company.’ The people who -were unable to pay ran recklessly into debt, and no more thought of -the sufferings of those to whom they owed the money than that modern -rascalry in clean linen, who compound with their creditors and scarcely -think of paying their ‘composition.’ A great deal of nonsense has been -talked about the virtues of Charles James Fox, who had none but such as -may be found in easy temper and self-indulgence. He was now in debt to -the tune of a hundred thousand pounds. But so once was Julius Cæsar, -with whom Walpole satirically compared him. He let his securities, his -bondsmen, pay the money which they had warranted would be forthcoming -from him, ‘while he, as like Brutus as Cæsar, is indifferent about such -paltry counters.’ When one sees the vulgar people who by some means or -other, and generally by any means, accumulate fortunes the sum total -of which would once have seemed fabulous, and when we see fortunes -of old aristocratic families squandered away among the villains of -the most villainous ‘turf,’ there is nothing strange in what we read -in a letter of a hundred years ago, namely: ‘What is England now? A -sink of Indian wealth! filled by nabobs and emptied by macaronies; a -country over-run by horse-races.’ So London at the end of July now is -not unlike to London of 1773; but we could not match the latter with -such a street picture as the following: ‘There is scarce a soul in -London but macaronies lolling out of windows at Almack’s, like carpets -to be dusted.’ With the more modern parts of material London Walpole -was ill satisfied. _We_ look upon Adam’s work with some complacency, -but Walpole exclaims, ‘What are the Adelphi buildings?’ and he -replies, ‘Warehouses laced down the seams, like a soldier’s trull in a -regimental old coat!’ Mason could not bear the building brothers. ‘Was -there ever such a brace,’ he asks, ‘of self-puffing Scotch coxcombs?’ -The coxcombical vein was, nevertheless, rather the fashionable one. -Fancy a nobleman’s postillions in white jackets trimmed with muslin, -and clean ones every other day! In such guise were Lord Egmont’s -postillions to be seen. - -The chronicle of fashion is dazzling with the record of the doings of -the celebrated Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu. At her house in Hill Street, -Berkeley Square, were held the assemblies which were scornfully called -‘blue-stocking’ by those who were not invited, or who affected not to -care for them if they _were_. Mrs. Delany, who certainly had a great -regard for this ‘lady of the last century,’ has a sly hit at Mrs. -Montagu in a letter of May 1773. ‘If,’ she writes, ‘I had paper and -time, I could entertain you with Mrs. Montagu’s room of Cupidons, which -was opened with an assembly for all the foreigners, the literati, and -the macaronies of the present age. Many and sly are the observations -how such a _genius_, at her age and so circumstanced, could think -of painting the walls of her dressing-room with bowers of roses and -jessamine, entirely inhabited by little Cupids in all their little -wanton ways. It is astonishing, unless she looks upon herself as the -wife of old Vulcan, and mother to all those little Loves!’ This is a -sister woman’s testimony of a friend! The _genius_ of Mrs. Montagu was -of a higher class than that of dull but good Mrs. Delany. The _age_ of -the same lady was a little over fifty, when she might fittingly queen -it, as she did, in her splendid mansion in Hill Street, the scene of -the glories of her best days. The ‘circumstances’ and the ‘Vulcan’ were -allusions to her being the wife of a noble owner of collieries and a -celebrated mathematician, who suffered from continued ill-health, and -who considerately went to bed at _five_ o’clock P.M. daily! - -The great subject of the year, after all, was the duping of Charles -Fox, by the impostor who called herself the Hon. Mrs. Grieve. She -had been transported, and after her return had set up as ‘a sensible -woman,’ giving advice to fools, ‘for a consideration.’ A silly Quaker -brought her before Justice Fielding for having defrauded him. He -had paid her money, for which she had undertaken to get him a place -under government; but she had kept the money, and had not procured -for him the coveted place. Her impudent defence was that the Quaker’s -immorality stood in the way of otherwise certain success. The -Honourable lady’s dupes believed in her, because they saw the style -in which she lived, and often beheld her descend from her chariot -and enter the houses of ministers and other great personages; but it -came out that she only spoke to the porters or to other servants, who -entertained her idle questions, for a gratuity, while Mrs. Grieve’s -carriage, and various dupes, waited for her in the street. When these -dupes, however, saw Charles Fox’s chariot at Mrs. Grieve’s door, -and that gentleman himself entering the house--not issuing therefrom -till a considerable period had elapsed--they were confirmed in their -credulity. But the clever hussey was deluding the popular tribune in -the house, and keeping his chariot at her door, to further delude the -idiots who were taken in by it. The patriot was in a rather common -condition of patriots; he was over head and ears in debt. The lady -had undertaken to procure for him the hand of a West Indian heiress, -a Miss Phipps, with 80,000_l._, a sum that might soften the hearts of -his creditors for a while. The young lady (whom ‘the Hon.’ never saw) -was described as a little capricious. She could not abide dark men, and -the swart democratic leader powdered his eyebrows that he might look -fairer in the eyes of the lady of his hopes. An interview between them -was always on the point of happening, but was always being deferred. -Miss Phipps was ill, was coy, was not ‘i’ the vein’; finally she had -the smallpox, which was as imaginary as the other grounds of excuse. -Meanwhile Mrs. Grieve lent the impecunious legislator money, 300_l._ -or thereabouts. She was well paid, not by Fox, of course, but by the -more vulgar dupes who came to false conclusions when they beheld his -carriage, day after day, at the Hon. Mrs. Grieve’s door. The late -Lord Holland expressed his belief that the loan from Mrs. Grieve was -a foolish and improbable story. ‘I have heard Fox say,’ Lord Holland -remarks in the ‘Memorials and Correspondence of Fox,’ edited by Lord -John (afterwards Earl) Russell, ‘she never got or asked any money from -him.’ She probably knew very well that Fox had none to lend. That he -should have accepted any from such a woman is disgraceful enough: but -there may be exaggeration in the matter. - -Fox--it is due to him to note the fact here--had yet hardly begun -seriously and earnestly his career as a public man. At the close of -1773 he was sowing his wild oats. He ended the year with the study of -two widely different dramatic parts, which he was to act on a private -stage. Those parts were Lothario, in ‘The Fair Penitent,’ and Sir -Harry’s servant, in ‘High Life below Stairs.’ The stage on which the -two pieces were acted, by men scarcely inferior to Fox himself in rank -and ability, was at Winterslow House, near Salisbury, the seat of the -Hon. Stephen Fox. The night of representation closed the Christmas -holidays of 1773-4. It was Saturday, January 8, 1774. Fox played the -gallant gay Lothario brilliantly; the livery servant in the kitchen, -aping his master’s manners, was acted with abundant low humour, free -from vulgarity. But, whether there was incautious management during the -piece, or incautious revelry after it, the fine old house was burned -to the ground before the morning. It was then that Fox turned more than -before to public business; but without giving up any of his private -enjoyments, except those he did not care for. - -The duels of this year which gave rise to the most gossip were, first, -that between Lord Bellamont and Lord Townshend, and next the one -between Messrs. Temple and Whately. The two lords fought (after some -shifting on Townshend’s side) on a quarrel arising from a refusal of -Lord Townshend, in Dublin, to receive Bellamont. The offended lord was -badly shot in the stomach, and a wit (so called) penned this epigram on -the luckier adversary:-- - - - Says Bell’mont to Townshend, ‘You turned on your heel, - And that gave your honour a check.’ - ‘’Tis my way,’ replied Townshend. ‘To the world I appeal, - If I didn’t the same at Quebec.’ - - -Townshend, at Quebec, had succeeded to the command after Monckton was -wounded, and he declined to renew the conflict with De Bougainville. -The duel between Temple and Whately arose out of extraordinary -circumstances. There were in the British Foreign Office letters from -English and also from American officials in the transatlantic colony, -which advised coercion on the part of our government as the proper -course to be pursued for the successful administration of that colony. -Benjamin Franklin was then in England, and hearing of these letters, -had a strong desire to procure them, in order to publish them in -America, to the confusion of the writers. The papers were the property -of the British Government, from whom it is hardly too much to say that -they must have been stolen. At all events, an agent of Franklin’s, -named Hugh Williamson, is described as having got them for Franklin -‘by an ingenious device,’ which seems to be a very euphemistic phrase. -The letters had been originally addressed to Whately, secretary to -the Treasury, who, in 1773, was dead. The ingenious device by which -they were abstracted was reported to have been made with the knowledge -of Temple, who had been lieutenant-governor of New Hampshire. The -excitement caused by their publication led to a duel between Temple -and a brother of Whately, in whose hands the letters had never been, -and poor Whately was dangerously wounded, to save the honour of the -ex-lieutenant-governor. The publication of these letters was as -unjustifiable as the ingenious device by which they were conveyed from -their rightful owners. It caused as painful a sensation as any one of -the many painful incidents in the Geneva Arbitration affair, namely, -when--it being a point of honour that neither party should publish a -statement of their case till a judgment had been pronounced--the case -made out by the United States counsel was to be bought, before the -tribunal was opened, as easily as if it had been a ‘last dying speech -and confession!’ - -In literature Andrew Stewart’s promised ‘Letters to Lord Mansfield’ -excited universal curiosity. In that work Stewart treated the chief -justice as those Chinese executioners do their patients whose skin they -politely and tenderly brush away with wire brushes till nothing is left -of the victim but a skeleton. It was a luxury to Walpole to see a Scot -dissect a Scot. ‘They know each other’s sore places better than we -do.’ The work, however, was not published. Referring to Macpherson’s -‘Ossian,’ Walpole remarked, ‘The Scotch seem to be proving that they -are really descended from the Irish.’ On the other hand, the ‘Heroic -Epistle to Sir William Chambers’ was being relished by satirical minds, -and men were attributing it to Anstey and Soame Jenyns, and to Temple, -Luttrell, and Horace Walpole, and pronouncing it wittier than the -‘Dunciad,’ and did not know that it was Mason’s, and that it would not -outlive Pope. Sir William Chambers found consolation in the fact that -the satire, instead of damaging the volume it condemned, increased the -sale of the book by full three hundred volumes. Walpole, of course, -knew from the first that Mason was the author; he worked hard in -promoting its circulation, and gloried in its success. ‘Whenever I was -asked,’ he writes, ‘have you read “Sir John Dalrymple?” I replied, -“Have _you_ read the ‘Heroic Epistle’?” The _Elephant_ and _Ass_ have -become constellations, and ‘_He has stolen the Earl of Denbigh’s -handkerchief_,’ is the proverb in fashion. It is something surprising -to find, at a time when authors are supposed to have been ill paid, -Dr. Hawkesworth receiving, for putting together the narrative of Mr. -Banks’s voyage, one thousand pounds in advance from the traveller, -and six thousand from the publishers, Strahan & Co. It really seems -incredible, but this is stated to have been the fact. - -Then, the drama of 1773! There was Home’s ‘Alonzo,’ which, said -Walpole, ‘seems to be the story of David and Goliath, worse told than -it would have been if Sternhold and Hopkins had put it to music!’ -But the town really awoke to a new sensation when Goldsmith’s ‘She -Stoops to Conquer’ was produced on the stage, beginning a course in -which it runs as freshly now as ever. Yet the hyper-fine people of a -hundred years ago thought it rather vulgar. This was as absurd as the -then existing prejudice in France, that it was vulgar and altogether -wrong for a nobleman to write a book, or rather, to publish one! -There is nothing more curious than Walpole’s drawing-room criticism -of this exquisite and natural comedy. He calls it ‘the lowest of all -farces.’ He condemns the execution of the subject, rather than the -‘very vulgar’ subject itself. He could see in it neither moral nor -edification. He allows that the situations are well managed, and make -one laugh, in spite of the alleged grossness of the dialogue, the -forced witticisms, and improbability of the whole plan and conduct. -But, he adds, ‘what disgusts one most is, that though the characters -are very low, and aim at low humour, not one of them says a sentence -that is natural, or that marks any character at all. It is set up in -opposition to sentimental comedy, and is as bad as the worst of them.’ -Walpole’s supercilious censure reminds one of the company and of the -dancing bear, alluded to in the scene over which Tony Lumpkin presides -at the village alehouse. ‘I loves to hear the squire’ (Lumpkin) ‘sing,’ -says one fellow, ‘bekase he never gives us anything that’s low!’ To -which expression of good taste, an equally _nice_ fellow responds; -‘Oh, damn anything that’s low! I can’t bear it!’ Whereupon, the -philosophical Mister Muggins very truly remarks: ‘The genteel thing -is the genteel thing at any time, if so be that a gentleman bees in a -concatenation accordingly.’ The humour culminates in the rejoinder of -the bear-ward: ‘I like the maxim of it, Master Muggins. What though I’m -obligated to dance a bear? A man may be a gentleman for all that. May -this be my poison if my bear ever dances but to the very genteelest of -tunes--“Water parted,” or the minuet in “Ariadne”.’ All this is low, -in one sense, but it is far more full of humour than of vulgarity. The -comedy of nature killed the sentimental comedies, which, for the most -part, were as good (or as bad) as sermons. They strutted or staggered -with sentiments on stilts, and were duller than tables of uninteresting -statistics. - -Garrick, who would have nothing to do with Goldsmith’s comedy except -giving it a prologue, was ‘in shadow’ this year. He improved ‘Hamlet,’ -by leaving out the gravediggers; and he swamped the theatre with the -‘Portsmouth Review.’ He went so far as to rewrite ‘The Fair Quaker of -Deal,’ to the tune of ‘Portsmouth and King George for ever!’ not to -mention a preface, in which the Earl of Sandwich, by name, is preferred -to Drake, Blake, and all the admirals that ever existed! If Walpole’s -criticisms are not always just, they are occasionally admirable for -terseness and correctness alike. London, in 1773, was in raptures with -the singing of Cecilia Davies. Walpole quaintly said that he did not -love the perfection of what anybody can do, and he wished ‘she had -less top to her voice and more bottom.’ How good too is his sketch of -a male singer, who ‘sprains his mouth with smiling on himself!’ But to -return to Garrick, and an illustration of social manners a century ago, -we must not omit to mention that, at a private party--at Beauclerk’s, -Garrick played the ‘short-armed orator’ with Goldsmith! The latter -sat in Garrick’s lap, concealing him, but with Garrick’s arms advanced -under Goldsmith’s shoulders; the arms of the latter being held behind -his back. Goldsmith then spoke a speech from ‘Cato,’ while Garrick’s -shortened arms supplied the action. The effect, of course, was -ridiculous enough to excite laughter, as the action was often in absurd -diversity from the utterance. - -In the present newspaper record of births a man’s wife is no longer -called his ‘lady;’ a hundred years ago there was plentiful variety -of epithet. ‘The Princess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, spouse to the -Prince of that name, of a Princess,’ is one form. ‘Earl Tyrconnel’s -lady of a child,’ is another. ‘Wife’ was seldom used. One birth is -announced in the following words: ‘The Duchess of Chartres, at Paris, -of a Prince who has the title of Duke of Valois.’ Duke of Valois? ay, -and subsequently Duke of Chartres, Duke of Orléans, finally, Louis -Philippe, King of the French! - -The chronicle of the marriages of the year seems to have been loosely -kept, unless indeed parties announced themselves by being married twice -over. There is, for example, a double chronicling of the marriage -of the following personages: ‘July 31st. The Right Hon. the Lady -Amelia D’Arcy, daughter of the Earl of Holdernesse, to the Marquis of -Carmarthen, son of his Grace the Duke of Leeds. Lady Amelia having -thus married my Lord in July, we find, four months later, my Lord -marrying Lady Amelia. ‘Nov. 29th. The Marquis of Carmarthen to Lady -Amelia D’Arcy, daughter of the Earl of Holdernesse.’ This union, with -its double chronology, was one of several which was followed by great -scandal, and dissolved under circumstances of great disgrace. But the -utmost scandal and disgrace attended the breaking up of the married -life of Lord and Lady Carmarthen. This dismal domestic romance is told -in contemporary pamphlets with a dramatic completeness of detail which -is absolutely startling. Those who are fond of such details may consult -these liberal authorities: we will only add that the above Lady Amelia -D’Arcy, Marchioness of Carmarthen, became the wife of Captain Byron; -the daughter of that marriage was Augusta, now better known to us as -Mrs. Leigh. Captain Byron’s second wife was Miss Gordon, of Gight, -and the son of that marriage was the poet Byron. How the names of the -half-brother and half-sister have been cruelly conjoined, there is here -no necessity of narrating. Let us turn to smaller people. Thus, we -read of a curious way of endowing a bride, in the following marriage -announcement: ‘April 13th. Rev. Mr. Morgan, Rector of Alphamstow, York, -to Miss Tindall, daughter of Mr. Tindall, late rector, who resigned in -favour of his son-in-law.’ In the same month, we meet with a better -known couple--‘Mr. Sheridan, of the Temple, to the celebrated Miss -Linley, of Bath.’ - -The deaths of the year included, of course, men of very opposite -qualities. The man of finest quality who went the inevitable way was he -whom some call the _good_, and some the _great_ Lord Lyttelton. When a -man’s designation rests on two such distinctions, we may take it for -granted that he was not a common-place man. And yet how little remains -of him in the public memory. His literary works are fossils; but, like -fossils, they are not without considerable value. Good as he was, there -are not a few people who jumble together his and his son’s identity. -The latter was unworthy of his sire. He was a disreputable person -altogether. - -Lord Chesterfield was another of the individuals of note whose glass -ran out during this year. He was always protesting that he cared -nothing for death. Such persistence of protest generally arises from -a feeling contrary to that which is made the subject of protest. This -lord (as we have said) jested to the very door of his tomb. That must -have reminded his friends during those Tyburn days, how convicts on -their way up Holborn Hill to the gallows used to veil their terror -by cutting jokes with the crowd. It was the very Chesterfield of -highwaymen, who, going up the Hill in the fatal cart, and observing -the mob to be hastening onwards, cried out, ‘It’s no use your being -in such a hurry; there’ll be no fun till I get there!’ This was the -Chesterfield style, and its spirit also. But behind it all was the -feeling and conviction of Marmontel’s philosopher, who having railed -through a long holiday excursion, till he was thoroughly tired, was of -opinion, as he tucked himself up in a featherbed at night, that life -and luxury were, after all, rather pretty things. - -Chesterfield was, nevertheless, much more of a man than his fellow -peer who crossed the Stygian ferry in the same year, namely, the -Duke of Kingston. The duke had been one of the handsomest men of his -time, and, like a good many handsome men, was a considerable fool. He -allowed himself, at all events, to be made the fool, and to become -the slave, of the famous Miss Chudleigh--as audacious as she was -beautiful. The lady, whom the law took it into its head to look upon -as _not_ the duke’s duchess--that is, not his wife--was resigned to -her great loss by the feeling of her great gain. She was familiar -with her lord’s last will and testament, and went into hysterics to -conceal her satisfaction. She saw his grace out of the world with -infinite ceremony. To be sure, it was nothing else. The physicians whom -she called together in consultation _consulted_, no doubt, and then -whispered to their lady friends, while holding their delicate pulses, -‘Mere ceremony, upon my honour!’ The widow kept the display of grief -up to the last. When she brought the ducal corpse up from Bath to -London, she rested often by the way. If she could have carried out her -caprices, she would have had as many crosses to mark the ducal stations -of death as were erected to commemorate the passing of Queen Eleanor. -As this could not be, the widow took to screaming at every turn of -the road, and at night was carried into her inn kicking her heels and -screaming at the top of her voice. - -Among the other deaths of the year 1773, the following are noteworthy. -At Vienna, of a broken heart, from the miseries of his country, the -brave Prince Poniatowski, brother to the King of Poland, and a general -in the Austrian service, in which he had been greatly distinguished -during the last war. The partition of Poland was then only a year old, -and the echoes of the assertions of the lying Czar, Emperor, and King, -that they never intended to lay a finger on that ancient kingdom, -had hardly died out of the hearing of the astounded world. England -is always trusting the words of Czars and their Khiva protestations, -always learning and never coming to the knowledge of the truth. A name -less known than Poniatowski may be cited for the singularity attached -to it. ‘Hale Hartson, Esq., the author of the “Countess of Salisbury” -and other ingenious pieces--a young gentleman of fine parts, and -who, though very young, had made the tour of Europe three times.’ An -indication of what a fashionable quarter Soho, with its neighbourhood, -was in 1773, is furnished by the following announcement: ‘Suddenly, -at her house in Lisle Street, Leicester Fields, Lady Sophia Thomas, -sister of the late Earl of Albemarle, and aunt of the present.’ Foreign -ambassadors then dwelt in Lisle Street. Even dukes had their houses -in the same district; and baronets lived and died in Red Lion Square -and in Cornhill. Among those baronets an eccentric individual turned -up now and then. In the obituary is the name of Sir Robert Price, of -whom it is added that ‘he left his fortune to seven old bachelors in -indigent circumstances.’ The death of one individual is very curtly -recorded; all the virtues under heaven would have been assigned to her, -had she not belonged to a vanquished party. In that case she would have -been a high and mighty princess; as it was, we only read, ‘Lately, -Lady Annabella Stuart, a relation of the late royal family, aged -ninety-one years, at St.-Omer.’ A few of us are better acquainted with -the poet, John Cunningham, whose decease is thus quaintly chronicled: -‘At Newcastle, the ingenious Mr. John Cunningham. A man little known, -but that will be always much admired for his plaintive, tender, and -natural pastoral poetry.’ Some of the departed personages seem to have -held strange appointments. Thus we find Alexander, Earl of Galloway, -described as ‘one of the lords of police;’ and Willes, Bishop of Bath -and Wells, who died in Hill Street when Mrs. Montague and her blue -stockings were in their greatest brilliancy, is described as ‘joint -Decypherer (with his son, Edward Willes, Esq.) to the king.’ We -believe that the duty of decypherer consisted in reading letters that -were opened, on suspicion, in their passage through the post-office. -Occasionally a little page of family history is opened to us in a few -words, as, for instance, in the account of Sir Robert Ladbroke, a rich -City knight, whose name is attached to streets, roads, groves, and -terraces in Notting Hill. After narrating his disposal of his wealth -among his children and charities, the chronicler states that ‘To his -son George, who sailed a short time since to the West Indies, he has -bequeathed three guineas a week during life, to be paid only to his own -receipt.’ One would like to know if this all but disinherited young -fellow took heart of grace, and, after all, made his way creditably in -the world. Such sons often succeed in life better than their brothers. -Look around you _now_. See the sons born to inherit the colossal -fortune which their father has built up. What brainless asses the most -of them become! Had they been born to little instead of to over-much, -their wits would perhaps have been equal to their wants, and they -would have been as good men as their fathers. - -It was a son of misfortune, who, on a July night of 1773, entered the -_King’s Head_ at Enfield, weary, hungry, penniless, and wearing the -garb of a clergyman. He was taken in, poor guest as he was, and in -the hospitable inn he died within a few days. It was then discovered -that he was the Rev. Samuel Bickley. In his pockets were found three -manuscript sermons, and an extraordinary petition to the Archbishop of -Canterbury, dated the previous February. The prayer of the petition -was to this effect: ‘Your petitioner, therefore, most humbly prays, -that if an audience from your Grace should be deemed too great a -favour, you will at least grant him some relief, though it be only a -temporary one, in our deplorable necessity and distress; and,’ said the -petitioner with a simplicity or an impudence which may have accounted -for his condition, ‘let your Grace’s charity cover the multitude of -his sins.’ He then continues: ‘There never yet was anyone in England -doomed to starve; but I am nearly, if not altogether so; denied to -exercise the sacred functions wherein I was educated, driven from the -doors of the rich laymen to the clergy for relief; by the clergy, -denied; so that I may justly take up the speech of the Gospel Prodigal, -and say: ‘How many hired servants of my father have bread enough and -to spare, while I perish with hunger!’ Here was, possibly, an heir of -great expectations, who, scholar as he was, had come to grief, while, -only a little while before him, there died a fortunate impostor, as -appears from this record: ‘Mr. Colvill, in Old Street, aged 83. He was -much resorted to as a fortune-teller, by which he acquired upwards of -4,000_l._;’ at the same time, a man in London was quintupling that sum -by the invention and sale of peppermint lozenges. - -Let us look into the newspapers for January 1773, that our readers may -compare the events of that month with January 1873, a hundred years -later. We find the laureate Whitehead’s official New Year Ode sung at -court to Boyce’s music, while king, queen, courtiers and guests yawned -at the vocal dulness, and were glad when it was all over. We enter a -church and listen to a clergyman preaching a sermon; on the following -day we see the reverend gentleman drilling with other recruits -belonging to a regiment of the Guards, into which he had enlisted. -The vice of gambling was ruining hundreds in London, the suburbs of -which were infested by highwaymen, who made a very pretty living of -it--staking only their lives. We go to the fashionable noon-day walk in -the Temple Gardens, and encounter an eccentric promenader who is thus -described: ‘He wore an old black waistcoat which was quite threadbare, -breeches of the same colour and complexion; a black stocking on one -leg, a whitish one on the other; a little hat with a large gold button -and loop, and a tail, or rather club, as thick as a lusty man’s arm, -powdered almost an inch thick, and under the club a quantity of hair -resembling a horse’s tail. In this dress he walked and mixed with -the company there for a considerable time, and occasioned no little -diversion.’ The style of head-decoration then patronised by the ladies -was quite as nasty and offensive as that which was in vogue about -ten years ago. It was ridiculed in the popular pantomime ‘Harlequin -Sorcerer.’ Columbine was to be seen in her dressing-room attended by -her lover, a macaroni, and a hairdresser. On her head was a very high -tower of hair, to get at which was impossible for the _friseur_ till -Harlequin’s wand caused a ladder to rise, on the top rung of which -the _coiffeur_ was raised to the top surface of Columbine’s chignon; -having dressed which they all set off for the Pantheon. While pantomime -was thus triumphant at Covent Garden there was something like cavalry -battles close to London; that is to say, engagements between mounted -smugglers and troops of Scots Greys. The village Tooting in this -month was a scene of a fight, in which both parties shot and cut down -antagonists with as much alacrity as if they were foreign invaders, -where blood, and a good deal of it, was lavishly spilt. Sussex was a -favourite battle-field; a vast quantity of tea and brandy, and other -contraband, was drunk in Middlesex and neighbouring counties where -there was sympathy for smugglers, who set their lives on a venture and -enabled people to purchase articles duty free. - -At this time the union of Ireland with the other portions of the -British kingdom was being actively agitated. The project was that each -of the thirty-two Irish counties should send one representative to the -British Parliament. Forty-eight Irish Peers were to be transferred to -the English Upper House. One very remarkable feature in the supposed -government project was, that Ireland should retain the shadow of a -parliament, to be called ‘The Great Council of the Nation.’ The Great -Council was to consist of members sent by the Irish boroughs, each -borough to send one representative, ‘their power not to apply further -than the interior policy of the kingdom.’ The courts of law were to -remain undisturbed. It will be remembered that something like the above -council is now asked for by those who advocate Home Rule; but as some -of those advocates only wish to have the council as the means to a -further end, the Irish professional patriot now, as ever, stands in the -way to the real improvement and the permanent prosperity of that part -of the kingdom. - -In many other respects the incidents of to-day are like the echoes of -the events a hundred years old. We find human nature much the same, but -a trifle coarser in expression. The struggle to live, then as now, took -the guise of the struggle of a beaten army, retreating over a narrow -and dangerous bridge, where each thought only of himself, and the -stronger trampled down the weaker or pushed him over into the raging -flood. With all this, blessed charity was not altogether wanting. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: In and About Drury Lane and Other Papers Vol. I</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0;'>Reprinted from the pages of the 'Temple Bar' Magazine</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Dr. John Doran</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 21, 2021 [eBook #66788]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Susan Skinner, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN AND ABOUT DRURY LANE AND OTHER PAPERS VOL. I ***</div> - -<div class="mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber’s Note:<br /><br /> -Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.<br /></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="front" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<h1>DRURY LANE</h1> - -<p class="bold">VOL. I.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center">LONDON: PRINTED BY<br />SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE<br />AND PARLIAMENT STREET</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p class="bold">IN AND ABOUT</p> - -<p class="bold2">DRURY LANE</p> - -<p class="bold"><i>AND OTHER PAPERS</i></p> - -<p class="bold">REPRINTED FROM THE PAGES OF THE ‘TEMPLE BAR’ MAGAZINE</p> - -<p class="bold">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2">D<sup>R</sup> DORAN</p> - -<p class="bold">AUTHOR OF ‘TABLE TRAITS AND SOMETHING ON THEM’ ‘JACOBITE LONDON’<br /> -‘QUEENS OF ENGLAND OF THE HOUSE OF HANOVER’</p> - -<p class="bold">IN TWO VOLUMES</p> - -<p class="bold">VOL. I.</p> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" /></div> - -<p class="bold">LONDON<br />RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET<br /> -Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen<br />1881</p> - -<p class="bold"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><i>PREFATORY REMARKS.</i></h2> - -<p>The republication of papers which have originally appeared in a -Magazine frequently requires justification.</p> - -<p>In the present instance this justification, it is thought, may be found -in the special knowledge which Dr. <span class="smcap">Doran</span> had of all matters -pertaining to the stage; in his intimacy with the literature which -treats of manners and customs, English and foreign; and in his memory, -which retained and retailed a great amount of anecdote, told with a -sprightly wit.</p> - -<p>These volumes, reprinted with one or two exceptions from the pages of -the ‘Temple Bar’ Magazine, will, it is believed, be found to contain -many good stories, and much information unostentatiously conveyed. It -is hoped, therefore, that the public will endorse the opinion of the -writer of this Preface, and consider that the plea of justification has -been made out.</p> - -<p class="right"><i>G. B.</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<p class="bold">OF</p> - -<p class="bold">THE FIRST VOLUME.</p> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/line.jpg" alt="line" /></div> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">In and about Drury Lane</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">About Master Betty</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Charles Young and his Times</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">William Charles Macready</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Private Theatricals</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Smell of the Lamps</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">A Line of French Actresses</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Some Eccentricities of the French Stage</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Northumberland House and the Percys</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Leicester Fields</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">A Hundred Years ago</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_285">285</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>IN AND ABOUT DRURY LANE.</i></h2> - -<p>In the afternoon of ‘Boxing-day,’ 1865, I had to pass through Drury -Lane, and some of the worst of the ‘slums’ which find vent therein. -There was a general movement in the place, and the effect was not -savoury. There was a going to-and-fro of groups of people, and there -was nothing picturesque in them; assemblings of children, but alas! -nothing lovable in them. It was a universal holiday, yet its aspect was -hideous.</p> - -<p>Arrived at the stage-door of Drury Lane Theatre, I found my way on to -the stage itself, where the last rehearsal of the pantomime, to be -played for the first time that evening, was progressing.</p> - -<p>The change from the external pandemonium to the hive of humming -industry in which I then stood, was striking and singular. Outside -were blasphemy and drunkenness. Inside, boundless activity, order, -hard work, and cheerful hearts. There was very much to do, but every -man had his especial work assigned him, every girl her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> allotted -task. An unaccustomed person might have pronounced as mere confusion, -that shifting of scenes, that forming, unforming, and reforming of -groups, that unintelligible dumb show, that collecting, scattering, -and gathering together of ‘young ladies’ in sober-coloured dresses and -business-like faces, who were to be so resplendent in the evening as -fairies, all gold, glitter, lustrous eyes, and virtuous intentions. -There was Mr. Beverley—perhaps the greatest magician there—not only -to see that nothing should mar the beauty he had created, but to take -care that the colours of the costumes should not be in antagonism with -the scenes before which they were to be worn. There was that Michael -Angelo of pantomimic mask inventors, Mr. Keene, anxiously looking to -the expressions of the masks, of which he is the prince of designers. -Then, if you think those graceful and varied figures of the <i>ballet</i> -as easy to invent, or to trace, as they seem, and are, at last, -easily performed, you should witness the trouble taken to invent, -and the patience taken to bring to perfection—the figures and the -figurantes—on the part of the artistic ballet-master, Mr. Cormack. -But, responsible for the good result of all, there stands Mr. Roxby, -stern as Rhadamanthus, just as Aristides, inflexible as determination -can make him, and good-natured as a happy child, he is one of the most -efficient of stage-managers, for he is both<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> loved and feared. No -defect escapes his eye, and no well-directed zeal goes without his word -of approval. Messrs. Falconer and Chatterton are meanwhile busy with a -thousand details, but they wisely leave the management of the stage to -their lieutenant-general, who has the honour of Old Drury at heart.</p> - -<p>When a spectator takes his seat in front of the curtain, he is hardly -aware that he is about to address himself to an entertainment, for the -production of which nearly nine hundred persons—from the foremost -man down to the charwoman—are constantly employed and liberally -remunerated. Touching this ‘remuneration,’ let me here notice that I -have some doubt as to the story of Quin ever receiving 50<i>l.</i> a night. -By the courtesy of Mr. ——, the gentleman at the head of the Drury -Lane treasury, and by the favour of the proprietors, I have looked -through many of the well-kept account-books of bygone years. These, -indeed, do not, at least as far as I have seen, go back to the days of -Quin, but there are traces of the greater actor Garrick, who certainly -never received so rich an <i>honorarium</i>. His actual income it is not -easy to ascertain, as his profits as proprietor were mixed up with -his salary as actor. It has often been said that Garrick was never -to be met with in a tavern (always, I suppose, excepting the ‘Turk’s -Head’), but he appears to have drawn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> refreshment during the Drury Lane -seasons, as there is unfailing entry in his weekly account of ‘the Ben -Jonson’s Head bill,’ the total of which varies between sixteen and -five-and-twenty shillings.</p> - -<p>At Drury Lane, John Kemble does not appear to have ever received above -2<i>l.</i> a night, exclusive of his salary as a manager. Nor did his -sister’s salary for some years exceed that sum. When Edmund Kean raised -the fallen fortunes of old Drury, he only slowly began to mend his own. -From January 1814, to April 1815, during the time the house was open, -Kean’s salary was 3<i>l.</i> 8<i>s.</i> 8<i>d.</i> nightly. If the theatre was open -every night in the week, that sum was the actor’s nightly stipend, -whether he performed or not. If there were only four performances -weekly, as in Lent, he and all other actors were only paid for those -four nights. Within the period I have named, Elliston received a -higher salary than Kean, namely 5<i>l.</i> per night, or 30<i>l.</i> per week, -if the house was open for six consecutive nights. The salary of Dowton -and Munden, during the same period, was equal to that of Kean. They -received at the rate of 3<i>l.</i> 8<i>s.</i> 8<i>d.</i> nightly, or 20<i>l.</i> weekly, if -there were six performances, irrespective as to their being employed in -them or not. That great actor Bannister, according to these Drury Lane -account-books, at this period received 4<i>s.</i> per night less than Kean, -Dowton and Munden; while Jack Johnstone’s salary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> was only 2<i>l.</i> 10<i>s.</i> -nightly, and that was 6<i>s.</i> 8<i>d.</i> <i>less</i> than was paid to the handsome, -rather than <i>good</i> player, Rae.</p> - -<p>It was not till April 1815, when Kean was turning the tide of Pactolus -into the treasury, that his salary was advanced to 4<i>l.</i> 3<i>s.</i> 8<i>d.</i> -per night. This was still below the sum received by Elliston. Kean -had run through the most brilliant part of his career, before his -salary equalled that of Elliston. In 1820, it was raised to 30<i>l.</i> per -week if six nights; but Elliston’s stipend at that time had fallen to -20<i>l.</i>, and at the close of the season that of Kean was further raised -to 40<i>l.</i> for every six nights that the house was open. That sum is -occasionally entered in the books as being for ‘seven days’ pay,’ but -the meaning is manifestly ‘for the acting week of six days.’</p> - -<p>At this time Mrs. Glover was at the head of the Drury Lane actresses, -and that eminent and great-hearted woman never drew from the Drury Lane -treasury more than 7<i>l.</i> 13<i>s.</i> 4<i>d.</i> weekly. From these details, it -will be seen that the most brilliant actors were not very brilliantly -paid. The humbler yet very useful players were, of course, remunerated -in proportion.</p> - -<p>There was a Mr. Marshall who made a successful <i>début</i> on the same -night with Incledon in 1790, in the ‘Poor Soldier,’ the sweet -ballad-singer, as Dermot; Marshall, as Bagatelli. The latter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> soon -passed to Drury Lane, where he remained till 1820. The highest -salary he ever attained was 10<i>s.</i> per night; yet with this, in his -prettily-furnished apartments in Crown Court, where he lived and died, -Mr. Marshall presided, like a gentleman, at a hospitable table, and -in entertaining his friends never exceeded his income. You might have -taken him in the street for one of those enviable old gentlemen who -have very nice balances at their bankers.</p> - -<p>The difference between the actor’s salaries of the last century and of -this, is as great in France as in England. One of the greatest French -tragedians, Lekain, earned only a couple of thousand livres, yearly, -from his Paris engagement. When Gabrielli demanded 500 ducats yearly, -for singing in the Imperial Theatre at St. Petersburg, this took the -Czarina’s breath away. ‘I only pay my field-marshals at that rate,’ -said Catherine.</p> - -<p>‘Very well,’ replied Gabrielli, ‘your Majesty had better make your -field-marshals sing.’</p> - -<p>With higher salaries, all other expenses have increased. Take the -mere item of advertisements, including bill-sticking and posters at -railway stations, formerly, the expense of advertising never exceeded -4<i>l.</i> per week; now it is never under 100<i>l.</i> Of bill-stickers and -board-carriers, upwards of one hundred are generally employed. In -the early part of the last century, the proprietors of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> newspaper -thought it a privilege to insert theatrical announcements gratis, and -proprietors of theatres forbade the insertion of their advertisements -in papers not duly authorised!</p> - -<p>Dryden was the first dramatic author who wrote a programme of his -piece (‘The Indian Emperor’), and distributed it at the playhouse -door. Barton Booth, the original ‘Cato,’ drew 50<i>l.</i> a year for -writing out the daily bills for the printer. In still earlier days, -theatrical announcements were made by sound of drum. The absence of -the names of actors in old play-books, perhaps, arose from a feeling -which animated French actors as late as 1789, when those of Paris -entreated the <i>maire</i> not to compel them to have their names in the -‘Affiche,’ as it might prove detrimental to their interests. Some of -our earliest announcements only name the piece, and state that it -will be acted by ‘all the best members of the company, now in town.’ -There was a fashion, which only expired about a score or so of years -ago, as the curtain was descending at the close of the five-act piece, -which was always played first, an actor stepped forward, and when the -curtain separated him from his fellows, he gave out the next evening’s -performance, and retired, bowing, through one of the doors which always -then stood, with brass knockers on them, upon the stage.</p> - -<p>The average expenses of Drury Lane Theatre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> at Christmas-tide, when -there are extra performances, amount to nearly 1,500<i>l.</i> per week. The -rent paid is reckoned at 4,500<i>l.</i> for two hundred nights of acting, -and only 5<i>l.</i> per night for all performances beyond that number. -About 160<i>l.</i> must be in the house before the lessees can begin to -reckon on any profit. In old times, the presence of royalty made a -great difference in the receipts. On February 12, 1777,I find from the -books that the ‘Jealous Wife,’ and ‘Neck or Nothing,’ were played. An -entry is added that ‘the king and queen were present,’ and the result -is registered under the form, ‘receipts 245<i>l.</i> 9<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>, a hundred -pounds more than the previous night.’</p> - -<p>The number of children engaged in a pantomime at Drury Lane generally -exceeds two hundred. The girls are more numerous than the boys. It is -a curious fact that in engaging these children the manager prefers the -quiet and dull to the smart and lively. Your smart lad and girl are -given to ‘larking’ and thinking of their own cleverness. The quiet -and dull are more ‘teachable,’ and can be made to seem lively without -flinging off discipline. These little creatures are thus kept from the -streets; many of them are sons and daughters of persons employed in the -house, and their shilling a night and a good washing tells pleasantly -in many a humble household, to which, on Saturday nights, they -contribute their wages and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> clean faces. It was for a clever body of -children of this sort that <i>benefits</i> were first established in France -in 1747. In England they date from Elizabeth Barry, on whose behalf the -first was given, by order of James the Second.</p> - -<p>Then there are the indispensable, but not easily procured, ‘ladies -of the ballet.’ They number about five dozen; two dozen principals, -the rest in training to become so. Their salary is not so low as is -generally supposed—twenty-five, and occasionally thirty shillings -a week. They are ‘respectable.’ I have seen three or four dozen of -them together in their green-room, where they conducted themselves as -‘properly’ as any number of well-trained young ladies could at the most -fashionable of finishing establishments.</p> - -<p>There was a scene in the ‘Sergeant’s Wife’ which was always played with -a terrible power by Miss Kelly; and yet the audience, during the most -exciting portion of the scene, saw only the back of the actress. Miss -Kelly represented the wife, who, footsore and ignorant of her way, had -found rude hospitality and rough sleeping quarters in a wretched hut. -Unable to sleep, something tempts her to look through the interstices -of the planks which divide her room from the adjoining one. While -looking, she is witness of the commission of a murder. Spell-bound, she -gazes on, in terror almost mute, save a few broken words.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> During this -incident the actress had her back turned to the audience; nevertheless, -she conveyed to the enthralled house an expression of overwhelming -and indescribable horror as faithfully as if they had seen it in her -features or heard it in her voice. Every spectator confessed her -irresistible power, but none could even guess at the secret by which -she exercised it.</p> - -<p>The mystery was, in fact, none at all. Miss Kelly’s acting in this -scene was wonderfully impressive, simply because she kept strictly -to nature. She knew that not to the face alone belongs all power of -interpretation of passion or feeling. This knowledge gave to Rich his -marvellous power as Harlequin. In the old days, when harlequinades had -an intelligible plot in which the spectators took interest, it was the -office of Harlequin to guard the glittering lady of his love from the -malice of their respective enemies. There always occurred an incident -in which Columbine was carried off from her despairing lord, and it was -on this occasion that Rich, all power of conveying facial expression -being cut off by his mask, used to move the house to sympathy, and -sometimes, it is said, to tears, by the pathos of his mute and tragic -action. As he gazed up the stage at the forced departure of Columbine -every limb told unmistakably that the poor fellow’s heart was breaking -within him. When she was restored the whole house broke forth into a -thunder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> of exultation, as if the whole scene had been a reality.</p> - -<p>I cannot tell how this was effected, but I <i>can</i> tell a story that is -not unconnected with the terrible pantomime of suffering nature.</p> - -<p>Some years ago an unfortunate man, who had made war against society, -and had to suffer death for it in front of the old Debtors’ door, -Newgate, took leave of his wife and daughters not many hours before -execution, in presence of the ‘Reverend Ordinary,’ Mr. Cotton, and a -young officer in the prison, who has since attained to eminence and -corresponding responsibility in the gloomy service to which he is -devoted. The scene of separation was heartrending to all but the doomed -man, who was calm, and even smiled once or twice, in order to cheer, if -he could, the poor creatures whom he had rendered cheerless for ever. -When the ordinary and the prison officer were left alone, the reverend -gentleman remarked—‘Well, H——, what do you think of the way in which -the prisoner went through <i>that</i>?’</p> - -<p>‘Wonderfully, sir,’ answered H——, ‘considering the circumstances.’</p> - -<p>‘Wonderfully!’ replied Mr. Cotton, ‘yes; but not in your sense, my -friend.’</p> - -<p>‘In what sense, then, sir?’ asked H——.</p> - -<p>‘You said “wonderfully.” I know very well, wherefore—because you saw -him smile; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> because he smiled, you thought he did not feel his -condition as his wife and daughters did.’</p> - -<p>‘I confess that is the case,’ said the young officer.</p> - -<p>‘Ah! H——,’ exclaimed Mr. Cotton, ‘you are new to this sort of thing. -You looked in the man’s face, and thought he was bold. I had my eye on -his back, and I saw that it gave his face the lie. It showed that he -was suffering mortal agony.’</p> - -<p>H—— looked inquiringly at the chaplain, who answered the look by -saying, ‘Listen to me, H——. You are young. Some day you will rise to -a post that will require you to sit in the dock, behind the prisoners -who are tried on capital charges. On one of those occasions, you will -see what is common enough—a prisoner who is saucy and defiant, and who -laughs in the judge’s face as he puts on the black cap, and while he -is condemning him. Well, H——, if you want to know what that prisoner -really feels, don’t look at his face—look at his back. All along and -about the spine, you will find it boiling, heaving, surging, like -volcanic matter. Keep your eye upon it, H——; and when you see the -irrepressible emotion in the back suddenly subsiding, open wide your -arms, my boy, for the seemingly saucy fellow is about to tumble into -them, in a dead faint. All the “sauce,” Mr. H——, will be out of him -at once, and perhaps for ever, unless he be exceptionally constituted.’</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> - -<p>A little party of visitors was gathered round the narrator of this, the -other day, in that dreadful room where Calcraft keeps his ‘traps and -things.’ I had my hand on the new coil already prepared and in order -for the next criminal who may deserve it; another was looking at Jack -Sheppard’s irons, which were never able to confine him; and others, -with a sort of unwilling gaze at things in a half-open cupboard, which -looked like the furniture of a saddle-room, but which were instruments -of other purposes. We all turned to the speaker, as he ceased, and -inquired if his experience corroborated Mr. Cotton’s description. H—— -answered in the affirmative, and he went into particulars to which we -listened with the air of men who were curious yet not sympathizing; -but I felt, at the same time, under the influences of the place, and -of being suddenly told that I was standing where Calcraft stands on -particular occasions, a hot and irrepressible motion adown the back, -which satisfied me that the Cottonian theory had something in it, and -that Miss Kelly, without knowing it, was acting in strict accordance -with nature, when she made her back interpret to an audience all the -anguish she was supposed to feel at the sorry sight on which her face -was turned.</p> - -<p>By way of parenthesis, let me add that Mr. Cotton himself was a most -accomplished actor on his own unstable boards. When he grew <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>somewhat -a-weary of his labour—it was a heavy labour when Monday mornings -were hanging mornings, and wretches went to the beam in leashes—when -Mr. Cotton was tired of this, he thought of a good opportunity for -retiring. ‘I have now,’ he said, ‘accompanied just three hundred -and sixty-five poor fellows to the gallows. That’s one for every -day in the year. I may retire after seeing such a round number die -with <i>cotton in their ears</i>.’ Whether the reverend gentleman was the -author of this ingenious comparison for getting hanged, or whether he -playfully adopted the phrase which was soon so popularly accepted as a -definition, cannot now be determined.</p> - -<p>While on this subject, let me notice that, with the exception of one -Matthew Coppinger, a subaltern player in the Stuart days, no English -actor has ever suffered death on the scaffold. Mat’s offence was not -worse than the mad Prince’s on Gad’s Hill, and it must be confessed -that one or two other gentlemen of the King’s or Duke’s company ‘took -to the road’ of an evening, and perhaps deserved hanging, though the -royal grace saved them. Neither in England nor France has an actor ever -appeared on the scaffold under heavy weight of crime. As for taking -to the highway, baronets’ sons have gone that road on their fathers’ -horses; and society construed lightly the offences of highwaymen who -met travellers face to face and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> set life fairly against life. In -England, Coppinger alone went to Tyburn. In France, I can recall but -two out of the many thousands of actors who have trodden its very -numerous stages,—not including an occasional player who suffered -for political reasons during the French Revolution. One of the two -was Barrières, a Gascon, who, after studying for the church and the -law, turning dramatic poet and mathematician, and finally enlisting -in the army, obtained leave of absence, and profited thereby by -repairing to Paris, and appearing at the Théâtre Français, in 1729, as -Mithridate. His Gascon extravagance and eccentricity caused at first -much amusement, but he speedily established himself as an excellent -general actor, and forgot all about his military leave of absence. Not -so his colonel, who had no difficulty in laying his hand on the Gascon -recruit, who was playing in his own name in Paris, and under authority -of a furlough, the period of which he had probably exceeded—the -document itself he had unfortunately lost. Barrières was tried, -condemned, and shot, in spite of all the endeavours made to save him.</p> - -<p>Sixty years later it went as hardly with Bordier, an actor of the -Variétés, of whom I have heard old French players speak with great -regard and admiration. He was on a provincial tour, when he talked -so plainly at <i>tables d’hôte</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> of the misery of the times and the -prospects of the poor, that he was seized and tried at Rouen under a -charge of fomenting insurrection in order to lower the price of corn. -Just before his seizure he had played the principal part (L’Olive) -in ‘Trick against Trick’ (<i>Ruses contre Ruses</i>), in which he had to -exclaim gaily: ‘You will see that to settle this affair, I shall -have to be hanged!’ And Bordier <i>was</i> hanged, unjustly, at Rouen. He -suffered with dignity, and a touch of stage humour. He had been used to -play in Pompigny’s ‘Prince turned Sweep’ (<i>Ramoneur Prince</i>)—a piece -in which Sloman used to keep the Coburg audience in a roar of delight. -In the course of the piece, standing at the foot of a ladder, and -doubtful as to whether he should ascend or not, he had to say: ‘Shall I -go up or not?’ So, when he came to the foot of the lofty ladder leaning -against the gigantic gallows in the market-place at Rouen, Bordier -turned with a sad smile to the hangman and said: ‘Shall I go up or -not?’ The hangman smiled too, but pointed the way that Bordier should -go; and the wits of Rouen were soon singing of him in the spirit of the -wits of Covent Garden singing of Coppinger:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>Mat did not go dead, like a sluggard to bed,</div> -<div>But boldly, in his shoes, died of a noose</div> -<div class="i2">That he found under Tyburn tree.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> -<p>To return to more general statistics, it may be stated that, in busy -times, four dozen persons are engaged in perfecting the wardrobes -of the ladies and gentlemen. Only to attire these and the children, -forty-five dressers are required; and the various <i>coiffures</i> you -behold have busily employed half a dozen hairdressers. If it should -occur to you that you are sitting over or near a gasometer, you may -find confidence in knowing that it is being watched by seventeen -gasmen; and that even the young ladies who glitter and look so happy as -they float in the air in transformation scenes, could not be roasted -alive, provided they are released in time from the iron rods to which -they are bound. These ineffably exquisite nymphs, however, suffer more -or less from the trials they have to undergo for our amusement. Seldom -a night passes without one or two of them fainting; and I remember, on -once assisting several of them to alight, as they neared the ground, -and they were screened from the public gaze, that their hands were -cold and clammy, like clay. The blood had left the surface and rushed -to the heart, and the spangled nymphs who seemed to rule destiny and -the elements, were under a nervous tremor; but, almost as soon as they -had touched the ground, they shook their spangles, laughed their light -laugh, and tripped away in the direction of the stately housekeeper of -Drury,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> Mrs. Lush, with dignity enough not to care to claim kinship -with her namesake, the judge; for she was once of the household of -Queen Adelaide, and now has the keeping of ‘the national theatre,’ with -nine servants to obey her behests.</p> - -<p>To those who would compare the season of 1865-1866 at Drury Lane with -that of 1765-1766, it is only necessary to say that a hundred years ago -Mrs. Pritchard was playing a character of which she was the original -representative in 1761, namely, Mrs. Oakley, in Coleman’s ‘Jealous -Wife,’ a part which has been well played this year by Mrs. Vezin to -the excellent Mr. Oakley of Mr. Phelps. The Drury Lane company, a -hundred years ago, included Garrick, Powell, Holland, King, Palmer, -Parsons, Bensley, Dodd, Yates, Moody, Baddeley, all men of great but -various merit. Among the ladies were Mrs. Cibber, Mrs. Yates, Mrs. -Clive, Mrs. Abington, Mrs. Pritchard, Miss Pope, Mrs. Baddeley, and -some others—a galaxy the like of which, in any one company, could -nowhere be found in these later days. In that season of a hundred -years ago, a new actress, Mrs. Fitzhenry, very nearly gained a seat -upon the tragic throne. In the same season Melpomene lost her noblest -daughter, albeit the last character her name was attached to in the -bills was Lady Brute. I allude to Mrs. Cibber. ‘Mrs. Cibber dead!’ was -Garrick’s cry; ‘then tragedy has died with her.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> Since that season of -a century since, there has been no such Ophelia as hers, the touching -charm of which used to melt a whole house to tears. It was the season -in which Garrick abolished the candles in brass sockets, fixed in -chandeliers, which hung on the stage; in place of which he introduced -the footlights, which were then supplied by oil, and long retained the -significant name of ‘floats.’ In that season, the first benefit was -given for the Drury Lane Theatrical Fund, ‘for the relief of those who, -from infirmities, shall be obliged to retire from the stage.’ On this -occasion Garrick acted <i>Kitely</i>, in ‘Every Man in his Humour.’ Lastly, -in that season was produced, for the first time, the ever-lively -comedy, ‘The Clandestine Marriage,’ in which King, as Lord Ogleby, won -such renown that Garrick never ceased to repent of his having declined -the character. After he left the stage he did not seem to be sorry for -the course he had taken. ‘You all think,’ he used to say, ‘that no one -can excel, or even equal King, in Lord Ogleby. It had great merit, but -it was not my Lord Ogleby; and if I could appear again, that is the -only character in which I should care to play.’ And, no doubt, Roscius -would have delighted his audience, though his new reading might not -have induced them to forget the original representation.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>ABOUT MASTER BETTY.</i></h2> - -<p>In a valley at the foot of the Slieve Croob mountains, in County -Antrim, there is a pretty village called Ballynahinch. The head of the -river Lagan, which flows by Belfast into the lough, is to be found in -that valley. Near the town is a ‘spa,’ with a couple of wells, and a -delicious air, sufficient in itself to cure all travellers from Dublin -who have narrowly escaped being poisoned by the Liffey, in whose -murderous stinks the metropolitan authorities seem to think the chief -attraction to draw strangers to Dublin is now to be found.</p> - -<p>To the flax-cultivating Ballynahinch, in the last quarter of the last -century, a gentleman named Betty brought (after a brief sojourn at -Lisburn) his young English wife and their only child, a boy. This -married couple were of very good blood. The lady was of the Stantons, -of Hopton Court. Mr. Betty’s father was a physician of some celebrity, -at Lisburn, where, and in the neighbourhood, he practised to such good -purpose that he left a handsome fortune to his son. That son invested a -portion of his inheritance in a farm, and in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>manufacture of linen -at Ballynahinch. Whence the Bettys originally came it would be hard to -say. A good many Huguenots lie in the churchyard at Lisburn, and the -Bettys may have originally sprung from a kindred source. In the reign -of George the Second there was a Rev. Joseph Betty, who created a great -sensation by a sermon which he preached at Oxford. Whether the Betty of -Oxford was an ancestor of him of Ballynahinch is a question which may -be left to Mr. Forster, the pedigree hunter.</p> - -<p>I have said that with his young wife Mr. Betty took to Ireland their -son. Their boy was, and remained, their only child. He was born at -Shrewsbury, which place is also proud of having given birth to famous -Admiral Benbow, also to Orton, the eminent Nonconformist. Master Betty -was English born and Irish bred; half-bred, however; for his English -mother was his nurse, his companion, his friend—in other words, his -true mother. Such an only child used to be called ‘a parlour child,’ to -denote that there was more intercourse between child and parent than -exists in a ‘nursery child,’ to whom the nurse seems his natural guide -and ruler.</p> - -<p>The English lady happened to be a lady well endowed as to her mind, -her tastes, and her accomplishments. She was exactly the mother for -such a boy. She was not only excessively fond of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> reading the best -poets, but of reading passages aloud, or reciting them from memory. Her -audience was her boy. His tastes were in sympathy with his mother’s, -and he was never more delighted than when he sat listening to her -reading or reciting, except when he was reciting passages to her. It -was a peculiar training; it really shaped the boy’s life—and it was -no ill shape which the life took. The father had his share, however, -in clearing the path for the bright, though brief, career. One day the -father, whose intellectual tastes responded to his wife’s, repeated to -his son the speech of Cardinal Wolsey, beginning, ‘Farewell, a long -farewell, to all my greatness.’ In doing this, he suited the action -to the word. Young Betty had never seen this before, and he asked the -meaning of it. ‘It is what is called acting,’ said the father. The boy -thought over it, tried by himself action and motion with elocution, and -he spoke and acted the cardinal’s soliloquy before his mother with an -effect that excited in her the greatest surprise and admiration.</p> - -<p>Not the faintest idea of the stage had, at this time, entered the -minds of any of the family. The eager young lad himself was satisfied -with reading plays, learning passages from them, and reciting speeches -from ‘Douglas’ and ‘Zara,’ from ‘Pizarro’ and the ‘Stranger.’ He also -repeated the episodical tales from Thomson’s ‘Seasons.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> Only the above -trace of his learning anything from Shakespeare is to be found, but -he listened to readings from the national poet by one or other of his -parents. This course had its natural results. By degrees the boy took -to rude attempts, from domestic materials, of dress. ‘Properties’ were -created out of anything that could be turned to the purpose; a screen -was adopted for scenery; audiences of ones and twos were pressed by the -stage-struck youth to tarry and see him act; and finally his father, -well qualified, taught him fencing, the son proving an apt pupil, and -becoming a swordsman as perfect and graceful as Edmund Kean himself.</p> - -<p>His reputation spread beyond home into distant branches of the family. -Those branches shook with disgust. The parents were warned that if -they did not take care the boy would come to the evil end of being -a play-actor! They were alarmed. The domestic stage was suppressed; -silence reigned where the echoes of the dramatic poets once pleasantly -rang, and the heir of Hopton Court and Hopton Wafers was ignominiously -packed off to school. When I say ‘the heir,’ it is because Master Betty -was so called; but it really seems as if his claim resembled that of -the Irish gentleman who was kept out of his property by the rightful -owner.</p> - -<p>There is no record of Master Betty’s school life. We only know that it -did not suppress his taste<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> for dramatic poetry and dramatic action. At -this time, 1802, Mrs. Siddons, who had been acting with her brother, -John Kemble, to empty houses at Drury Lane, left England, in disgust -at the so-called ‘Drury treasury,’ for Ireland. It was the journey -on which she set out with such morbid feelings of despair, as if she -were assured of the trip ending by some catastrophe. It was, in fact, -all triumph, and in the course of her triumphant career she arrived -in Belfast, where, with other parts, she acted Elvira in ‘Pizarro.’ -She had not thought much of the part of the camp-follower when she was -first cast for it, and Sheridan was so dilatory that she had to learn -the last portion of the character after the curtain had risen for the -first acting of the piece. But Sarah Siddons was a true artist. She -ever made the best of the very worst materials; she invested Elvira -with dignity, and it became by far the most popular of the characters -of which she was the original representative. Young Betty entered a -theatre for the first time to see Sheridan’s ‘Pizarro’ acted at the -Belfast theatre, and Mrs. Siddons as Elvira. The boy’s tastes were in -the right direction. He had neither eyes, nor ears, nor senses, but for -her. He was, so to speak, ‘stricken’ by her majestic march, her awful -brow, her graceful action, and her incomparable delivery. He drank at -a fresh fountain; he beheld a new guiding light; he went home in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> -trance; he now knew what was meant by ‘the stage,’ what acting was, -what appropriate speech meant, what it was to be an actor, and what -a delicious reward there was for an inspired artist in the music of -tumultuous applause. When Master Betty awoke from his dream it was to -announce to his parents that he should certainly die if he were not -allowed to be a play-actor!</p> - -<p>He was only eleven years old, and those parents did not wish to lose -him. They at first humoured his bent, and listened smilingly to his -rehearsal of the whole part of Elvira. They had to listen to other -parts, and still had to hear his impressive iteration of his resolution -to die if he were thwarted in his views. At length they yielded. The -father addressed himself to Mr. Atkins, the proprietor and manager of -the Belfast theatre, who consented that the boy should give him a taste -of his quality. When this was done, Atkins was sufficiently struck by -its novelty not to know exactly what to make of it. He called into -council Hough, the prompter, who was warm in his approval. ‘You are my -guardian angel!’ exclaimed the excited boy to the old prompter. Atkins, -with full faith in Hough’s verdict, observed, when the lad had left, -‘I never expected to see another Garrick, but I have seen an infant -Garrick in Master Betty!’</p> - -<p>After some preliminary bargaining, Atkins would not go further than -engage the promising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> ‘infant’ for four nights. The terms were that, -after deducting <i>twelve pounds</i> for the expenses of the house, the -rest was to be divided between the manager and the <i>débutant</i>. The -tragedy of ‘Zara’ was accordingly announced for August 16, 1803, -‘Osman (Sultan of Jerusalem) by a Young Gentleman.’ Now, that year -(and several before and after it) was a troubled year, part of a -perilous time, for Ireland. Sedition was abroad, and everybody, true -man or not, was required to be at home early. The manager could not -have got his tragedy and farce ended and his audience dismissed to -their homes within the legal time but for the order which he obtained -from the military commander of the district that (as printed in the -bill), ‘At the request of the manager the drums have been ordered to -beat an hour later at night.’ The performance was further advertised -‘to begin precisely at six o’clock, that the theatre may be closed by -nine.’ The prices were reckoned by the Irish equivalent of English -shillings—‘Boxes, 3<i>s.</i> 3<i>d.</i>; Pit, 2<i>s.</i> 2<i>d.</i>; Gallery, 1<i>s.</i> -1<i>d.</i>’ In return for the military courtesy, if not as a regular -manifestation of loyalty, it was also stated in the bill, ‘<span class="smcap">God save -the King</span>’ (in capital letters!) ‘will be played at the end of the -second act, and <span class="smcap">Rule Britannia</span> at the end of the play.’</p> - -<p>Belfast was, as it is, an intellectual town. The audience assembled -were not likely to be carried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> away by a mere phenomenon. They -listened, became interested, then deeply stirred, and at last -enthusiastic. The next day the whole town was talking of the almost -perfection with which this boy represented the rage, jealousy, and -despair of Osman. In truth, there was something more than cleverness -in this representation. Let anyone, if he can, read Aaron Hill’s -adaptation of Voltaire’s ‘Zaire’ through. He will see of what dry -bones it is made. Those heavy lines, long speeches, dull movement of -dull plot, stirred now and then by a rant or a roar, require a great -deal more than cleverness to make them endurable. No human being could -live out five acts of such stuff if genius did not uphold the stuff -itself. It was exquisite Mrs. Cibber who gave ‘Zara’ life when she made -her <i>début</i> on the stage, when the tragedy was first played in 1736. -Spranger Barry added fresh vigour to that life when he acted Osman in -1751. Garrick’s genius in Lusignan galvanised the dead heap into living -beauty, never more so than in his last performance in 1776; but the -great genius was Mrs. Cibber; neither Mrs. Bellamy, nor Mrs. Barry, nor -Miss Younge, equalled her. Mrs. Siddons, after them, made Zara live -again, and was nearly equal to Mrs. Cibber. Since her time there has -been neither a Zara, nor Lusignan, nor grown-up Osman, of any note; -and nothing short of genius could make the dry bones live. Voltaire’s -‘Zaire’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> is as dull as Hill’s, but it has revived, and been played -at the Théâtre Français. But every character is well played, from -Mounet Sully, who acts Orosmane, to Dupont Vernon, in Corasmin. The -accomplished Berton plays Nerestan; and it is a lesson to actors only -to hear Maubant deliver the famous lines beginning with ‘Mon Dieu, j’ai -combattu.’</p> - -<p>Mdlle. Sarah Bernhardt is the Zaire, and I can fancy her a French -Cibber. She dies, however, on the stage too much in the horrible -fashion of the ‘Sphinx’; but what attracts French audience is, that -the piece abounds in passages which such audiences may hail in ecstasy -or denounce in disgust. The passages are political, religious, and -cunningly framed free-thinking passages. For these the audience waits, -and signalises their coming by an enthusiasm of delight or an excess of -displeasure.</p> - -<p>At Belfast there was only the eleven-years-old Osman to enthral an -audience. The rest were respectable players. It is not to be believed -that such an audience would have been stirred as they were on that -August night had there not been some mind behind the voice of the young -<i>débutant</i>. He had never been on a stage before, had only once seen a -play acted, had received only a few hints from the old prompter, yet -he seemed to be the very part he represented. There were many doubters -and disbelievers in Belfast, but they, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> the most part, went to -the theatre and were convinced. The three other parts he played were -Douglas, Rolla, and, for his benefit on August 29, Romeo. From that -moment he was ‘renowned,’ and his career certain of success.</p> - -<p>While this boy snatched a triumph, there was another eagerly, -painfully, yet hopefully and determinedly, struggling for one. <i>This</i> -boy scarcely knew by what name to pass, for his mother was a certain -Nance Carey, and his reputed father was one of two brothers, he did -not know which, named Kean. This boy claimed in after years to be an -illegitimate son of the Duke of Norfolk, and he referred, in a way, to -this claim when he called his first child Howard. For Nance Carey the -boy had no love. There was but one woman who was kind to him in his -childhood, Miss Tidswell, of Drury Lane Theatre, and Edmund Kean used -to say, ‘If she was not my mother, why was she kind to me?’ When I pass -Orange Court, Leicester Square, I look with curiosity at the hole where -he got a month’s schooling.</p> - -<p>Born and dragged up, the young life experiences of Edmund Kean were -exactly opposite to those of William Henry West Betty. He had indeed, -because of his childish beauty, been allowed at three years old to -stand or lie as Cupid in one of Noverre’s ballets; and he had, as an -unlucky imp in the witches’ scene of ‘Macbeth,’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> been rebuked by the -offended John Kemble. Since then he had rolled or been kicked about -the world. When Master Betty, at the age of eleven, or nearly twelve, -was laying the foundations of his fortune at Belfast, Edmund Kean was -fifteen, and had often laid himself to sleep on the lee side of a -haystack, for want of wherewith to pay for a better lodging. He had -danced and tumbled at fairs, and had sung in taverns; he had tramped -about the country, carrying Nance Carey’s box of <i>falbalas</i> for sale; -he had been over sea and land; he had joined Richardson’s booth -company, and, at Windsor, it is said that George III. had heard him -recite, and had expressed his approbation in the shape of two guineas, -which Miss Carey took from him.</p> - -<p>It was for the benefit of a mother so different from Master Betty’s -mother that he recited in private families. It is a matter of history -that by one of these recitations he inspired another boy, two years -older than himself, with a taste for the stage and a determination to -gain thereon an honourable position. This third boy was Charles Young. -His son and biographer has told us, that as Charles was one evening at -Christmas time descending the stairs of his father’s house full dressed -for <i>dessert</i>—his father, a London surgeon, lived in rather high -style—he saw a slatternly woman seated on one of the chairs in the -hall, with a boy standing by her side dressed in fantastic garb, with -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> blackest and most penetrating eyes he had ever beheld in human -head. His first impression was that the two were strolling gipsies who -had come for medical advice. Charles Young, we are told, ‘was soon -undeceived, for he had no sooner taken his place by his father’s side -than, to his surprise, the master, instead of manifesting displeasure, -smirked and smiled, and, with an air of self-complacent patronage, -desired his butler to bring in the boy. On his entry he was taken by -the hand, patted on the head, and requested to favour the company with -a specimen of his histrionic ability. With a self-possession marvellous -in one so young he stood forth, knitted his brows, hunched up one -shoulder-blade, and with sardonic grin and husky voice spouted forth -Gloster’s opening soliloquy in “Richard the Third.” He then recited -selections from some of our minor British poets, both grave and gay; -danced a hornpipe; sang songs, both comic and pathetic; and, for fully -an hour, displayed such versatility as to elicit vociferous applause -from his auditory and substantial evidence of its sincerity by a shower -of crown pieces and shillings, a napkin having been opened and spread -upon the floor for their reception. The accumulated treasury having -been poured into the gaping pockets of the lad’s trousers, with a smile -of gratified vanity and grateful acknowledgment he withdrew, rejoined -his tatterdemalion friend in the hall,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> and left the house rejoicing. -The door was no sooner closed than the guests desired to know the name -of the youthful prodigy who had so astonished them. The host replied -that this was not the first time he had had him to amuse his friends; -that he knew nothing of the lad’s history or antecedents, but that his -name was Edmund Kean, and that of the woman who seemed to have charge -of him and was his supposititious mother, Carey.’ This pretty scene, -described by the Rev. Julian Young, had a supplement to it of which he -was not aware. ‘She took all from me,’ was Edmund Kean’s cry when he -used to tell similar incidents of his hard youthful times.</p> - -<p>While Edmund was thus struggling, Master Betty had leaped into fame. -Irish managers were ready to fight duels for the possession of him. -When the announcement went forth that Mr. Frederick Jones, of the Crow -Street Theatre, Dublin, was the possessor of the youthful phenomenon -for nine nights, there was a rush of multitudes to secure places, with -twenty times more applicants than places. There was ferocious fighting -for what could be secured, and much spoliation, with peril of life and -damage to limb, and an atmosphere filled with thunder and lightning, -delightful to the Dublin mind.</p> - -<p>On November 29, 1803, Master Betty, not in his own name, but simply -as a ‘young gentleman,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> only twelve years of age,’ made his <i>début</i> -in Dublin as Douglas. The play-bill, indeed, did add, ‘his admirable -talents have procured him the deserved appellation of the <span class="smcap">Infant -Roscius</span>.’ As there were sensitive people in Dublin who remembered -that Dublin itself was in what would now be called a state of siege, -and that it was unlawful to be out after a certain hour in the evening, -these were won over by this delicious announcement: ‘The public are -respectfully informed that no person coming from the theatre will -be stopped till after eleven o’clock.’ This was the time, too, when -travellers were induced to trust themselves to mail and stagecoaches -by the assurance that the vehicles were made proof against shot. There -was no certainty the travellers would not be fired at, but the comfort -was that if the bullets did not go through the window and kill the -travellers, they could not much injure the vehicle itself!</p> - -<p>There was the unheard-of sum of four hundred pounds in that old Crow -Street Theatre on that November night. The university students in the -gallery, who generally made it rattle with their wit, were silent -as soon as the curtain rose. The Dublin audience was by no means an -audience easy to please, or one that would befool itself by passing -mediocrity with the stamp of genius upon it. ‘Douglas,’ too, is a -tragedy that must be attentively listened to, to be enjoyed, and -enjoyment is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> out of the question if the poetry of the piece be a lost -beauty to the deliverer of the lines. On this night, Dublin ratified -the Belfast verdict. The graceful boy excited the utmost enthusiasm, -and the manager offered him an engagement at an increasing salary, -for any number of years. The offer was wisely declined by Master -Betty’s father, and the ‘Infant Roscius’ went on his bright career. -He played one other part, admirably suited to him in every respect, -Prince Arthur, in ‘King John,’ and he fairly drowned the house in tears -with it. Frederick, in ‘Lovers’ Vows,’ and Romeo, were only a trifle -beyond his age, not at all beyond his grasp, though love-making was the -circumstance which he could the least satisfactorily portray. A boy -sighing like furnace to young beauty must have seemed as ridiculous as -a Juliet of fifty, looking older than the Nurse, and who, one would -think, ought to be ashamed of herself to be out in a balcony at that -time of night, talking nonsense with that young fellow with a feather -in his cap and a sword on his thigh! Dublin wits made fun of Master -Betty’s wooing, and were epigrammatic upon it in the style of Martial, -and saucy actresses seized the same theme to air their saucy wit. These -casters of stones from the roadside could not impede the boy’s triumph. -He produced immense effect, even in Thomson’s dreary ‘Tancred,’ but I -am sorry to find it asserted that he acted Hamlet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> after learning the -part in three days. The great Betterton, greatest of the great masters -of their art, used to say that he had acted Hamlet and studied it for -fifty years, and had not got to the bottom of its philosophy even -then. However, the boy’s remarkable gifts made his Hamlet successful. -There was a rare comedian who played with him, Richard Jones, with -a cast in one eye. Accomplished Dick, whose only serious fault was -excess in peppermint lozenges, acted Osric, Count Cassel, and Mercutio, -in three of the pieces in which Master Betty played the principal -characters. What a glorious true comedian was Dick! After delighting a -whole generation with his comedy, Jones retired. He taught clergymen -to read the Lord’s Prayer as if they were in earnest, and to deliver -the messages of the Gospel as if they believed in them; and in this -way Dick Jones did as much for the church as any of the bishops or -archbishops of his time.</p> - -<p>It is to be noted here that Master Betty’s first appearance in Dublin -in 1803 was a more triumphant matter than John Kemble’s in 1781. This -was in the older Smock Alley Theatre. The alley was so called from the -Sallys who most did congregate there. He played high comedy as well -as tragedy; but, says Mr. Gilbert, in his ‘History of Dublin,’ ‘his -negligent delivery and heaviness of deportment impeded his progress -until these defects were removed by the instruction of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> friend, -Captain Jephson.’ Is not this delicious? Fancy John Kemble being -made an actor by a half-pay captain who had written a tragedy! This -tragedy was called the ‘Count of Narbonne,’ and therein, says Gilbert, -‘Kemble’s reputation was first established.’ It was not on a very firm -basis, for John was engaged only on the modest salary of 5<i>l.</i> a week!</p> - -<p>Master Betty’s progress through the other parts of Ireland was as -completely successful as at Dublin and Belfast. Mrs. Pero engaged -him for six nights at Cork. His terms here were one-fourth of the -receipts and one clear benefit, that is to say, the whole of the -receipts free of expense. As the receipts rarely exceeded ten pounds, -the prospects were not brilliant. But, with Master Betty, the ‘houses’ -reached one hundred pounds. The smaller receipts may have arisen from -a circumstance sufficient to keep an audience away. There was a Cork -tailor hanged for robbery; but, after he was cut down, a Cork actor, -named Glover, succeeded, by friction and other means, in bringing him -to life again! On the same night, and for many nights, the tailor, -drunk and unhanged, <i>would</i> go to the theatre and publicly acknowledge -the service of Mr. Glover in bringing him to life again! And it <i>is</i> -said that he was the third tailor who had outlived hanging during ten -years!</p> - -<p>There was no ghastly interruption of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>performance of the Roscius. -The engagement was extended to nine nights, and the one which followed -at Waterford was equally successful. As he proceeded, Master Betty -studied and extended his <i>répertoire</i>. He added to his list Octavian, -and on his benefit nights he played in the farce, on one occasion Don -Carlos in ‘Lovers’ Quarrels,’ on another Captain Flash in ‘Miss in -her Teens.’ Subsequently, in Londonderry, the flood of success still -increasing, the pit could only be entered at box prices. Master Betty -played in Londonderry long before the time when a Mr. MacTaggart, -an old citizen, used to be called upon between the acts to give his -unbiassed critical opinions on the performances. It was the rarest fun -for the house, and the most painful wholesomeness for the actors, Frank -Connor and his father, Villars, Fitzsimons, Cunningham, O’Callaghan, -and clever Miss M’Keevor (with her pretty voice and sparkling one eye), -to hear the stern and salubrious criticism of Mr. MacTaggart, at the -end of which there was a cry for the tune of ‘No Surrender!’ Not to -wound certain susceptibilities, and yet be national, the key-bugle -gentleman, who was half the orchestra, generally played ‘Norah Creena,’ -and thus the play proceeded merrily.</p> - -<p>Master Betty played Zanga at Londonderry, and he passed thence to -Glasgow, where for fourteen nights he attracted crowded audiences, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> -added to his other parts Richard the Third, which he must have learnt -as he sailed from Belfast up the Clyde. Jackson, the manager, went all -but mad with delight and full houses. He wrote an account of his new -treasure in terms more transcendent than ‘the transcendent boy’ himself -could accept. Had Young Roscius been a divinity descended upon earth, -the rhapsody could not have been more highly pitched; but it was fully -endorsed by nine-tenths of the Glasgow people, and when a bold fellow -ventured to write a satirical philippic against the divine idol of -the hour, he was driven out of the city as guilty of something like -sacrilege, profanation, and general unutterable wickedness.</p> - -<p>On May 21, 1804, the transcendental Mr. Jackson was walking on the High -Bridge, Edinburgh, when he met an old gentleman of some celebrity, the -Rev. Mr. Home. ‘Sir,’ said Jackson, ‘your play, “Douglas,” is to be -acted to-night with a new and wonderful actor. I hope you will come -down to the house.’ Forty-eight years before (1756) Home had gone -joyously down to the Edinburgh Theatre to see his ‘Douglas’ represented -for the first time. West Digges (not Henry West Betty) was the Norval, -and the house was half full of ministers of the Kirk, who got into a -sea of troubles for presuming to see acted a play written by a fellow -in the ministry. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> - -<p>The Lady Randolph was Mrs. Ward, daughter of a player of the Betterton -period, and mother, I think, of Mrs. Roger Kemble. On that night one -enthusiastic Scotsman was so delighted that at the end of the fourth -act he arose and roared aloud, ‘Where’s Wully Shakespeare noo?’ Home -had also seen Spranger Barry in the hero (he was the original Norval -(Douglas) on the play being first acted in 1757 in London). Home was -an aged man in 1804, and lived in retirement. He did not know his -‘Douglas’ was to be played, nor had he ever heard of Master Betty! -Never heard of him whom Jackson said he had been presented to Earth by -Heaven and Nature! ‘The pleasing movements of his perfect and divine -nature,’ said Jackson, ‘were incorporated in his person previous to -his birth.’ Home could not refuse to go and see this phenomenon. He -stipulated to have his old place at the wing, that is, behind the stage -door, partially opened, so that he could see up the stage. The old man -was entirely overcome. Digges and Barry, he declared, were leather and -prunella compared with this inspired child who acted his Norval as he -the author had conceived it. Home’s enthusiasm was so excited that, -when Master Betty was summoned by the ‘thunders’ of applause and the -‘hurricane’ of approbation to appear before the audience, Home tottered -forward also, tears streaming from his eyes, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>rapture beaming on -his venerable countenance. The triumph was complete. The most impartial -critics especially praised the boy’s conception of the poet, and it was -the highest praise they could give. Between June 28 and August 9 he -acted fifteen times, often under the most august patronage that could -be found in Edinburgh. For the first time he played Selim (Achmet) in -‘Barbarossa’ during this engagement, and with such effect as to make -him more the ‘darling’ than ever of duchesses and ladies in general. -Four days after the later date named above, the marvellous boy stood -before a Birmingham audience, whither he had gone covered with kisses -from Scottish beauties, and laden with the approval, counsel, and -blessing of Lords of Session.</p> - -<p>Mr. Macready, father of the lately deceased actor, bargained for the -Roscius, and overreached himself. He thought 10<i>l.</i> a night too much! -He proposed that he should deduct 60<i>l.</i> from each night’s receipts, -and that Master Betty should take half of what remained. The result was -that Roscius got 50<i>l.</i> nightly instead of 10<i>l.</i> The first four nights -were not overcrowded, but the boy grew on the town, and at last upon -the whole country. Stage-coaches were advertised specially to carry -parties from various distances to the Birmingham Theatre. The highest -receipt was 266<i>l.</i> to his Richard. Selim was the next.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> 261<i>l.</i> The -lowest receipt was also to his Richard. On the first night he played -it there was only 80<i>l.</i> in the house. He left Birmingham with the -assurance of a local poet that he was Cooke, Kemble, Holman, Garrick, -all in one. Sheffield was delighted to have him at raised prices of -admission. He made his first appearance to deliver a rhymed deprecatory -address, in reference to wide-cast ridicule on his being a mere boy, in -which were these lines:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>When at our Shakespeare’s shrine my swelling heart</div> -<div>Bursts forth and claims some kindred tear to start,</div> -<div>Frown not, if I avow that falling tear</div> -<div>Inspires my soul and bids me persevere.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>His Hamlet drew the highest sum at Sheffield, 140<i>l.</i>; his Selim the -lowest, 60<i>l.</i>, which was just doubled when he played the same part -for his own benefit. London had caught curiosity, if not enthusiasm, -to see him; the Sheffield hotels became crowded with London families, -and ‘Six-inside coaches to see the Young Roscius’ plied at Doncaster -to carry people from the races. At Liverpool there were riots and -spoliation at the box-office. At Chester wild delight. At Manchester -tickets were put up to lottery. At Stockport he played morning and -evening, and travelled after it all night to play at Leicester, where -he also acted on some occasions twice in one day! and where every lady -who could write occasional<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> verses showered upon him a very deluge of -rhyme.</p> - -<p>November had now been reached. In that month John Kemble, who is -supposed to have protested against the dignity of the stage being -lowered by a speaking puppet, wrote a letter to Mr. Betty. In this -letter John said: ‘I could not deny myself the satisfaction I feel in -knowing I shall soon have the happiness of welcoming you and Master -Betty to Covent Garden Theatre. Give me leave to say how heartily -I congratulate the stage on the ornament and support it is, by the -judgment of all the world, to receive from Master Betty’s extraordinary -talents and exertions.’ After this we may dismiss as nonsense the lofty -talk about the Kemble feeling as to the dignity of the stage being -wounded. Mr. Kemble and Mrs. Siddons would not play in the same piece -with Master Betty, as Jones, Charles Young, Miss Smith (Mrs. Bartley), -and others had done in the country, but Mr. Kemble (as manager) -was delighted that the Covent Garden treasury should profit by the -extraordinary talents of a boy whom the Kemble followers continually -depreciated.</p> - -<p>On Saturday, December 1, 1804, Master Betty appeared at Covent Garden -in the character of Selim. Soon after mid-day the old theatre—the -one which Rich had built and to which he transferred his company from -Lincoln’s Inn Fields—was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> beset by a crowd which swelled into a -multitude, not one in ten of whom succeeded in fighting his way into -the house when the doors were opened. Such a struggle—sometimes for -life—had never been known. Even in the house strong men fainted like -delicate girls; an hour passed before the shrieks of the suffering -subsided, and we are even told that ‘the ladies in one or two boxes -were employed almost the whole night in fanning the gentlemen who were -behind them in the pit!’ The only wonder is that the excited multitude, -faint for want of air, irritable by being overcrowded, and fierce in -struggling for space which no victor in the struggle could obtain, ever -was subdued to a condition of calm sufficient to enable them to enjoy -the ‘rare delight’ within reach. However, in the second act Master -Betty appeared—modest, self-possessed, and not at all moved out of -his assumed character by the tempest of welcome which greeted him. -From first to last, he ‘electrified’ the audience. He never failed, we -are told, whenever he aimed at making a point. His attention to the -business of the stage was that of a careful and conscientious veteran. -His acting denoted study. His genius won applause—not his age, and -youthful grace. There was ‘conception,’ rather than ‘instruction’ to -be seen in all he did and said. His undertones could be heard at the -very back of the galleries. The pathos, the joy, the exultation of -a part (once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> so favourite a part with young actors), enchanted the -audience. That they felt all these things sincerely is proved by the -fact that—as one newspaper critic writes—‘the audience could not -lower their minds to attend to the farce, which was not suffered to be -concluded.’</p> - -<p>The theatrical career of his ‘Young Roscius’ period amounted to this. -He played at both houses in London from December 1804 to April 1805, in -a wide range of characters, and supported by some of the first actors -of the day. He then played in every town of importance throughout -England and Scotland. He returned to London for the season 1805-6, and -acted twenty-four nights at each theatre, at fifty guineas a night. -Subsequently he acted in the country; and finally, he took leave of the -stage at Bath in March 1808. Altogether, London possessed him but a few -months. The madness which prevailed about him was ‘midsummer madness,’ -though it was but a short fit. That he himself did not go mad is the -great wonder. Princes of the blood called on him, the Lord Chancellor -invited him, nobles had him day after day to dinner, and the King -presented him to the Queen and Princesses in the room behind the Royal -box. Ladies carried him off to the Park as those of Charles II.’s time -did with Kynaston. When he was ill the sympathetic town rushed to read -his bulletins with tremulous eagerness. Portraits of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> him abounded, -presents were poured in upon him, poets and poetasters deafened the -ear about him, misses patted his beautiful hair and asked ‘locks’ from -him. The future King of France and Navarre, Count d’Artois, afterwards -Charles X., witnessed his performance, in French, of ‘Zaphna,’ at -Lady Percival’s; Gentleman Smith presented him with Garrick relics; -Cambridge University gave ‘Roscius’ as the subject for the Brown Prize -Medal, and the House of Commons adjourned, at the request of Pitt, -in order to witness his ‘Hamlet.’ At the Westminster Latin Play (the -‘Adelphi’ of Terence) he was present in a sort of royal state, and the -Archbishop of York all but publicly blest him. Some carping persons -remarked that the boy was too ignorant to understand a word of the play -that was acted in his presence. When it is remembered how Latin was and -is pronounced at Westminster, it is not too much to say that Terence -(had he been there) would not have understood much more of his own play -than Master Betty did.</p> - -<p>The boy reigned triumphantly through his little day, and the -professional critics generally praised to the skies his mental capacity -as well as his bodily endowments. They discovered beauty in both, -and it is to the boy’s credit that their praise did not render him -conceited. He studied new parts, and his attention to business, his -modesty,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> his boyish spirits in the green room, his docility, and -the respect he paid to older artists, were among the items of the -professional critic’s praise.</p> - -<p>Let us pass from the professional critics to the judgment of private -individuals of undoubted ability to form and give one (we have only to -premise that Master Betty played alternately at Covent Garden and Drury -Lane). And first, Lord Henley. Writing to Lord Auckland, on December 7, -1804, he says, ‘I went to see the Young Roscius with an unprejudiced -mind, or rather, perhaps, with the opinion you seem to have formed of -him, and left the theatre in the highest admiration of his wonderful -talents. As I scarcely remember Garrick, I may say (though there be, -doubtless, room for improvement) that I never saw such fine acting, -and yet the poor boy’s voice was that night a good deal affected by a -cold. I would willingly pay a guinea for a place on every night of his -appearing in a new character.’</p> - -<p>Even Fox, intent as he was on public business, and absorbed by -questions of magnitude concerning his country, and of importance -touching himself, was caught by the general enthusiasm. There is a -letter of his, dated December 17, 1804, addressed to his ‘Dear Young -One,’ Lord Holland, who was then about thirty years old. The writer -urges his nephew to hasten from Spain to England, on account of the -serious parliamentary struggle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> likely to occur; adding, ‘there -is always a chance of questions in which the Prince of Wales is -particularly concerned;’ and subjoining the sagacious statesmanlike -remark: ‘It is very desirable that the power, strength, and union of -the Opposition should appear considerable while out of office, in order -that if ever they should come in it may be plain that they have an -existence of their own, and are not the mere creatures of the Crown.’ -But Fox breaks suddenly away from subjects of crafty statesmanship, -with this sentence: ‘Everybody here is mad about this Boy Actor, even -Uncle Dick is full of astonishment and admiration. We go to town -to-morrow to see him, and from what I have heard, I own I shall be -disappointed if he is not a prodigy.’</p> - -<p>On the same day Fox wrote a letter from St. Anne’s Hill to the Hon. -C. Grey (the Lord Grey of the Reform Bill). It is bristling with -‘politicks,’ but between reference to party battles and remarks -on Burke, the statesman says: ‘Everybody is mad about this Young -Roscius, and we go to town to-morrow to see him. The accounts of him -seem incredible; but the opinion of him is nearly unanimous, and -Fitzpatrick, who went strongly prepossessed against him, was perfectly -astonished and full of admiration.’</p> - -<p>We do not find any letter of Fox’s extant to tell us his opinion of -the ‘tenth wonder.’ We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> can go with him to the play, nevertheless. -‘While young Betty was in all his glory,’ says Samuel Rogers, in his -‘Table Talk,’ ‘I went with Fox and Mrs. Fox, after dining with them in -Arlington Street, to see him act Hamlet; and, during the play scene, -Fox, to my infinite surprise, said, “This is finer than Garrick!”’ Fox -would not have said so if he had not thought so. He did not say as -much to Master Betty, but he best proved his sympathy by sitting with -and reading to him passages from the great dramatists, mingled with -excellent counsel.</p> - -<p>Windham, the famous statesman, who as much loved to see a pugilistic -fight as Fox did to throw double sixes, and to whom a stroll in -Leicester Fields was as agreeable as an hour with an Italian poet -was to Fox—Windham hurried through the Fields to Covent Garden. His -diary for the year 1804 is lost; but in that for 1805 we come upon -his opinion of the attractive player, after visits in both years. On -January 31, 1805, there is this entry in his diary;—‘Went, according -to arrangement, with Elliot and Grenville to play; Master Betty in -Frederick’ (‘Lovers’ Vows’). ‘Lord Spencer, who had been shooting -at Osterley, came afterwards. Liked Master B. better than before, -but still inclined to my former opinion; his action certainly very -graceful, except now and then that he is a little tottering on his -legs, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> his recitation just, but his countenance not expressive; his -voice neither powerful nor pleasing.’</p> - -<p>The criticisms of actors were generally less favourable. Kemble was -‘riveted,’ we are told, by the acting of Master Betty; but he was -contemptuously silent. Mrs. Siddons, according to Campbell, ‘never -concealed her disgust at the popular infatuation.’ At the end of the -play Lord Abercorn came into her box and told her that that boy, Betty, -would eclipse everything which had been called acting, in England. ‘My -Lord,’ she answered, ‘he is a very clever, pretty boy; but nothing -more.’ Mrs. Siddons, however, was meanly jealous of all that stood -between her and the public. When Mrs. Siddons was young, she was -jealous of grand old Mrs. Crawford. When Mrs. Siddons was old, and -had retired, she was jealous of young Miss O’Neill. She querulously -said that the public were fond of setting up new idols in order to -annoy their former favourites. George Frederick Cooke who had played -Glenalvon to Master Betty’s Norval—played it finely too, at his very -best—and could not crush the boy, after whom everybody was repeating -the line he made so famous,</p> - -<p class="center">The blood of Douglas can protect itself!</p> - -<p>—Cooke alluded to him in his diary, for 1811, thus: ‘I was visited -by Master Payne, the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>American Young Roscius; I thought him a polite, -sensible youth, and the reverse of our Young Roscius.’ This was an -ebullition of irritability. Even those who could not praise Roscius -as a tenth wonder, acknowledged his courtesy and were struck by his -good common sense. Boaden, who makes the singular remark that ‘all -the favouritism, and more than the innocence, of former patronesses -was lavished on him,’ also tells us more intelligibly, that Master -Betty ‘never lost the genuine modesty of his carriage; and his temper, -at least, was as steady as his diligence.’ One actor said, ‘Among -clever boys he would have been a Triton among minnows;’ but Mrs. -Inchbald remarked, ‘Had I never seen boys act, I might have thought -him extraordinary.’ ‘Baby-faced child!’ said Campbell. ‘Handsome face! -graceful figure! marvellous power!’ is the testimony of Mrs. Mathews. -The most unbiassed judgment I can find is Miss Seward’s, who wrote thus -of him in 1804, after seeing him as Osman in ‘Zara’: ‘It could not have -been conceived or represented with more grace, sensibility, and fire, -though he is veritably an effeminate boy of thirteen; but his features -are cast in a diminutive mould, particularly his nose and mouth. -This circumstance must at every period of life be injurious to stage -effect; nor do I think his ear for blank verse faultless. Like Cooke, -he never fails to give the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> passions their whole force, by gesture -and action natural and just; but he does not do equal justice to the -harmony. It is, I think, superfluous to look forward to the mature -fruit of this luxuriant blossom.’ Miss Seward was right; but she was -less correct in her prophecy, ‘He will not live to bear it. Energies -various and violent will blast in no short time the vital powers, -evidently delicate.’ He survived this prophecy just seventy years! One -other opinion of him I cannot forbear adding. It is Elliston’s, and -it is in the very loftiest of Robert William’s manner, who was born a -little more than one hundred years ago! ‘Sir, my opinion of the young -gentleman’s talents will never transpire during my life. I have written -my convictions down. They have been attested by competent witnesses, -and sealed and deposited in the iron safe at my banker’s, to be drawn -forth and opened, with other important documents, at my death. The -world will then know what Mr. Elliston thought of Master Betty!’</p> - -<p>The Young Roscius withdrew from the stage and entered Christ’s College, -Cambridge. He there enjoyed quiet study and luxurious seclusion. -Meanwhile that once boy with the flashing eyes, Edmund Kean, had got a -modest post at the Haymarket, where he played Rosencrantz to Mr. Rae’s -Hamlet. He had also struggled his way to Belfast, and had acted Osman -to Mrs. Siddons’ Zara. ‘He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> plays well, very well,’ said the lady: ‘but -there is too little of him to make a great actor.’ Edmund, too, had -married ‘Mary Chambers,’ at Stroud, and Mr. Beverley had turned the -young couple out of his company, ‘to teach them not to do it again!’ -In 1812, ‘Mr. Betty,’ come to man’s estate, returned to the stage, at -Bath. A few months previously Mr. and Mrs. Kean were wandering from -town to town. In rooms, to which the public were invited by written -bills, in Kean’s hand, they recited scenes from plays and sang duets; -and <i>he</i> trilled songs, spoke soliloquies, danced hornpipes, and gave -imitations!—and starved, and hoped—and would by no means despair.</p> - -<p>Mr. Betty’s second career lasted from 1812 to 1824, when he made his -last bow at Southampton, as the Earl of Warwick. Within the above -period he acted at Covent Garden, in 1812 and 1813. He proved to be a -highly ‘respectable’ actor; but the phenomenon no longer existed. His -last performance in London was in June 1813, when he played ‘Richard -III.’ and ‘Tristram Fickle’ for his benefit. In the following January -Edmund Kean, three years his senior, took the town by storm in Shylock, -and made his conquest good by his incomparable Richard. The genius of -Mr. Betty left him with his youth. Edmund Kean drowned his genius in -wine and rioting before his manhood was matured. Forty-eight years -have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> elapsed since he was carried to his grave in Richmond churchyard. -Honoured and regretted, all that was mortal of the once highly-gifted -boy, who lived to be a venerable and much-loved old man, ‘fourscore -years and upwards,’ was borne to his last resting-place in the cemetery -at Highgate. <i>Requiescat in pace!</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>CHARLES YOUNG AND HIS TIMES.</i></h2> - -<p>Charles Mayne Young, one of the last of the school of noble actors, -has found a biographer in his son, the Rev. Julian Young, Rector of -Ilmington. Here we have stage and pulpit in happy and not unusual -propinquity. There was a time when the clergy had the drama entirely -to themselves; they were actors, authors, and managers. The earliest -of them all retired to the monastery of St. Alban, after his theatre -at Dunstable had been burnt down, at the close of a squib-and-rocket -sort of drama on the subject of St. Theresa. At the Reformation the -stage became secularised, the old moralities died out, and the new -men and pieces were denounced as wicked by the ‘unco righteous’ among -their dramatic clerical predecessors. Nevertheless, the oldest comedy -of worldly manners we possess—‘Ralph Roister Doister’—was the work of -the Rev. Dr. Nicholas Udall, in 1540. During the three centuries and -nearly a half which have elapsed since that time, clergymen have ranked -among the best writers for the stage. The two most successful tragedies -of the last century were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> the Rev. Dr. Young’s ‘Revenge,’ and the Rev. -J. Home’s ‘Douglas.’ In the present century few comedies have made such -a sensation as the Rev. Dr. Croly’s ‘Pride shall have a Fall,’ but -the sensation was temporary, the comedy only illustrating local and -contemporary incidents.</p> - -<p>A dozen other ‘Reverends’ might be cited who have more or less adorned -dramatic literature, and there are many instances of dramatic artists -whose sons or less near kinsmen having taken orders in the Church. -When Sutton, in the pulpit of St. Mary Overy, <span class="smaller">A.D.</span> 1616, -denounced the stage, Nathaniel Field, the eminent actor, published a -letter to the preacher, in which Field said that in the player’s trade -there were corruptions as there were in all others; he implied, as -Overbury implied, that the actor was not to be judged by the dross of -the craft, but by the purer metal. Field anticipated Fielding’s Newgate -Chaplain, who upheld ‘Punch’ on the same ground that the comedian -upheld the stage—that it was nowhere spoken against in Scripture! -The year 1616 was the year in which Shakespeare died. It is commonly -said that the players of Shakespeare’s time were of inferior birth and -culture, but Shakespeare himself was of a well-conditioned family, and -this Nathaniel Field who stood up for the honour of the stage against -the censure of the pulpit, had for brother that Rev. Theophilus Field -who was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> successively Bishop of Llandaff, St. David’s, and Hereford. -Charles Young was not the only actor of his day who gave a son to the -Church. His old stage-manager at Bath, Mr. Charlton, saw not only his -son but his grandsons usefully employed in the more serious vocation. -As for sons of actors at the universities, they have seldom been -wanting, from William Hemming (son of John Hemming, the actor, and -joint-editor with Condell of the folio edition of Shakespeare’s Works), -who took his degree at Oxford in 1628, down to Julian Charles Young, -son of the great tragedian, who took his degree in the same university -two centuries later; or, to be precise, <span class="smaller">A.D.</span> 1827.</p> - -<p>Charles Mayne Young, who owed his second name to the circumstance of -his descent from the regicide who was so called, was born in Fenchurch -Street, in 1777. His father was an able surgeon and a reckless -spendthrift. Before the household fell into ruin, Charles Young had -passed a holiday year, partly at the Court of Copenhagen. He had -seen a boy with flashing eyes play bits from Shakespeare before the -guests at his father’s table—a strolling, fantastically-dressed, -intellectual boy, whose name was Edmund Kean. Further, Charles Young -saw and appreciated, at the age of twelve, Mrs. Siddons as the mother -of Coriolanus. He also passed through Eton and Merchant Taylors’. -When the surgeon’s household was broken up, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> Young and his two -brothers took their ill-used mother to their own keeping, they adopted -various courses for her and their own support, and all of them -succeeded. Charles Young, after passing a restless novitiate in a -merchant’s office (the more restless, probably, as he thought of two -personages—the bright, gipsy-looking boy who had acted in his father’s -dining-room, and the Volumnia of Mrs. Siddons, as she triumphed in the -tragedy of Coriolanus), went upon the stage, triumphed in his turn, and -assumed the sole guardianship and support of the mother he loved.</p> - -<p>Young’s father was a remarkably detestable person. He never seems to -have forgiven his sons for the affection which they manifested towards -their mother. After the separation of the parents, George Young, the -eldest son, was in a stage-coach going to Hackney; on the road, a -stranger got in, took the only vacant seat, and, on seeing George -Young opposite to him, struck him a violent blow in the face. George -quietly called to the coachman to stop, and without exchanging a word -with the stranger, got out, to the amazement of the other passengers. -But, as he closed the door, he looked in and simply said, ‘Ladies and -gentlemen, that is my father!’ In 1807, when Charles Young made his -first appearance in London, at the Haymarket, as Hamlet, his father sat -ensconced in a corner of the house,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> and hissed him! Neither the blow -nor the hiss did more than momentarily wound the feelings of the sons.</p> - -<p>Before Young came up to London, he had seen some of the sunshine and -some of the bitterness of life. He married the young, beautiful, and -noble woman and actress, Julia Grimani. They had a brief, joyous, -married time of little more than a year, when the birth of a son was -the death of the mother. For the half-century that Young survived her -no blandishment of woman ever led him to be untrue to her memory. To -look with tears on her miniature-portrait, to touch tenderly some -clustered locks of her hair, to murmur some affectionate word of -praise, and, finally, to thank God that he should soon be with her, -showed how young heart-feelings had survived in old heart-memories.</p> - -<p>Charles Young adorned the English stage from 1807 to 1832. Because -he acted with the Kembles he is sometimes described as being of the -Kemble school. In a great theatre the leading player is often imitated -throughout the house. There was a time when everybody employed at Drury -Lane seemed a double of Mr. Macready. Charles Young, however, was an -original actor. It took him but five years to show that he was equal -in some characters to John Kemble himself. This was seen in 1812, in -his Cassius to Kemble’s Brutus.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> On that occasion Terry is said to -have been the Casca—a part which was really played by Fawcett. About -ten years later, Young left the Covent Garden company and 25<i>l.</i> a -week, for Drury Lane and 50<i>l.</i> a night, to play in the same pieces -with Kean. The salary proved that the manager thought him equal in -attractiveness to Kean; and Kean was, undoubtedly, somewhat afraid of -him. Young’s secession was as great a loss to the company he had been -acting with, as Compton’s has been to the Haymarket company. In both -cases, a perfect artist withdrew from the brotherhood.</p> - -<p>Young was fifteen years upon the London stage before he could free -himself from nervousness—nervousness, not merely like that of Mrs. -Siddons, before going on, but when fairly in face of the audience. In -1826, he told Moore, at a dinner of the Anacreontics, that any close -observer of his acting must have been conscious of a great improvement -therein, dating from the previous four years. That is to say, dating -from the time when he first played in the same piece with Edmund Kean. -The encounter with that great master of his art seems to have braced -Young’s nerves. Kean could not extinguish him as he extinguished Booth -when those two acted together in the same play. Edmund, who spoke of -Macready as ‘a player,’ acknowledged Young to be ‘an actor.’ Kean -confessed Young’s superiority in Iago, and he could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> not bear to think -of playing either that character or Pierre after him. Edmund believed -in the greater merit of his own Othello. Young allowed that Kean had -genius, but he was not enthusiastic in his praise; and Edmund, whose -voice in tender passages was exquisite music, referred to the d——d -musical voice of Young; and in his irritable moments spake of him as -‘that Jesuit!’</p> - -<p>The greatest of Young’s original characters was his Rienzi. In Miss -Mitford’s tragedy, Young pronounced ‘Rome’ <i>Room</i>. Many old play-goers -can recollect how ill the word fell from his musical lips. John Kemble -would never allow an actor in his company to give other utterance to -the monosyllable. It was a part of the vicious and fantastic utterances -of the Kemble family. Leigh Hunt has furnished a long list of them. -Shakespeare, indeed, has ‘Now it is Rome indeed, and room enough,’ as -Cassius says. But in ‘Henry VI.,’ when Beaufort exclaims, ‘Rome shall -remedy this!’ Warwick replies, ‘<i>Roam</i> thither, then!’ The latter -jingle is far more common than the former. We agree with Genest, ‘Let -the advocates for <i>Room</i> be consistent. If the city is <i>Room</i>, the -citizens are certainly <i>Roomans</i>.’ They who would have any idea how -John Kemble mutilated the pronunciation of the English language on the -stage, have only to consult the appendix to Leigh Hunt’s ‘Critical -Essays on the Performers of the London<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> Theatres.’ Such pronunciation -seems now more appropriate to burlesque than to Shakespeare.</p> - -<p>When the idea was first started of raising a statue in honour of -Kemble, Talma wrote to ‘mon cher Young,’ expressing his wish to be -among the subscribers. ‘In that idea I recognise your countrymen,’ -said Talma. ‘I shall be too fortunate here if the priests leave me a -grave in my own garden.’ The Comte de Soligny, or the author who wrote -under that name, justly said in his ‘Letters on England,’ that Young -was unlike any actor on the stage. His ornamental style had neither -model nor imitators. ‘I cannot help thinking,’ writes the Count, ‘what -a sensation Young would have created had he belonged to the French -instead of the English stage. With a voice almost as rich, powerful, -and sonorous as that of Talma—action more free, flowing, graceful, and -various; a more expressive face, and a better person—he would have -been hardly second in favour and attraction to that grandest of living -actors. As it is, he admirably fills up that place on the English stage -which would have been a blank without him.’ This is well and truly -said, and it is applicable to ‘Gentleman Young’ throughout his whole -career—a period during which he played a vast variety of characters, -from Hamlet to Captain Macheath. He was not one of those players who -were always in character. Between the scenes of his most serious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> parts -he would keep the green-room merry with his stories, and be serious -again as soon as his part required him. Young’s modest farewell to the -stage reminds us of Garrick’s. The latter took place on June 10, 1776. -The play was ‘The Wonder,’ Don Felix by Garrick; with ‘The Waterman.’ -The bill is simply headed, ‘The last time of the company’s performing -this season,’ and it concludes with these words: ‘The profits of this -night being appropriated to the benefit of the Theatrical Fund, the -Usual Address upon that Occasion Will be spoken by Mr. Garrick before -the Play.’ The bill is now before us, and not a word in it refers to -the circumstance that it was the last night that Garrick would ever -act, and that he would take final leave after the play. All the world -was supposed to know it. The only intimation that something unusual -was on foot is contained in the words, ‘Ladies are desired to send -their servants a little after 5, to keep places, to prevent confusion.’ -Garrick’s farewell speech is stereotyped in all dramatic memories. His -letter to Clutterbuck in the previous January is not so familiar. He -says, ‘I have at last slipt my theatrical shell, and shall be as fine -and free a gentleman as you should wish to see upon the South or North -Parade of Bath. I have sold my moiety of patent, &c., for 35,000<i>l.</i>, -to Messrs. Dr. Ford, Ewart, Sheridan, and Linley.... I grow somewhat -older,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> though I never played better in all my life, and am resolved -not to remain upon the stage to be pitied instead of applauded!’ -Garrick was sixty years of age when he left the stage. Young was five -years less. In his modest farewell speech, after the curtain had -descended on his Hamlet, he said, ‘It has been asked why I retire -from the stage while still in possession of whatever qualifications -I could ever pretend to unimpaired. I will give you my <i>motives</i>, -although I do not know you will accept them as <i>reasons</i>—but reason -and feeling are not always cater-cousins. I feel then the toil and -excitement of my calling weigh more heavily upon me than formerly; and, -if my qualifications are unimpaired, so I would have them remain in -your estimate.... I am loth to remain before my patrons until I have -nothing better to present them than tarnished metal.’ Among Young’s -after-enjoyments was that of music. We well remember his always early -presence in the front row of the pit at the old Opera House, and the -friendly greetings that used to be exchanged between him and Mori, -Nicholson, Linley, Dragonetti, and other great instrumentalists, as -they made their appearance in the orchestra.</p> - -<p><i>Some</i> theatrical impulses never abandoned him. During his retirement -at Brighton, he was a constant attendant on the ministry of Mr. -Sortain. ‘Mr. Bernal Osborne told me he was one day shown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> into -the same pew with my father, whom he knew. He was struck with his -devotional manner during the prayers and by his rapt attention during -the sermon. But he found himself unable to maintain his gravity when, -as the preacher paused to take breath after a long and eloquent -outburst, the habits of the actor’s former life betrayed themselves, -and he uttered in a deep undertone, the old familiar “<i>Bravo!</i>”’ As a -sample of his cheerfulness of character, we may quote what Mr. Cole -says of Young, in the life of Charles Kean:—‘Not long before he left -London for his final residence at Brighton, he called, with one of his -grandsons, to see the writer of these pages, who had long enjoyed his -personal friendship, and who happened at the moment to be at dinner -with his family. “Tell them,” he said to the servant, “not to hurry; -but when they are at leisure, there are two little boys waiting to see -them.”’</p> - -<p>A quiet humour seems to have been among the characteristics of a life -which generally was marked by unobtrusive simplicity and moral purity. -A man who, when a boy, had been at Eton and Merchant Taylors’ could -not have been ignorant of such a fact as the Punic War, though he may -have forgotten the date. He was once turned to by a lady at table -(she had been discussing history with the guest on her other side), -and she suddenly asked Young to tell her the date of the Second Punic -War.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> Young frankly replied in one of his most tragic tones; ‘Madam, -I don’t know anything about the Punic War, and what is more, I never -did! My inability to answer your question has wrung from me the same -confession which I once heard made by a Lancashire farmer, with an -air of great pride, when appealed to by a party of his friends in a -commercial room, “I tell you what, in spite of all your bragging, I’ll -wedger (wager) I’m th’ ignorantest man in t’ coompany!”’ There can be -little doubt that many of the stories of mistakes made by actors may be -traced to him. Among them, perhaps, that of the player who, invariably, -for ‘poisoned cup,’ said ‘coisoned pup;’ and who, once pronouncing it -correctly, was hissed for his pains. Thence too perhaps came the tale -of him who, instead of saying,</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is,</div> -<div>To have a thankless child,</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>exclaimed:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>How sharper than a serpent’s <i>thanks</i> it is,</div> -<div>To have a <i>toothless</i> child.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Whatever may be the source of such stories, it is certain that Young’s -criticisms of others were always clear and generous. A few words tell -us of Mrs. Siddons’ Rosalind, that ‘it wanted neither playfulness nor -feminine softness; but it was totally without archness, not because -she did not properly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> conceive it—but how could such a countenance be -arch?’ Some one has said more irreverently of her Rosalind, that it -was like Gog in petticoats! Young looked back to the periods during -which he had what he called ‘the good fortune to act with her, as -the happiest of his own professional recollections.’ When he was a -boy of twelve years of age (1789), he saw Mrs. Siddons in Volumnia -(Coriolanus). Long after, he described her bearing in the triumphal -procession in honour of her son in this wise: ‘She came alone marching -and beating time to the music, rolling from side to side, swelling -with the triumph of her son. Such was the intoxication of joy which -flashed from her eye and lit up her whole face, that the effect was -irresistible. She seemed to me to reap all the glory of that procession -to herself. I could not take my eye from her. Coriolanus’ banner and -pageant, all went for nothing to me, after she had walked to her place.’</p> - -<p>We have spoken of the unobtrusive simplicity and the moral purity of -this great actor’s life. Temptations sprang up about him. Young first -appeared on the stage when the old drinking days had not yet come to an -end. His name, however, never occurs among the annals of the fast and -furious revelries. John Kemble belonged to the old school and followed -its practices. He was not indeed fast and furious in his cups. He -was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> solemnly drunken as became an earnest tragedian. It is somewhere -told of him that he once went to Dicky Peake’s house half-cocked, at -half-past nine <span class="smaller">P.M.</span>; Sheridan, he said, had appointed to meet -him there, and he would not neglect being in time for the world. Peake -sat him down to wine with Dunn the treasurer: the three got exceedingly -drunk, and all fell asleep, Kemble occupying the carpet. The tragedian -was the first to wake. He arose, opened the window shutters, and -dazzled by the morning sun-light roused his two companions, and -wondered as to the time of day. They soon heard eight strike. ‘Eight!’ -exclaimed Kemble; ‘this is too provoking of Sheridan; he is always -late in keeping his appointments; I don’t suppose he will come at all -now. If he <i>should</i>, tell him, my dear Dick, how long I waited for -him!’ Therewith, <i>exit</i> John Philip, in a dreamy condition—leaving, at -all events, <i>some</i> incidents out of which imaginative Dunn built this -illustrative story.</p> - -<p>Great writers in their own houses, like prophets among their own -people, proverbially lack much of the consideration they find abroad. -Mrs. Douglas Jerrold always wondered what it was people found in her -husband’s jokes to laugh at. It is <i>said</i> that many years had passed -over the head of Burns’s son before the young man knew that his father -was famous as a poet. It is certain that Walter Scott’s eldest son had -arrived at more than manhood before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> he had the curiosity to read one -of his sire’s novels. He thought little of it when he had read it. -This want of appreciation the son derived from his mother. Once, when -Young was admiring the fashion of the ceiling, in Scott’s drawing-room -at Abbotsford, Lady Scott exclaimed in her droll Guernsey accent, ‘Ah! -Mr. Young, you may look up at the bosses in the ceiling, as long as you -like, but you must not look down at my poor carpet, for I am ashamed -of it. I must get Scott to write some more of his nonsense books and -buy me a new one!’ To those who remember the charm of Young’s musical -voice, Lady Dacre’s lines on his reciting ‘Tam o’ Shanter’ to the other -guests at Abbotsford, will present themselves without any thought of -differing from their conclusion, thus neatly put:—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>And Tam o’ Shanter roaring fou,</div> -<div>By thee embodied to our view,</div> -<div>The rustic bard would own sae true,</div> -<div class="i3">He scant could tell</div> -<div>Wha ’twas the livin’ picture drew,</div> -<div class="i3">Thou or himsel’!</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>It is a curious fact that Scott, harmonious poet as he was, had no ear -for music, unless it were that of a ballad, and he would repeat that -horribly out of tune. He was, however, in tune with all humanity; as -much so with a king as with the humblest of his subjects. When he went -on board the royal yacht which had arrived near Leith, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> George -IV., amid such rain as only falls in Scotland, Scott, in an off-hand, -yet respectful way, told the king that the weather reminded him of -the stormy day of his own arrival in the Western Highlands, weather -which so disgusted the landlord of the inn, who was used to the very -worst, that he apologised for it. ‘Gude guide us! this is just awfu’! -Siccan a downpour, was ever the like! I really beg your pardon! I’m -sure it’s nae faut o’ mine. I canna think how it should happen to rain -this way just as you o’ a’ men i’ the warld should come to see us! It -looks amaist personal! I can only say, for my part, I’m just ashamed -o’ the weather!’ Having thus spoken to the king, Scott added; ‘I do -not know, sire, that I can improve upon the language of the honest -innkeeper. I canna think how it should rain this way, just as your -majesty, of all men in the world, should have condescended to come and -see us. I can only say in the name of my countrymen, I’m just ashamed -o’ the weather!’ It was at Scott’s petition that the royal landing was -deferred till the next day, which brought all the sunshine that was -considered necessary for the occasion.</p> - -<p>It is singular to find Charles Mathews, senior, writing of himself; -‘I only perform for one rank of persons. The lower orders hate and -avoid me, and the middle classes cannot comprehend me.’ He used to -get fun enough out of his own man-servant,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> whose awe and pride at -seeing a titled personage at his master’s house were amply stimulated -by friends of Mathews who visited him under assumed dignities. Charles -Kemble was always announced as the Persian Ambassador, Fawcett as -Sir Francis Burdett, and Young as the Duke of Wellington. One day, -a real Lord—Lord Ranelagh—called and sent in a message expressive -of his desire to see Mathews. Mathews, supposing the visitor was a -fellow-player passing as a peer, sent a reply that he was just then -busy with Lord Vauxhall. When Mr. Julian Young once told Mathews he was -going to Lord Dacres at the Hoo, the actor replied, <i>Who?</i> and thinking -Bob Acres was raised to the peerage, begged to be remembered to Sir -Lucius O’Trigger!</p> - -<p>One of the most flattering kindnesses ever paid to the elder Mathews -was when he was once standing among the crowd in a Court of Assize, -where Judge Alan Park was presiding. His lordship sent a note down to -him, requesting him to come and take a seat on the bench. The actor -obeyed, and the judge was courteously attentive to him. Mathews was -subsequently the guest of his old friend Mr. Rolls, at whose house in -Monmouthshire the judge had previously been staying. The player asked -if his lordship had alluded to him. ‘Yes,’ said Rolls, who proceeded to -relate how Judge Park had been startled at seeing in court a fellow who -was in the habit of imitating the voice and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> manners of the judges on -the stage. Indeed, his imitation of Lord Ellenborough, in ‘Love, Law, -and Physic,’ had well nigh brought the imitator to grief. Park said the -presence of Mathews so troubled him that he invited the mimic to sit -near him, and behaved so kindly that he hoped the actor, out of simple -gratitude, would not include him in his Legal Portraits in comedy or -farce.</p> - -<p>Appreciation of the drama is neither strong nor clear in at least one -part of the vicinity of Shakespeare’s native town. After the busy -time of the ‘Tercentenary,’ Mr. Julian Young sent his servants to -the theatre in Stratford. They had never been in a playhouse before. -The piece represented was ‘Othello.’ On the following morning, -wishing to know the effect of the drama on his servants’ minds, -Mr. Julian Young questioned them in their several departments. The -butler was impressed to this effect: ‘Thank you, sir, for the treat. -The performers performed the performance which they had to perform -excellent well—especially the female performers—in the performance.’ -The more impulsive coachman, in the harness-room, exclaimed, ‘’Twas -really beautiful, sir; I liked it onaccountable!’ But when he was -asked what the play was about he frankly confessed he didn’t exactly -know; but that it was very pretty, and was upon sweet-hearting! On a -former occasion, when the gardener and his wife had been treated to -the Bristol<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> Theatre, their master, on the next day, asked, ‘Well, -Robert, what did you see last night?’ The bewildered fellow replied, -after a pause, ‘Well, sir, I saw what you sent me to see!’ ‘What was -that?’ ‘Why, the play, in course.’ ‘Was it a tragedy or a comedy?’ -‘I don’t know what you mane. I can’t say no more than I have said, -nor no fairer! All I know is there was a precious lot on ’em on the -theayter stage; and there they was, in and out, and out and in again!’ -The wife had more definite ideas. She was all for the second piece, -she said, ‘The pantrymine, and what I liked best in it was where the -fool fellar stooped down and grinned at we through his legs!’ Good -creature! after all, her taste was in tune with that of King George -III., who thought Garrick fidgety, and who laughed himself into fits -at the clown who could get a whole bunch of carrots into his mouth, -and apparently swallow them, with supplementary turnips to make them -go down! The gardener’s wife, therefore, need not be ashamed. She is -not half so much called upon to blush as the wife of the treasurer -of Drury Lane Theatre, who was one of a score of professional ladies -and gentlemen dining together some forty years ago. The lady hearing -‘Venice Preserved’ named, made the remark that she believed ‘it was one -of Shakespeare’s plays, was it not?’ We have ourselves a bill of Drury -Lane, not ten years old, in which ‘Othello’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> is announced as Bulwer’s -tragedy, &c.; but that, of course, was a misprint. On our showing it in -the green-room, however, not one of the performers saw the error!</p> - -<p>Let us now look at some of the other personages who figured in the -bygone period; and first, of kings. Poor old George III. cannot be said -at any time to have been ‘every inch a king.’ He was certainly not, by -nature, a cruel man. Yet he betrayed something akin to cruelty when, -on the night of the Lord George Gordon riots, an officer who had been -actively employed in suppressing the rioters waited on the king to -make his report. George III. hurried forward to meet him, crying out -with screaming iteration, ‘Well! well! well! I hope you peppered them -well! peppered them well! peppered them well!’ There may, however, have -been nothing more in this than there was in Wellington’s injunction -to his officers on the day that London was threatened with a Chartist -revolution, ‘Remember, gentlemen, there must be no little war.’ In such -cases humanity to revolutionists is lack of mercy to the friends of -order.</p> - -<p>It is well known that George III. had an insuperable aversion to Dr. -John Willis, who had attended him when the King was labouring under -his early intermitting attacks of insanity. Willis was induced to take -temporary charge of the King, on Pitt’s promise to make him a baronet -and give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> him a pension of 1,500<i>l.</i> a year—pleasant things which -never came to pass. Queen Charlotte hated Willis even more than the -King did. The physician earned that guerdon by putting George III. in -a strait waistcoat whenever he thought the royal violence required it. -The doctor took this step on his own responsibility. The Queen never -forgave him, and the King, as long as he had memory, never forgot it. -In 1811, when the fatal relapse occurred, brought on, Willis thought, -by Pitt’s persistent pressure of the Roman Catholic claims on the -King’s mind, the Chancellor and the Prince of Wales had some difficulty -in inducing the doctor to take charge of the sovereign. When Willis -entered that part of Windsor Castle which was inhabited by the King -he heard the monarch humming a favourite song in his room. A moment -after George III. crossed the threshold on to the landing-place. He -was in Windsor uniform as to his coat, blue, with scarlet cuffs and -collar, a star on the breast. A waistcoat of buff chamois leather, -buskin breeches and top-boots, with the familiar three-cornered hat, -completed the costume. He came forth as a bridegroom from his chamber, -full of hope and joy, like Cymon, ‘whistling as he went for want of -thought,’ and switching his boot with his whip as he went. Suddenly, -as his eye fell on Willis, he reeled back as if he had been shot. He -shrieked out the hated name, called on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> God, and fell to the ground. -It was long before the unhappy sovereign could be calmed. In his own -room the King wept like a child. Every now and then he broke into -heartrending exclamations of ‘What can I do without doing wrong? They -forget my coronation oath; but I don’t! Oh, my oath! my oath! my -oath!’ The King’s excitement on seeing Willis was partly caused by his -remembering the Queen’s promise that Willis should never be called in -again in case of the King’s illness. Willis on that occasion consented -to stay with the King after a fearful scene had taken place with the -Queen, her doctors, and council. When Mr. Julian Young knew Willis, -from whom he had the above details, the doctor was above eighty years -of age, upright and active. He was still a mighty hunter; and, unless -Mr. Young was misinformed, on the very day before his death he shot -two or three brace of snipes in the morning, and danced at the Lincoln -ball at night. Willis did not reach his hundredth year, as Dr. Routh, -of Magdalen College, Oxford, did. Just before the death of the latter, -Lord Campbell visited and had a long conversation with him. At parting -the centenarian remarked: ‘I hope it will not be many years before we -meet again.’ ‘Did he think,’ said Lord Campbell afterwards, ‘that he -and I were going to live for ever?’</p> - -<p>Monarchs, who have to submit to many <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>tyrannies by which monarchs alone -can suffer, must have an especial dread of levees and presentations. -The monotony must be killing; at the very best, irritating. George -IV. had the stately dreariness very much relieved. On one occasion, -when a nervous gentleman was bowing and passing before him, a -lord-in-waiting kindly whispered to him, ‘Kiss hands!’ The nervous -gentleman accordingly moved on to the door, turned round, and there -kissed his hands airily to the King by way of kindly farewell! George -IV. laughed almost as heartily as his brother, King William, did at an -unlucky alderman who was at Court on the only day Mr. Julian Young ever -felt himself constrained to go into the royal presence. The alderman’s -dress-sword got between his legs as he was backing from that presence, -whereby he was tripped up and fell backwards on the floor. King William -cared not a fig for dignity. He remarked with great glee to those -who stood near: ‘By Jove! the fellow has cut a crab!’ and the kingly -laughter was, as it were, poured point blank into the floundering -alderman. This was not encouraging to Mr. Young, who had to follow. As -newly-appointed royal chaplain in Hampton Court Palace Chapel, King -William had expressed a wish to see him at a levee, and obedience was -a duty. The chaplain had been told by Sir Horace Seymour that he had -nothing to do but follow the example<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> of the gentleman who might happen -to be before him. The principal directions to the neophyte were: ‘Bow -very low, and do not turn your back on the King!’ The instant the -chaplain had kissed the King’s hand, however, he turned his back upon -his sovereign, and hurried off. Sir Horace Seymour afterwards consoled -him for this breach of etiquette by stating that a Surrey baronet who -had followed him made a wider breach in court observance. The unlucky -baronet, seeing the royal hand outstretched, instead of reverently -putting his lips to it, caught hold of it and wrung it heartily! The -King, who loved a joke, probably enjoyed levees, the usual monotony of -which was relieved by such screaming-farce incidents as these.</p> - -<p>Those royal brothers, sons of George III., were remarkably outspoken. -They were not witty themselves, but they were now and then the cause -of wit in others. It must have been the Duke of Cumberland who (on -listening to Mr. Nightingale’s story of having been run away with when -driving, and that at a critical moment he jumped out of the carriage) -blandly exclaimed: ‘Fool! fool!’ ‘Now,’ said Nightingale, on telling -the incident to Horace Smith, ‘it’s all very well for him to call me -a fool; but I can’t conceive why he should. Can you?’ ‘No,’ rejoined -Horace, ‘I can’t, because he could not suppose you ignorant of the -fact!’ </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> - -<p>Among the most unhappy lords of themselves who lived in a past -generation, there was not one who might have been so happy, had he -pleased, as the author of ‘Vathek.’ It is very well said of Beckford -that there has seldom existed a man who, inheriting so much, did so -little for his fellow-creatures. There was a grim humour in some of his -actions. In illustration of this we may state that when Beckford was -living in gorgeous seclusion at Fonthill, two gentlemen, who were the -more curious to spy into the glories of the place because strangers -were forbidden, climbed the park walls at dusk, and on alighting within -the prohibited enclosure, found themselves in presence of the lord of -the place. Beckford awed them by his proud condescension. He politely -dragged them through all the splendours of his palace, and then, with -cruel courtesy, made them dine with him. When the night was advanced, -he took his involuntary guests into the park, bidding them adieu with -the remark, that as they had found their way in they might find their -way out. It was as bad as bandaging a man’s eyes on Salisbury Plain, -and bidding him find his way to Bath. At sunrise the weary guests, who -had pursued a fruitless voyage of discovery all night, were guided to a -point of egress, and they never thought of calling on their host again.</p> - -<p>Ready wit in women (now passed away); wit,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> too, combined with courage, -is by no means rare. During the ruro-diabolical reign of ‘Swing,’ -that incarnation of ruffianism, in the person of the most hideous -blackguard in the district, with a mob of thieves and murderers at -his back, attacked Fifield, the old family residence of two elderly -maiden ladies, named Penruddock. When the mob were on the point of -resorting to extreme violence, Miss Betty Penruddock expressed her -astonishment to the ugly leader of the band that ‘such a good-looking -man as he should be captain of such an ill-favoured band of robbers. -Never again will I trust to good looks!’ cried the old lady, whose -flattery so touched the vanity of ‘Swing’ that he prevailed on his -followers to desist. ‘Only give us some beer,’ he said, ‘and we won’t -touch a hair of your head!’ ‘You can’t,’ retorted the plucky old lady, -‘for I wear a wig!’ On the other hand, the vanity of young ladies was -once effectually checked at Hampton Court Chapel. A youthful beauty -once fainted, and the handsome Sir Horace Seymour carried her out. -On successive Sundays successive youthful beauties fainted, and the -handsome Sir Horace carried them successively out, till he grew tired -of bearing such sweet burdens. A report that in future all swooning -nymphs would be carried out of the chapel by <i>the dustman</i> cured the -epidemic.</p> - -<p>We are much disposed to think that there is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> at least as much ready wit -and terseness of expression among the humbler classes as among those -who are higher born and better taught. Much has been said of the ladies -of Llangollen, Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby. We question if -in all that has been written of those pseudo-recluses, they have been -half so well hit-off as by Mrs. Morris, a lodging-house keeper in the -neighbourhood. ‘I must say, sir, after all,’ observed Mrs. Morris, -‘that they were very charitable and cantankerous. They did a deal of -good, and never forgave an injury!’ There is something of the ring of -Mrs. Poyser in this pithily-rendered judgment. Quite as sharp a passage -turns up in the person of an eccentric toll-keeper, Old Jeffreys, who -was nearly destitute of mental training, and whom Mr. Julian Young -was anxious to draw to church service. The old man was ready for him. -‘Yes, sir, it be a pity, bain’t it? We pike-keepers, and shepherds, and -carters, and monthly nusses has got souls as well as them that goes to -church and chapel. But what can us do? “Why,” I says, says I, to the -last parson as preached to me, “don’t catechism say summat or other -about doing our duty in that state of life in which we be?” So, after -all, when I be taking toll o’ Sundays, I’m not far wrong, am I?’ The -rector proposed to find a paid substitute for him while he attended -church. Jeffreys was ready with his reply. ‘That ’ud never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> do, sir,’ -he said. ‘What! leave my post to a stranger? What would master say -to me if he heard on’t.’ Mr. Julian Young, pointing with pleasure to -a Bible on old Jeffreys’ shelf, expressed a hope that he often read -it. ‘Can’t say as how I do, sir,’ was the candid rejoinder; ‘I allus -gets so poorus over it!’ When the rector alluded to a certain wench -as ‘disreputable,’ Jeffreys protested in the very spirit of chivalry. -‘Don’t do that! Do as I do! I allus praises her. Charity hides a deal -o’ sin, master! ain’t that Scripture? If it are, am I to be lectured at -for sticking up and saying a good word for she? ‘When it was urged that -this light-o’-love queen ought to be married, Samaritan Jeffreys stept -in with his sympathetic balsam. ‘Poor thing!’ he exclaimed, ‘<i>she ain’t -no turn to it</i>!’ The apology was worthy of my Uncle Toby!</p> - -<p>There are other stories quite worthy of him who invented Uncle Toby; -but, <i>basta!</i> we have been, as it were, metaphorically dining with Mr. -Julian Young—dining so well that we cannot recall to mind half the -anecdotes told at his table in illustration of Charles Young and his -times.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>WILLIAM CHARLES MACREADY.</i></h2> - -<p>In the year 1793, a gentleman who was a member of the Covent Garden -company, in the department of ‘utilities,’ might be seen, any day -during the season, punctually on his way to the theatre, for rehearsal -or for public performance. At the above date he had been seven years -on the London boards, having first appeared at the ‘Garden’ in 1786, -as Flutter in ‘The Belle’s Stratagem.’ His name was William Macready, -father of <i>the</i> Macready, and his <i>début</i> on the English stage was -owing to the influence of Macklin, whom the young fellow had gratified -by playing Egerton to the veteran’s Sir Pertinax, exactly according -to the elaborate instructions he had patiently received from Macklin -himself at rehearsal.</p> - -<p>William Macready had left the vocation of his father in Dublin—that -of an upholsterer—for the uncertain glories of the stage. The father -was a common councilman, and was respectably connected—or, rather, -his richer relatives were respectably connected in having him for -a kinsman. In Ireland there is a beggarly pride which looks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> down -upon trade as a mean thing. Mr. Macready, the flourishing Dublin -upholsterer, took to that sound mean thing, and found his account in so -doing. His prouder kinsmen may have better respected their blood, but -they had not half so good a book at their banker’s.</p> - -<p>The upholsterer’s son took his kinsmen’s view of trade, and deserted it -accordingly. He could hardly, however, have gratified them by turning -player; but he followed the bent of his inclinations, addressed himself -to sock and buskin, toiled in country theatres, was tolerated rather -than patronised in his native city, and, as before said, got a footing -on the Covent Garden stage in 1786.</p> - -<p>William Macready’s position there in 1793 was much the same that it was -when he first appeared. Perhaps he had a little improved it, by the -popular farce of which he was the author, ‘The Irishman in London,’ -which was first acted at Covent Garden in 1792. In 1793 he was held -good enough to act Cassio to Middleton’s Othello, and was held cheap -enough to be cast for Fag in the ‘Rivals.’ On his benefit night—he was -in a position to share the house with Hull—the two partners played -such walking gentlemen’s characters as Cranmer and Surrey (the latter -by Macready) to the Wolsey and Queen Catharine of Mr. and Mrs. Pope; -but Macready, in the afterpiece, soared to vivacious comedy, and acted -Figaro to the Almaviva of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> mercurial Lewis. If he ever played an Irish -part, it was only when Jack Johnstone was indisposed—which was not his -custom of an afternoon.</p> - -<p>The best of these actors, and others better than the best named above, -received but very moderate salaries. Mr. Macready’s was probably -not more than three or four pounds per week. Upon certainly some -such salary the worthy actor maintained a quiet home in Mary Street, -Tottenham Court (or Hampstead) Road. At the head of the little family -that gathered round the table in Mary Street was one of the best of -mothers; and chief among the children—the one at least who became the -most famous—was William Charles Macready, whom so many still remember -as a foremost actor, and in whom some even recognised a great master of -his art.</p> - -<p>Among the earliest remembrances of this eminent player, he has noticed -in his most interesting ‘Reminiscences,’ that ‘the <i>res angustæ domi</i> -called into active duty all the economical resources and active -management of a mother’ (whose memory, he says, is enshrined in his -heart’s fondest gratitude) ‘to supply the various wants’ of himself and -an elder sister, who only lived long enough to make him ‘sensible of -her angelic nature.’ Macready was the fifth child of this family, but -his sister, Olivia, was the only one (then born) who lived long enough -for him to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> remember. She was older than he by a year and a half, and -she survived only till he was just in his sixth year; ‘but she lives,’ -he says, ‘like a dim and far-off dream, to my memory, of a spirit of -meekness, love, and truth, interposing itself between my infant will -and the evil it purposed. It is like a vision of an angelic influence -upon a most violent and self-willed disposition.’</p> - -<p>It may be added here that Macready had a younger brother, Edward, who -distinguished himself as a gallant officer in the army, and two younger -sisters, Letitia and Ellen, to whom he was an affectionate brother -and friend. Meanwhile Macready passed creditably through a school at -Birmingham, and thence to Rugby. At the latter place, where one of his -kinsmen was a master, the student laid the ground of all the classical -knowledge he possessed, took part in private plays, and was hurt at -the thought that he had any inclination to be a professional actor. -At Rugby, too, he showed, but with some reason, the fiery quality of -his temper. He was unjustly sent up for punishment, and was flogged -accordingly. ‘Returning,’ he says, ‘to my form, smarting with choking -rage and indignation, where I had to encounter the compassion of -some and the envious jeers of others, my passion broke out in the -exclamation, “D——n old Birch! I wish he was in Hell!’” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> - -<p>Macready’s excellent mother, of whom he never speaks without dropping, -as it were, a flower to honour her memory, died before he reached home -from Rugby, so that the world was, for a time, without sun to him, for -the sire was not a very amiable person. The younger Macready resorted -to the best possible cure for sorrow, steady and active work, and -plenty of both. At last, with no very cheerful encouragement from his -father and with doubt and fear on his own part, he, in June 1811, made -his <i>début</i>, in Birmingham, in ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ ‘the part of Romeo -by a Young Gentleman, being his first appearance on any stage.’ He, -who was afterwards so very cool and self-possessed, nearly marred all -by what is called ‘stage-fright.’ A mist fell on his eyes; the very -applause, as he came forward, bewildered him; and he describes himself -as being for some time like an automaton, moving in certain defined -limits. ‘I went mechanically,’ he says, ‘through the variations in -which I had drilled myself;’ but he gradually gained courage and power -over himself. The audience stimulated the first and rewarded the second -by their applause. ‘Thenceforward,’ says Macready, ‘I trod on air, -became another being or a happier self, and when the curtain fell and -the intimate friends and performers crowded on the stage to raise up -the <i>Juliet</i> and myself, shaking my hands with fervent congratulations, -a lady asked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> me, ‘Well, sir, how do you feel now?’ my boyish answer -was without disguise, ‘I feel as if I should like to act it all over -again!’</p> - -<p>Between this and his first appearance in London Macready acted in -most of the theatres of every degree in the three kingdoms. Often -this practice was rendered the more valuable by his having to perform -with the most perfect actors and actresses who were starring in the -country. But, whether with them or without, whether with audiences -or with a mere two or three, he did his best. Like Barton Booth, he -would play to a man in the pit. ‘It was always my rule,’ he says, -‘to make the best out of a bad house, and before the most meagre -audiences ever assembled it has been my invariable practice to strive -my best, using the opportunity as a lesson; and I am conscious of -having derived great benefit from the rule. I used to call it acting -to myself.’ Macready had another rule which is worth mentioning. Some -of the old French tragedy queens used to keep themselves all day in -the temper of the characters they were to represent in the evening. -So that, at home or on the boards, they swept to and fro in towering -rage. So, Macready was convinced of the necessity of keeping, on the -day of exhibition, the mind as intent as possible on the subject of -the actor’s portraiture, even to the very moment of his entrance on -the scene. With the observance of this rule,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> Macready must have made -64 Frith Street, Soho, re-echo with joyous feelings and ebullitions of -fury, to suit the temper of the night, when in 1816 he made his bow -to a London audience as Orestes in the ‘Distressed Mother,’ and when -the curtain rose grasped Abbot almost convulsively by the hand, and -dashed upon the stage, exclaiming as in a transport of the highest -joy, ‘Oh, Pylades! what’s life without a friend?’ The Orestes was a -success; but it was never a favourite character with the public, as -Talma’s was with the French. The career thus begun (at ten, fifteen, -and at last eighteen pounds per week for five years) came to a close -in 1851. Five-and-thirty years out of the fifty-eight Macready had -then reached. We need not trace this progressive career, beginning -with Ambrose Phillips and ending with Shakespeare (‘Macbeth’). During -that career he created that one great character in which no player -could come near him, namely, Virginius, in 1820. Macready, however, -was not the original representative of Virginius. That character in -Knowles’s most successful play was first acted by John Cooper in -Glasgow; but Macready really created the part in London. Further, -Macready did his best to raise the drama, actors, and audiences to a -dignity never before known, and gained nothing but honour by his two -ventures at management. He was the first to put a play upon the stage -with an almost lavish <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>perfection. In this way he was never equalled. -Mr. Charles Kean imitated him in this artist-like proceeding; but -that highly respectable actor and man was as far behind Macready in -magnificence of stage management as he was distant from his own father -in genius.</p> - -<p>If Macready, on his <i>début</i> as a boy, was scared, he was deeply moved -when, within a stone’s throw of sixty, he was to act for the last time, -and then go home for ever. This was upwards of thirty years ago, so -rapidly does time fly—the 28th of February, 1851. His emotion was not -in the acting, but in the taking leave of it, and of those who came -to see it for the last time. He says himself of his Macbeth that he -never played it better than on that night. There was a reality, with -a vigour, truth, and dignity, which he thought he had never before -thrown into that favourite character. ‘I rose with the play, and the -last scene was a real climax.’ On his first entrance, indeed, at the -beginning of his part, ‘the thought occurred to me of the presence of -my children, and that for a minute overcame me; but I soon recovered -myself into self-possession.’ Still more deeply moved at the ‘farewell’ -to a house bursting into a wild enthusiasm of applause, he ‘faltered -for a moment at the fervent, unbounded expression of attachment from -all before me; but preserved my self-possession.’ Those of his ten -children who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> had survived and were present on that occasion had -ample reason to be proud of their father. For many years he would not -sanction their being present at his public exhibitions. This was really -to doubt the dignity and usefulness of his art, to feel a false shame, -and to authorise in others that contempt for the ‘playactor’ which, -entertaining it, as he did thoroughly, for many of his fellows, he -neither felt for himself nor for those whom he could recognise as being -great and worthy masters in that art. When his children were allowed -the new delight of witnessing how nobly he could interpret the noblest -of the poets, the homage of their reverential admiration must have been -added to that of their unreserved affection. That he was not popular -at any time with inferior or subordinate players is undoubtedly true. -Such persons thought that only want of luck and opportunity placed them -lower in the scale than Macready. It would be as reasonable for the -house-painters to account in the same way for their not being Vandycks -and Raffaelles.</p> - -<p>Sensitive to criticism he was, and yet scarcely believed himself to be -so. He belabours critics pretty roughly; but we observe that theatrical -critics dined with him occasionally, and we mark that he praises the -good sense and discrimination of one of these critics—whose criticism -was very much in the actor’s favour. Vanity he also had,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> certainly. -We should have come to this conclusion, had we nothing more to justify -the assertion than what we find in his own record. We see his vanity in -the superabundant excess of his modesty; but we think none the worse -of him for it. An artist who is not somewhat vain of his powers has, -probably, no ground for a little wholesome pride. It was in Macready -tempered with that sort of fear that a vain man may feel, lest in the -exercise of his art he should fall in the slightest degree short of -his self-estimation, or of that in which he believed himself to be -held by the public. He never, on entering a town, saw his name on a -bill, without feeling a flutter of the heart, made up of this mingled -fear and pride. So, Mrs. Siddons never went on the stage at any time -without something of the same sensation. We should think little of any -actor or actress who should avow that they ever ‘went on,’ in a great -part, without some hesitation lest the attempt might fall short of what -it was their determination to achieve, and what they felt themselves -qualified to accomplish. Vanity and timidity? All true artists are -conscious of both—ought to possess both; just as they ought to possess -not only impulse but judgment; not only head, but heart; heart to flash -the impulses, head to control them.</p> - -<p>Macready carried to the stage his genuine piety. It is, perhaps, a -little too much aired in his ‘Diary,’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> but it is not the less to be -believed in. He went by a good old-fashioned rule, to do his duty in -that state of life to which it had pleased God to call him—as the -Catechism teaches, or used to teach, all of us. In his pious fervour, -in his prayers that what he is going to act may be for good, that what -in the management he has undertaken may be to the increase of the -general happiness rather than to that of his banking account; in these -and a score of other instances we are reminded of those French and -Italian saints of the stage who, as they stood at the wing, crossed -themselves at the sound of sacred names in the play; or, who counted -their beads in the green-room; kept their fasts; mortified themselves, -and never missed a mass. Nay, the religious feeling was as spontaneous -in Macready as it was in the Italian actors whom he himself saw, and -who, at the sound of the ‘Angelus’ in the street, stopped the action of -the play, fell on their knees, gently tapped their breasts, and were -imitated in these actions by the sympathising majority of the audience.</p> - -<p>We fully endorse the judgment of a critic who has said that with the -worst of tempers Macready had the best of hearts. Some of the tenderest -of his actions are not registered in the volumes of his life, but they -are recorded in grateful bosoms. There were married actresses in his -company, when he managed the ‘Garden,’ and afterwards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> the ‘Lane,’ whom -he would rate harshly enough for inattention; but there were certain -times when he was prompted to tell them that their proper place, for -a while, was home; and that till they recovered health and strength -their salary would be continued, and then run on as usual. The sternest -moralist will forgive him for knocking down Mr. Bunn, when he remembers -this tender part in the heart of Macready.</p> - -<p>Towards women that heart may be said to have been sympathetically -inclined. His early life led him into many temptations; he had, as he -confesses, many loves in his time, real and imaginary; but the first -true and ever-abiding one was that which ended in his marriage with -a young actress, Miss Atkins. The whole story is touchingly told. -We feel the joys and the sorrows of the April time of that love. We -share in the triumph of the lovers; and throughout the record of their -union Macready inspires us with as much respectful affection for that -true wife as in other pages he stirs us to honour the memory of his -mother. He was singularly happy in the women whom it was his good -fortune to know. Early in life, after his mother’s death, he found -wise friends in some of them, whose wisdom ‘kept him straight,’ as the -phrase goes, when crooked but charming ways opened before him. At his -latest in life, the inestimable good of woman’s best companionship<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> was -vouchsafed to him; and further than this it would be impertinent to -speak.</p> - -<p>The dignity of the departed actor was his attribute, which in his busy -days atoned for such faults as cannot be erased from his record. How he -supported the dignity of the drama, and, we may say, of its patrons, -may be seen in the registry of the noble dramas he produced, and in his -purification of the audience side of the house. No person born since -his time can have any idea of the horrible uncleanness that presented -itself in the two patent theatres in the days before Macready’s -management commenced. When he found that he was bound by the terms of -his lease to provide accommodation and refreshment for women who had no -charm of womanhood left in them, Macready assigned a dingy garret and a -rush-light or two for that purpose, and the daughters of joy fled from -it, never to return.</p> - -<p>It is a strange and repulsive thing to look back at the sarcasm flung -at him by the vile part of the press at that time, for his enabling -honest-minded women to visit a theatre without feeling ashamed at -their being there, in company with those who had no honest-mindedness. -In this, as in many other circumstances, he was worth all the Lord -Chamberlains—silly, intruding, inconsistent, unreasonable beings—that -have ever existed.</p> - -<p>The career of the actor—we may say, of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> actor and of the private -gentleman—was a long one. Among the great dramatic personages whom -Macready saw in the course of that career, were ‘a glimpse of King -dressed as Lord Ogilvy,’ his original character, ‘and distinguished -for its performance in Garrick’s day;’ Lewis, whose face he never -forgot, but he never saw that restless, ever-smiling actor on the -stage. Macready was struck with the beauty and deportment of Mrs. -Siddons, long before he acted with her; and he was enthralled by Mrs. -Billington, though he could in after years only recall the figure of a -very lusty woman, and the excitement of the audience when the orchestra -struck up the symphony of Arne’s rattling bravura, ‘The Soldier -Tired,’ in the opera of ‘Artaxerxes.’ One of the most remarkable of -these illustrious persons was seen by him at the Birmingham Theatre, -1808. The afterpiece was ‘Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene,’ a -ballet pantomime. The lady fair was acted by the manager’s wife, Mrs. -Watson—ungainly, tawdry, and as fat as a porpoise, an enormous hill of -flesh. Alonzo the Brave was represented by ‘a little mean-looking man -in a shabby green satin dress ... the only impression I carried away -was that the hero and heroine were the worst in the piece’ (a ballet -of action, without words). Macready adds that he neither knew nor -guessed that ‘under that shabby green satin dress was hidden one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> -the most extraordinary theatrical geniuses that have ever illustrated -the dramatic poetry of England!’ In half a dozen years more, what was -Macready’s astonishment to find this little, insignificant Alonzo the -Brave had burst out into the grandly impassioned personator of Othello, -Richard, and Shylock—Edmund Kean!</p> - -<p>Macready’s testimony to Kean’s marvellous powers is nearly always -highly favourable. Macready saw the great master act Richard III. at -Drury Lane in his first season, 1814. ‘When,’ he tells us, ‘a little -keenly-visaged man rapidly bustled across the stage, I felt there was -meaning in the alertness of his manner and the quickness of his step.’ -The progress of the play increased the admiration of the young actor in -his box, who was studying the other young actor on the stage. He found -mind of no common order in Edmund Kean. ‘In his angry complaining of -Nature’s injustice to his bodily imperfections, as he uttered the line, -“To shrink my arm up like a withered shrub,” Kean remained looking -on the limb for some moments with a sort of bitter discontent, and -then struck it back in angry disgust.’ To his father’s whisper, ‘It’s -very poor,’ the son replied readily, ‘Oh, no! it is no common thing.’ -Macready praises the scene with Lady Anne, and that in which Richard -tempts Buckingham to the murder of the young princes. In the latter, -he found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> Kean’s interpretation ‘consistent with his conception, -proposing their death as a political necessity, and sharply requiring -it as a business to be done.’ Cooke interpreted the scene in another -way. In Cooke’s Richard, ‘the source of the crime was apparent in the -gloomy hesitation with which he gave reluctant utterance to the deed of -blood.’ If Cooke was more effective than Kean on one or two solitary -points, Kean was superior in the general portraiture. As Macready -remarks, Kean ‘hurried you along in his resolute course with a spirit -that brooked no delay. In inflexibility of will and sudden grasp of -expedients he suggested the idea of a feudal Napoleon.’</p> - -<p>With respect to the characters enacted by the greatest actor of the -present century, Macready’s testimony of Kean is that in none of Kean’s -personations did he display more masterly elocution than in the third -act of ‘Richard III.’ In Sir Edward Mortimer, Kean was unapproachable, -and Master Betty (whom Macready praises highly) next to him, though -far off. In Sir Edward, Kean ‘subjected his style to the restraint of -the severest taste. Throughout the play the actor held absolute sway -over his hearers; and there is no survivor of those hearers who will -not enjoy a description which enables them to live over again moments -of a bygone delight which the present stage cannot afford. There are, -perhaps,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> not so few who remember Kean’s Sir Edward Mortimer as of -those who remember his ‘Oroonoko.’ Those who do will endorse all that -Macready says of that masterly representation of the African Prince -in slavery, where Kean, with a calm submission to his fate, still -preserved all his princely demeanour. There was one passage which was -‘never to be forgotten’—the prayer for his Imoinda. After replying -to Blandford, ‘No, there is nothing to be done for me,’ he remained, -says Macready, ‘for a few moments in apparent abstraction; then, with -a concentration of feeling that gave emphasis to every word, clasping -his hands together, in tones most tender, distinct, and melodious, -he poured out, as if from the very depths of his heart, his earnest -supplication:—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>Thou God ador’d, thou ever-glorious Sun!</div> -<div>If she be yet on earth, send me a beam</div> -<div>Of thy all-seeing power to light me to her!</div> -<div>Or if thy sister-goddess has preferr’d</div> -<div>Her beauty to the skies, to be a star,</div> -<div>Oh, tell me where she shines, that I may stand</div> -<div>Whole nights, and gaze upon her!’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>We may refer to another passage, in ‘Othello,’ in which the tenderness, -distinctness, and mournful melodiousness of Edmund Kean’s voice used -to affect the whole house to hushed and rapt admiration; namely, the -passage beginning with, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>‘Farewell, the plumed troop!’ and ending with, -‘Othello’s occupation’s gone!’ It was like some magic instrument, which -laid all hearts submissive to its irresistible enchantment.</p> - -<p>While Macready allows that flashes of genius were rarely wanting in -Kean’s least successful performances, he does not forget to note that -when he played Iago to Kean’s Othello, he observed that the latter was -playing not at all like to his old self. It is to be remembered that -this was in 1832, when Kean was on the brink of the grave, broken in -constitution, and with no power to answer to his will. But Macready -justly recognised the power when it existed, and set the world mad with -a new delight. Others were not so just, nor so generous. ‘Many of the -Kemble school,’ he says, ‘resisted conviction of Kean’s merits, but the -fact that he made me feel was an argument to enrol me with the majority -on the indisputable genius he displayed.’ Some of the Kemble family -were as reluctant to be convinced as many of the Kemble school were, -but we must except the lady whom we all prefer to call ‘Fanny Kemble.’ -She, in her ‘Journal,’ speaks without bias, not always accurately, but -still justly and generously. To her, the great master was apparent, -and she truly says that when Kean died there died with him Richard, -Shylock, and Othello.</p> - -<p>Before quitting Kean for the Kembles, we must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> permit ourselves to -extract the account given by Macready of a supper after Richard III. -had been played:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>We retired to the hotel as soon as the curtain fell, and were soon -joined by Kean, accompanied, or rather attended, by Pope. I need -not say with what intense scrutiny I regarded him as we shook -hands on our mutual introduction. The mild and modest expression -of his Italian features, and his unassuming manner, which I might -perhaps justly describe as partaking in some degree of shyness, -took me by surprise, and I remarked with special interest the -indifference with which he endured the fulsome flatteries of Pope. -He was very sparing of words during, and for some time after, -supper; but about one o’clock, when the glass had circulated -pretty freely, he became animated, fluent, and communicative. His -anecdotes were related with a lively sense of the ridiculous; in -the melodies he sang there was a touching grace, and his powers of -mimicry were most humorously or happily exerted in an admirable -imitation of Braham; and in a story of Incledon acting Steady the -Quaker at Rochester without any rehearsal, where, in singing the -favourite air, ‘When the lads of the village so merrily, oh!’ he -heard himself to his dismay and consternation accompanied by a -single bassoon; the music of his voice, his perplexity at each -recurring sound of the bassoon, his undertone maledictions on the -self-satisfied musician, the peculiarity of his habits, all were -hit off with a humour and an exactness that equalled the best -display Mathews ever made, and almost convulsed us with laughter. -It was a memorable evening, the first and last I ever spent in -private with this extraordinary man.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Macready’s estimation of Kemble and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> Kemble school is not at all -highly pitched, save in the case of Mrs. Siddons; but he notes how she -outlived her powers, and returned a few times to the stage when her -figure had enlarged and her genius had diminished. When John Kemble -took leave of the Dublin stage, in 1816, Macready was present; he -records that ‘the house was about half full.’ Kemble acted Othello -(which, at that time, Kean had made his own). ‘A more august presence -could hardly be imagined.’ He was received with hearty applause, -‘but the slight bow with which he acknowledged the compliment spoke -rather dissatisfaction at the occasional vacant spaces before him than -recognition of the respectful feeling manifested by those present. I -must suppose he was out of humour, for, to my exceeding regret, he -literally walked through the part.’ The London audiences, as Kemble’s -career was drawing to a close, were not more sympathetic. At Kemble’s -Cato, ‘The house was moderately filled; there was sitting room in the -pit, and the dress circle was not at all crowded.’ To the dignity -of the representation Macready renders homage of admiration; but he -says that Cato was not in strict Roman attire, and that with only one -effort, the ‘I am satisfied,’ when he heard that Marcius ‘greatly -fell,’ Kemble’s husky voice and laboured articulation could not -enliven the monotony of a tragedy which was felt to be a tax on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> -patience of the audience. The want of variety and relief rendered it -uninteresting, and those at least who were not classical antiquaries -found the whole thing uncommonly tedious.</p> - -<p>It is unquestionably among the unaccountable things connected with -‘the stage’ that Kemble’s farewell performances in London, 1817, were -as a whole unproductive. Those closing nights, not answering the -manager’s expectations of their attraction, were given for benefits -to those performers who chose to pay the extra price. Macready was -not present on the closing night of all, when Kemble nobly played his -peerless Coriolanus; but he witnessed several other representations, -and he dwells especially on the last performance of ‘Macbeth,’ when -Mrs. Siddons acted the Lady to her brother’s Macbeth. Macready was -disappointed with both. Mrs. Siddons was no longer the enchantress -of old: ‘years had done their work, and those who had seen in her -impersonations the highest glories of her art, now felt regret that -she had been prevailed on to leave her honoured retirement, and force -a comparison between the grandeur of the past and the feeble present. -It was not a performance, but a mere repetition of the poet’s text; -no flash, no sign of her pristine, all-subduing genius.’ Kemble, as -Macbeth, was ‘correct, tame, and ineffective,’ through the first four -acts of the play, which moved heavily on;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> but he was roused to action -in the fifth act. With action there was pathos; and ‘all at once, he -seemed carried away by the genius of the scene.’ Macready brings the -scene itself before his readers, ending with the words: ‘His shrinking -from Macduff, when the charm on which his life hung was broken, by the -declaration that his antagonist “was not of woman born,” was a masterly -stroke of art. His subsequent defiance was most heroic; and, at his -death, Charles Kemble received him in his arms and laid him gently on -the ground, his physical powers being unequal to further effort.’</p> - -<p>Of persons non-dramatic, many pass before the mind’s eye of the reader. -Lord Nelson visited the Birmingham Theatre, and Macready noted his -pale and interesting face, and listened so eagerly to all he uttered -that for months after he used to be called upon to repeat ‘what Lord -Nelson said to your father,’ which was to the effect that the esteem -in which the elder Macready was held by the town made it ‘a pleasure -and a duty’ for Lord Nelson to visit the theatre. With the placid and -mournful-looking Admiral was Lady Hamilton, who laughed loud and long, -clapped her uplifted hands with all her heart, and kicked her heels -against the foot-board of her seat, as some verses were sung in honour -of her and England’s hero.</p> - -<p>There was a time when Macklin ceased to belong to the drama, when he -was out of the world,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> in his old age, and his old Covent Garden house. -One of the most characteristic of incidents is one told of Macklin in -his dotage, when prejudice had survived all sense. Macready’s father -called on the aged actor with lack-lustre eye, who was seated in an -arm-chair, unconscious of anyone being present. Mrs. Macklin drew his -attention to the visitor: ‘My dear, here is Mr. Macready come to see -you.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Mr. Macready, my dear.’ ‘Ah! who is he?’ ‘Mr. Macready, -you know, who went to Dublin, to play for your benefit.’ ‘Ha! my -benefit! what was it? what did he act?’ ‘I acted Egerton, sir,’ replied -Mr. Macready, ‘in your own play.’ ‘Ha! my play! what was it?’ ‘The “Man -of the World,” sir.’ ‘Ha! “Man of the World!” devilish good title! who -wrote it?’ ‘You did, sir.’ ‘Did I? well, what was it about?’ ‘Why, sir, -there was a Scotchman’—‘Ah! damn them!’ Macklin’s hatred of the Scotch -was vigorous after all other feeling was dead within him.</p> - -<p>Equally good as a bit of character-painting is the full length of Mrs. -Piozzi, whom William Charles Macready met at Bath, in the house of -Dr. Gibbs. She struck the actor as something like one of Reynolds’s -portraits walking out of its frame: ‘a little old lady dressed <i>point -devise</i> in black satin, with dark glossy ringlets under her neat black -hat, highly rouged, not the end of a ribbon or lace out of its place,’ -and entering the room with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>unfaltering step. She was the idol of the -hour, and Macready, specially introduced to her, was charmed with her -vivacity and good humour. The little old lady read, by request, some -passages from Milton, a task she delighted in, and for doing which -effectively she considered herself well qualified. She chose the -description of the lazar-house, from the 11th Book of ‘Paradise Lost,’ -and dwelt with emphatic distinctness on the various ills to which -mortality is exposed. ‘The finger on the dial-plate of the <i>pendule</i> -was just approaching the hour of ten, when, with a Cinderella-like -abruptness, she rose and took her leave, evidently as much gratified -by contributing to our entertainment as we were by the opportunity of -making her acquaintance.’ According to Dr. Gibbs, the vivacious old -Cinderella never stayed after ten was about to strike. Circumstances -might indeed prompt the sensitive lady to depart earlier. Mr. Macready -subsequently met the lively little lioness at the Twisses. The company -was mixed, old and young; the conversation was general, or people -talked the young with the young, the old among themselves. Mrs. Piozzi -was not the oracle on whose out-speakings all hearers reverentially -waited. Consequently, ‘long before her accustomed hour,’ Mrs. Piozzi -started up, and coldly wishing Mr. and Mrs. Twiss ‘good night,’ she -left the room. To the general inquiries, by look or word, the hostess -simply remarked,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> ‘She is very much displeased.’ The really gifted old -lady’s vanity was wounded; lack of homage sent her home in a huff. -Some of the best sketches in the book are of scenes of Macready’s -holiday travel. On one occasion, in a corner of an Italian garden, near -a church, he caught a priest kissing a young girl whom he had just -confessed. Nothing could be merrier or better-humoured than Macready’s -description of this pretty incident. The young Father, or brother, was -quite in order; Rome claims absolute rule over faith—and morals.</p> - -<p>We close this chronicle of so many varied hues with reluctance. That -which belongs to the retired life of the actor is fully as interesting -as the detail of the times when he was in harness. Indeed, in the -closing letters addressed to the present Lady Pollock, there are -circumstances of his early career not previously recorded. The record -of the home-life is full of interest, and we sympathise with the old -actor, who, as the fire of temperament died out, appeared purified and -chastened by the process.</p> - -<p>Macready, throughout his long life, had no ‘flexibility of spine’ for -men of wealth or title, but he had, if he describes himself truly, -perfect reverence for true genius, wheresoever found. He was oppressed -with his own comparative littleness and his seeming inability to cope -with men better endowed, intellectually, than himself. And yet, we -find him, when he must have felt that he was great,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> was assured he -was so by his most intimate admirers, and counted amongst them some of -the foremost literary men and critics of the day—we find him, we say, -moodily complaining that he was not sought for by ‘society,’ and not -invited into it. There was no real ground for the complaint. He who -made it was an honour to the society of which he was a part. Every page -of this record, not least so those inscribed with confession of his -faults, will raise him in the esteem of all its readers. He went to his -rest in 1873, and he is fortunate in the friend to whom he confided the -task of writing his life. The work, edited with modesty and judgment, -is a permanent addition to our dramatic literature.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>PRIVATE THEATRICALS.</i></h2> - -<p>As in Greece a man suffered no disparagement by being an actor there -was no disposition to do in private what was not forbidden in public. -The whole profession was ennobled when an actor so accomplished as -Aristodemus was honoured with the office of ambassador.</p> - -<p>In Rome a man was dishonoured by being a player. Accordingly noble -Roman youths loved to act in private, excusing themselves on the ground -that no professional actor polluted their private stage. Roman youths, -however, had imperial example and noble justification when a Roman -emperor made his first appearance on the public stage, and succeeded, -as a matter of course.</p> - -<p>Nero and Louis XIV. were the two sublime monarchs who were most -addicted to private theatricals; but the Roman outdid the Frenchman. We -know that persons of the Senatorial and Equestrian orders, and of both -sexes, played the parts, but we do not know how they liked or disliked -what they dared not decline. One can fancy, however, the figure and -feelings of the Roman knight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> when he began to practise riding on an -elephant that trotted swiftly along a rope. What strong expletives he -must have muttered to himself!—any one of which, uttered audibly, -would have cost him his head as a fine levied by his imperial manager. -As to Nero’s riding, and racing, and wrestling, and charioteering, as -an amateur, among professionals who always took care to be beaten by -him, these things were nothing compared with his ardour as a private -player, and especially as what would now be called an opera singer. -After all, Nero was more like an amateur actor who plays in public -occasionally than an actor in strictly private theatricals. There is no -doubt of his having been fond of music; he was well instructed in the -art and a skilful proficient. His first great enjoyment after becoming -emperor was in sitting up night after night playing with or listening -to Terpnus the harper. Nero practised the harp as if his livelihood -depended on it; and he went through a discipline of diet, medicine, -exercise, and rest, for the benefit of his voice and its preservation, -such as, it is to be hoped, no vocalist of the present day would submit -himself to. Nero’s first appearance on any stage was made at Naples. -The <i>débutant</i> was not at all nervous, for, though an earthquake made -the house shake while he was singing, he never ceased till he had -finished his song. Had any of the audience fled at the earthquake, -they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> probably would have been massacred for attending more to the -natural than the imperial phenomenon. But we can fancy that, when some -terrified Drusus got home and his Drusilla asked him about the voice of -the <i>illustrissimo</i> Signor Nerone, Drusus looked at her and answered, -‘Never heard such a shake in all my life!’</p> - -<p>What an affable fellow that otherwise terrible personage was! How -gracious he must have seemed as he dined in the theatre and told those -who reverently looked on that by-and-by he would sing clearer and -deeper! Our respect for this august actor is a little diminished by -the fact that he not only invented the <i>claque</i>, but taught his hired -applauders how they were to manifest approbation. He divided them -into three classes, constituting several hundreds of individuals. The -<i>bombi</i> had to hum approval, the more noisy <i>imbrices</i> were to shower -applause like heavy rain upon the tiles, and the <i>testas</i> were to -culminate the effect by clapping as if their hands were a couple of -bricks. And, with reputation thus curiously made at Naples, he reached -Rome to find the city mad to hear him. As the army added their sweet -voices of urgency, Nero modestly yielded. He enrolled his name on the -list of public singers, but so far kept his imperial identity as to -have his harp carried for him by the captain of his Prætorian Guard, -and to be half surrounded by friends and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> followers—the not too -exemplary Colonel Jacks and Lord Toms of that early time.</p> - -<p>Just as Bottom the weaver would have played, not only Pyramus, but -Thisbe and the Lion to boot, so Nero had appetite for every part, -and made the most of whatever he had. Suetonius says that, when Nero -sang the story of Niobe, ‘he held it out till the tenth hour of the -day;’ but Suetonius omits to tell us at what hour the imperial actor -first opened his mouth. ‘The Emperor did not scruple,’ says a quaint -translation of Suetonius’s ‘Lives of the Twelve Cæsars,’ ‘done into -English by several hands, <span class="smaller">A.D.</span> 1692,’ ‘in private Spectacles -to Act his Part among the Common Players, and to accept of a present of -a Million of Sesterces from one of the Prætors. He also sang several -tragedies in disguise, the Visors and Masks of the Heroes and the Gods, -as also of the Heroesses and the Goddesses, being so shap’d as to -represent his own Countenance or the Ladies for whom he had the most -Affection. Among other things he sang “Canace in Travail,” “Orestes -killing his Mother,” “Œdipus struck blind,” and “Hercules raging -mad.” At what time it is reported that a young Soldier, being placed -sentinel at the Door, seeing him drest up and bound, as the Subject of -the Play required, ran in to his Assistance as if the thing had been -done in good earnest.’ (Here we have the origin of all those soldiers -who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> have stood at the wings of French and English stages, and who -have interfered with the action of the play, or even have fainted away -in order to flatter some particular player). Nero certainly had his -amateur-actor weaknesses. He provided beforehand all the bouquets that -were to be spontaneously flung to him, or awarded as prizes in the -shape of garlands. French actresses are said to do the same thing, and -this pretty weakness is satirised in the duet between Hortense, the -actress, and Brillant, the fine gentleman, in the pretty vaudeville of -‘Le Juif’ (by A. Rousseau, Désaugiers, and Mesnard), brought out at the -Porte St.-Martin fifty odd years ago. Hortense is about to appear at -Orleans, and she says, or sings:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>Je suis l’idole dont on raffole.</div> -<div>Après demain mon triomphe est certain!</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘Oui,’ rejoins Brillant,</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>Oui! de tous les points de la salle,</div> -<div>Je prédis que sur votre front,</div> -<div>Trente couronnes tomberont.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And Hortense replies confidentially:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>Elles sont dans ma malle!</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>This is a custom, therefore, which French actresses derive from no less -a person than Nero. This gentleman, moreover, invariably spoke well of -every other actor to that actor’s face, but never at any other time. -If this custom has survived—which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>is, of course, hardly possible—he -who practises it can justify himself, if he pleases, by this Neronic -example.</p> - -<p>Although it was death to leave the theatre before the imperial amateur -had finished his part, there were some people who could not ‘stand it,’ -but who must have handsomely tipped the incorruptible Roman guard to -be allowed to vanish from the scene. There were others who insisted -on being on the point of death, but it is not to be supposed that -they were carried home without being munificently profuse in their -recompense. There was no shamming on the part of the indefatigable -Roman ladies, who, it is said, sometimes added a unit to the audience -and a new member to the roll of Roman citizens, before they could -be got away. And, when a man ran from the theatre, dropped from the -walls of the town, and took to his heels across country, he must have -been even more disgusted with the great amateur than you are, my dear -reader, with, let us say, your favourite worst actor on any stage. -<i>Exit Nero, histrio et imperator.</i></p> - -<p>Some one has said that the Italians had not the necessary genius for -acting. Ristori has wiped out that reproach. Private theatricals may be -said to have been much followed by them. Plays were acted before popes -just as they used to be (and on Sundays too) before our bishops. It is -on record<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> that the holiest of Holy Fathers have held their sides as -they laughed at the ‘imitations’ of English archbishops given to the -life by English bishops on mission to Rome; and, on the other hand, -there is no comedy so rich as that to be seen and heard in private, -acted by a clever, joyous Irish priest, imitating the voice, matter, -and manner of the street preachers in Italy. Poliziano’s ‘Orfeo,’ which -inaugurated Italian tragedy, was first played in private before Lorenzo -the Magnificent. Italian monks used to act Plautus and Terence, and -the nuns of Venice were once famous for the perfection with which they -acted tragedy in private to select audiences.</p> - -<p>Altogether, it seems absurd for anyone to have said that the Italians -had not the genius for acting. Groto, the poet—‘the blind man of -Adria’—played Œdipus, in Palladio’s theatre at Vicenza, in the most -impressive style. Salvator Rosa, the grandest of painters, was the most -laughable of low comedians; and probably no Italian has played Saul -better than Alfieri, who wrote the tragedy which bears that name.</p> - -<p>In France, private theatricals may be said to date from the seventeenth -century; but there, as in England, were to be found, long before, -especial ‘troops’ in the service of princes and nobles. We are pleased -to make record of the fact that Richard III., so early as the time -when he was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> young Duke of Gloucester, was the first English -prince who maintained his own private company of actors, of whom he -was the appreciating and generous master. No doubt, after listening -to them in the hall of his London mansion, he occasionally gave them -an ‘outing’ on his manor at Notting Hill. We have more respect for -Duke, or King, Richard, as patron of actors, than we have for Louis -XIV. turning amateur player himself, and not only ‘spouting’ verses, -but acting parts, singing in operas, and even dancing in the ballets -of Benserade and the <i>divertissements</i> of Molière. Quite another type -of the amateur actor is to be found in Voltaire. On the famous private -stage of the Duchess of Maine, Voltaire acted (in ‘Rome sauvée’) Cicero -to the Lentulus of the professional actor, Lekain. If we may believe -the illustrious actor himself, nothing could be more truthful, more -pathetic, more Roman, than the poet, in the character of the great -author.</p> - -<p>Voltaire prepared at least one comedy for private representation on -the Duchess’s stage, or on that of some other of his noble friends. A -very curious story is connected with this piece. It bore the title of -‘Le Comte de Boursoufle.’ After being acted by amateurs, in various -noble houses, it gave way to other pieces, the manuscript was put by, -and the play was forgotten. Eleven years ago, however, the manuscript -of the comedy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> in Voltaire’s handwriting, was discovered, and ‘Le -Comte de Boursoufle’ was produced at the Odéon. M. Jules Janin and all -the French theatrical critics were in a flutter of convulsive delight -at the recovery of this comedy. Some persons there were who asked if -there was any doubt on the matter, or was the piece by any other clever -Frenchman. They were laughed to scorn. The comedy was so full of wit -and satire that it could only be the work of the wittiest and most -satirical of Frenchmen. ‘If it is not Voltaire’s,’ it was asked, ‘whose -could it possibly be?’ This question was answered immediately by the -critics in this country, who pointed out that ‘Le Comte de Boursoufle,’ -which Voltaire had prepared for a company of private actors, was -neither more nor less than an exact translation of Sir John Vanbrugh’s -‘Relapse.’</p> - -<p>Private theatricals in France became a sort of institution. They -not only formed a part, often a very magnificent part, of the noble -mansions of princes, dukes, marquesses, <i>et tout ça</i>, but the theatre -was the most exquisite and luxurious portion of the residences of -the most celebrated and prodigal actresses. Mademoiselle Guimard, to -surpass her contemporaries, possessed two; one in her magnificent house -in the Chaussée d’Antin, the other in her villa at Pantin. The one in -Paris was such a scene of taste, splendour, extravagance, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> scandal, -that private boxes, so private that nobody could be seen behind the -gilded gratings, were invented for the use and enjoyment of very great -ladies. These, wishing to be witnesses of what was being acted on and -before the stage, without being supposed to be present themselves, were -admitted by a private door, and after seeing all they came to see, and -much more, perhaps, than they expected, these high and virtuous dames, -wrapped their goodly lace mantles about them, glided down the private -staircase to their carriages, and thought La Guimard was the most -amiable hussey on or off the stage.</p> - -<p>Voltaire’s private theatre, at Monrepos, near Lausanne, has been for -ever attached to history by the dignified pen of Gibbon. The great -historian’s chief gratification, when he lived at Lausanne, was in -hearing Voltaire in the Frenchman’s own tragedies on his own stage. The -‘ladies and gentlemen’ of the company were not geniuses, for Gibbon -says of them in his ‘Life,’ that ‘some of them were not destitute of -talents.’ The theatre is described as ‘decent.’ The costumes were -‘provided at the expense of the actors,’ and we may guess how the stage -was stringently managed, when we learn that ‘the author directed the -rehearsals with the zeal and attention of paternal love.’ In his own -tragedies, Voltaire represented Lusignan, Alvarez, Benassur,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> Euphemon, -&c. ‘His declamation,’ says Gibbon, ‘was fashioned to the pomp and -cadence of the old stage; and he expressed the enthusiasm of poetry -rather than the feelings of nature.’ This sing-song style, by which -diversified dramas, stilted rather than heroic, horribly dull rather -than elevated and stirring, had an effect on Gibbon such as we should -never have expected in him, or in any Englishman, we may say on any -created being with common sense, in any part of the civilised world. -His taste for the French theatre became fortified, and he tells us, -‘that taste has perhaps abated my idolatry for the gigantic genius -of Shakespeare, which is inculcated in our infancy as the first duty -of Englishmen.’ This is wonderful to read, and almost impossible to -believe. We may give more credit to the assertion that ‘the wit and -philosophy of Voltaire, his table and theatre, refined in a visible -degree the manners of Lausanne.’ It is worthy of note that a tragedy -of Voltaire’s is now rarely, if ever, acted. We question if one of -his most popular pieces, ‘Adélaïde Du Guesclin,’ has ever been played -since it was given at the Théâtre Français (spectacle gratis), 1822, on -occasion of the baptism of the Duc de Bordeaux, whom we now better know -as the Comte de Chambord, and who knows himself only as ‘Henry V., Roi -de France et de Navarre.’</p> - -<p>One of Voltaire’s favourite stage pupils was an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> actor named Paulin, -who played a tyrant in the Lausanne company. Voltaire had great hopes -of him, and he especially hoped to make much of him as Polifonte, -in Voltaire’s tragedy ‘Mérope.’ At the rehearsals, Voltaire, as was -customary with him, overwhelmed the performers with his corrections. He -sat up one night, to re-write portions of the character of the tyrant -Polifonte, and at three in the morning he aroused his servant and bade -him carry the new manuscript to Paulin. ‘Sir,’ said the man, ‘at such -an unseasonable hour as this M. Paulin will be fast asleep, and there -will be no getting into his house.’ ‘Go! run!’ exclaimed Voltaire, in -tragic tones. ‘Know that tyrants never sleep!’</p> - -<p>Some of the French private theatres of the last century were -singular in their construction. We know that the theatre of Pompey -was so constructed that, by ingenious mechanism, it could form two -amphitheatres side by side or could meet in one extensive circus. On -a smaller scale, the salon of the celebrated dancer D’Auberval could -be instantaneously turned into a private theatre, complete in all its -parts. Perhaps the most perfect, as regards the ability of the actors, -as well as the splendour of the house, audience and stage, were the two -private theatres at Saint-Assise and Bagnolet, of the Duke of Orleans -and Madame de Montesson. None but highly-gifted amateurs trod<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> those -boards. The Duke himself was admirable in peasants and in characters -abounding in sympathies with nature. Madame de Montesson was fond of -playing shepherdesses and young ladies under the pleasures, pains, or -perplexities of love; but, with much talent, the lady was far too stout -for such parts. It might be said of her, as Rachel said of her very fat -sister, whom she saw dressed in the costume of a shepherdess; ‘Bergère! -tu as l’air d’une bergère qui a mangé ses brebis!’</p> - -<p>Out of the multitude of French private theatres there issued but one -great actress, by profession, the celebrated Adrienne Lecouvreur; and -<i>she</i> belonged, not to the gorgeous temple of Thespis in the palaces -of nobles, but to a modest stage behind the shop of her father, the -hatter; and latterly, to one of more artistic pretensions in the -courtyard attached to the mansion of a great lawyer whose lady had -heard of Adrienne’s marvellous talent, and, to encourage it, got up -a theatre for her and her equally young comrades, in the <i>cour</i> of -her own mansion. The acting of the hatter’s daughter, especially as -Pauline, in Corneille’s ‘Polyeucte,’ made such a sensation that the -jealous Comédie Française cried ‘<i>Privilège!</i>’ and this private theatre -was closed, according to law.</p> - -<p>We have less interest in recalling the figure of Madame de Pompadour, -playing and warbling the chief parts in the sparkling little operettas -on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> stage of her private theatre at Bellevue, than we have in -recalling the figure of the young Dauphine, Marie-Antoinette, with the -counts of Provence and Artois (afterwards Louis XVIII. and Charles -X.), with their wives, and clever friends, playing comedy especially, -with a grace and perfection which were not always to be found in the -professional actor. But what the old king Louis XV. had encouraged -in the Pompadour he and his rather gloomy daughters discouraged in -Marie-Antoinette. It was not till she was queen, and had profited by -the lessons of the singer Dugazon, that the last royal private theatre -in France commenced its career of short-lived glory, at Choisy and -the Trianon. Louis XVI. never took kindly to these representations. -He went to them occasionally, but he disliked seeing the queen on the -stage. It is even said that he once directed a solitary hiss at her, -as she entered dressed as a peasant. It is further stated that the -royal actress stepped forward, and with a demure smile informed the -house that the dissatisfied individual might have his money returned -by applying at the door. It is a pretty story, but it is quite out -of character with the place and the personages, and it may be safely -assigned to that greatest of story-tellers, Il Signor Ben Trovato.</p> - -<p>Adverse critics have said of Marie-Antoinette’s Rosine, that it was -‘<i>royalement mal jouée</i>.’ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>Perhaps they opposed the whole system of -private acting. This amusement had the advocacy of Montaigne, who was -himself a good amateur actor. Of course, the thing may be abused. -It was not exemplary for French bishops to go to hear Collé’s gross -pieces in private. There was more dignity in Louis XIV. and Madame -de Maintenon listening to ‘Esther’ and ‘Athalie,’ acted by the young -ladies of Saint-Cyr; and there was less folly in the princes and nobles -who began the French Revolution by acting the ‘Mariage de Figaro’ in -private, than there was in the Comte d’Artois (afterwards Charles X.) -learning to dance on the tight rope, with a view of giving amateur -performances to his admiring friends.</p> - -<p>Mercier, in his ‘Tableau de Paris,’ under the head ‘Théâtre bourgeois,’ -states that in the last quarter of the last century there was a perfect -rage for private theatricals in France, and that it extended from the -crown to the humblest citizen. He thought that the practice had its -uses, but its abuses also; and he counselled simple country-townsmen to -leave acting to the amateurs in large cities, where people were not too -nice upon morals; where lovers gave additional fire to Orosmane, and -the timidest young ladies found audacity enough to play Nanine. Mercier -had seen the private theatricals at Chantilly, and he praises the care, -taste, and simple grace which distinguished the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> acting of the Prince -of Condé and the Duchess of Bourbon. It is very clear that if they had -not been cast for the genteelest comedy in the drama of life, they -would have got on very well in the world as players. So the Duke of -Orleans, at his private theatre at Saint-Assise, pleased Mercier by the -care and completeness of his acting. ‘The Queen of France,’ he adds, -‘has private theatricals, in her own apartments, at Versailles. Not -having had the honour to see her I can say nothing on the subject.’</p> - -<p>With these players of lofty social quality, Mercier contrasts the -amateurs in humble society. These were given to act tragedy—or -nothing. He cites, from ‘Le Babillard,’ the case of a shoemaker, -renowned for his skill in gracefully fitting the most gracefully -small feet of the beauties of the day. On Sundays, Crispin drew on -his own legs the buskins which he himself or his journeymen had made; -and he acted, in his own house, the lofty tragedy then in vogue. It -happened once that his manager, with whom he had quarrelled, had to -provide a dagger to be deposited on an altar, for the amateur player’s -suicidal use. Out of spite, the fellow placed there the shoemaker’s -professional cutting-knife. The amateur, in the fury of his acting, -and not perceiving the trick, snatched up the weapon, and gave himself -the happy despatch with the instrument which helped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> him to live. This -stage business excited roars of laughter, which brought the tragedy to -an end as merrily as if it had been a burlesque. The shoemaker could -find nothing to say, by which he might turn the laughter from himself. -He was not as witty as the English shoemaker’s apprentice whom his -master seized, about this time, on the private stage in Berwick Street, -acting no less a character than Richard III., in a very dilapidated -pair of buskins. As the angry master pointed to them in scorn, the -witty lad sustained his royal quality in his reply: ‘Oh! shoes are -things we kings don’t stand upon!’</p> - -<p>In England, private theatricals are to be traced back to an early -date. We go far enough in that direction, however, by referring to -Mary Tudor, the solemn little daughter of Henry VIII., who, with -other children, acted before her royal sire, in Greenwich Palace, to -the intense delight of her father and an admiring court. Henrietta -Maria, Queen of Charles I., is remembered in court and theatrical -annals for the grace with which she played in pretty pastoral French -pieces, assisted by her ladies, on the private stages at Whitehall -and Hampton Court. The private theatricals of the Puritan days were -only those which took place surreptitiously, and at the risk of the -performers being arrested and punished. Holland House, Kensington, was -occasionally the place where the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> players found refuge and gave a taste -of their quality. The ‘good time’ came again; and that greatest of -actors, Betterton, with his good and clever wife, taught the daughters -of James II. all that was necessary to make those ladies what they both -were, excellent actors on their private stage. So Quin taught the boy -to speak, who afterwards became George III., and who was a very fair -private player, but perhaps not equal with his brothers and sisters, -and some of the young nobility who trod the stage for pastime, and gave -occupation to painters and engravers to reproduce the mimic scene and -the counterfeit presentments of those who figured therein.</p> - -<p>It was in the reign of George III., and in the year 1777, that the year -itself was inaugurated on the part of the fashionable amateurs by a -performance of ‘The Provoked Husband.’ Lord Villiers was at the cost -of getting it up, but that was nothing to a man who was the prince of -macaronies, and who, as Walpole remarks, had ‘fashioned away’ all he -possessed. The play, followed by a sort of <i>pose plastique</i>, called -‘Pygmalion and the Statue,’ was acted in a barn, expensively fitted -up for the occasion, near Henley. Lord Villiers and Miss Hodges were -Lord and Lady Townley. Walpole says, on hearsay, that ‘it went off -to admiration.’ Mrs. Montagu, also on report, says: ‘I suppose the -merit of this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>entertainment was, that people were to go many miles -in frost and snow, to see in a barn what would have been every way -better at the theatre in Drury Lane or Covent Garden.’ Walpole speaks -of M. Texier’s Pygmalion as ‘inimitable.’ The Frenchman was at that -time much patronised in town for his ‘readings.’ Miss Hodges acted the -Statue. Mrs. Montagu’s sharp criticism takes this shape: ‘Modern nymphs -are so warm and yielding that less art than that of M. Texier might -have animated the nymph. My niece will never stand to be made love to -before a numerous audience.’ The Lady Townley and Galatea of these gay -doings sacrificed herself, we suppose, to these important duties. ‘Miss -Hodges’ father,’ writes Mrs. Montagu, ‘is lately dead: her mother is -dying. How many indecorums the girl has brought together in one <i>petite -pièce</i>!’ The play was not all the entertainment of the night, which was -one of the most inclement of that pitiless winter. ‘There was a ball,’ -says the lady letter-writer, ‘prepared after the play, but the barn had -so benumbed the vivacity of the company, and the beaux’ feet were so -cold and the noses of the belles were so blue, many retired to a warm -bed at the inn at Henley, instead of partaking of the dance.’ Walpole -gives play to his fancy over these facts. ‘Considering,’ he says, ‘what -an Iceland night it was, I concluded the company and audience would all -be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> brought to town in waggons, petrified, and stowed in a statuary’s -yard in Piccadilly.’</p> - -<p>We have heard over and over again of such private theatres as -Winterslow, near Salisbury, which was burnt down on the night after -a performance in which Fox and similar spirits had acted with equal -vivacity in tragedy and farce. Other incidents are to be found in -Walpole and similar gossiping chroniclers of the time. None of those -private theatres, however, can match with Wargrave, in Berkshire, -where, in the last century, Lord Barrymore held sway during his brief -and boisterous life. When Lord Barrymore succeeded to the lordship -of himself, that ‘heritage of woe,’ he came before the world with a -splendour so extravagant in its character that the world was aghast -at his recklessness. Wild and audacious as was the character of this -wayward boy’s life, he was in some sort a gentleman in his vices. He -was brave and generous and kindly hearted. Since his time we have had -a line (now extinct, or effete in the infirmity and imbecility of a -surviving member or two) of gentlemen who plunged into blackguardism -as a relief from the burden of life. They would play loosely at cards, -swindle a dear friend at horse-dealing, and half a dozen of them -together would not be afraid to fall upon some helpless creature and -beat him into pulp by way of a ‘lark.’ Lord Barrymore was simply a -‘rake,’ and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> injured no man but himself. He came into the hunting -field more like a king of France and Navarre than an English gentleman, -and his negro trumpeters played fantasias in the woods, to the infinite -surprise, no doubt, of the foxes. He kept perpetual open house, and -Mrs. Delpini superintended it for him. What he most prided himself upon -was his taste for the drama, and the way he carried it into effect made -Wargrave brilliant and famous in its little day.</p> - -<p>This noble youth began modestly enough. His first private theatre was -in one of his own barns. The first piece played in it was ‘Miss in -her Teens,’ in which he acted Flash; and no one of the illustrious -performers, youth or maiden, was over seventeen years of age. Noble -by birth, as all the amateur Thespians were, this performance was not -given to an exclusively aristocratic audience, but to all the villagers -and the peasantry in the vicinity of the village who cared to come. -All came, and there was a pit of red cloaks and smock frocks, and -ample provision of creature comforts for the whole barn. From this -modest origin sprang the noble theatre which Cox of Covent Garden -Theatre built for the earl at a cost of 60,000<i>l.</i> It was a marvellous -edifice. For pantomimic performances it had traps and springs and -other machinery that might satisfy the requirements of Mr. George -Conquest himself, who practised gymnastics, for exercise,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> when he was -a student at a German university, and who is now the first of gymnastic -performers instead of being the profoundest of philosophers—though -there is no reason why he may not be both.</p> - -<p>The Wargrave theatre lacked nothing that could be wanted for its -completeness. The auditorium was splendid. There was a saloon quite as -superb, wherein the audience could sup like kings and the invited could -afterwards dance. Between the acts of performance pages and lackeys, -in scarlet and gold, proffered choice refreshments to the spectators, -who were not likely to be hard upon players under a management of such -unparalleled liberality. The acting company was made up of professional -players—Munden, Delpini, and Moses Kean, among the men, with the -best and prettiest actresses of the Richmond Theatre. Lord Barrymore -and Captain Walthen were the chief amateurs. Low comedy and pantomime -formed the ‘walk’ of my lord, who on one occasion danced a celebrated -<i>pas Russe</i> with Delpini as it was then danced at the opera. Now and -then the noble proprietor would stand disguised as a check-taker, and -promote ‘rows’ with the farmers and their wives, disputing the validity -of their letters of invitation. It was also his fond delight to mingle -with them, in disguise again, as they wended homeward, listening to or -provoking their criticism. He probably heard some unwelcome<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> truths, -for he could not have long escaped detection. Within doors the night’s -pleasures were not at an end with the play. Dancing, gambling, music, -and folly to its utmost limits succeeded; and he, or <i>she</i>, was held -in scorn who attempted to go to bed before 5 <span class="smaller">A.M.</span> Indeed, -such persons were not allowed to sleep if they did withdraw before the -appointed hour. From five o’clock to noon was the Wargrave season for -sleep. The company were consigned to the ‘upper and lower barracks,’ -as the two divisions were called where the single and the married, or -those who might as well have been, were billeted for the night.</p> - -<p>Lord Barrymore did not confine himself to acting on a private stage. -In August, 1790, he ‘was so humble as to perform a buffoon dance and -act scaramouch in a pantomime at Richmond for the benefit of Edwin -<i>junior</i>, the comedian; and I,’ writes Walpole, ‘like an old fool, but -calling myself a philosopher that loves to study human nature in all -its disguises, went to see the performance!’ Walpole used to call the -earl ‘the strolling player.’ On the above occasion, however, there is -one thing to be remembered: Lord Barrymore, invited to play the fool, -condescended to that degradation in order to serve young Edwin, whose -affection and filial duty towards a sick and helpless mother had won -the noble amateur’s regard.</p> - -<p>Lord Barrymore married in 1792, in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> year the splendid theatre -at Wargrave was pulled down. In March, 1793, he was, as captain of -militia, escorting some French prisoners through Kent. On his way he -halted at an inn to give them and his own men refreshment; which being -done, he kissed the handsome landlady and departed in his phaeton, his -groom mounting the horse Lord Barrymore had previously ridden. The man -put a loaded gun into the carriage, and Lord Barrymore had not ridden -far when it exploded and killed him on the spot. Thus ended, at the age -of twenty-four years, the career of the young earl, who was the most -indefatigable, if not the most able, amateur actor of his day.</p> - -<p>Such examples fired less noble youths, who left their lawful -callings, broke articles and indentures, and set up for themselves by -representing somebody else. Three of our best bygone comedians belong -to this class, and may claim some brief record at our hands.</p> - -<p>Oxberry, who was distinguished for the way in which he acted personages -who were less remarkable for their simplicity than for their silliness, -was a pupil of Stubbs, the animal painter, and subsequently was in -the house of Ribeau, the bookseller. The attractions of the private -theatres in Queen Anne Street and Berwick Street were too much for him. -Oxberry’s first appearance was made at the former place, as Hassan, -in the ‘Castle Spectre.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> The well-known players, Mrs. W. West and -John Cooper, acted together as Alonzo and Leonora in ‘The Revenge,’ -at a private theatre in Bath, to the horror of their friends and the -general scandalising of the city of which they were natives. The Bath -manager looked on the young pair with a business eye, and the youthful -amateurs were soon enrolled among the professionals. In their first -stages, professionals scarcely reckon above amateurs. They play what -they can, and such comic actors as Wilkinson and Harley are not the -only pair of funny fellows upon record who played the most lofty -tragedy in opposition to each other. Little Knight, as he used to be -called, was, like Long Oxberry, intended for art, but he too took to -private acting, and passed thence to the stage, where he was supreme in -peasants, and particularly rustics, of sheer simplicity of character. -His Sim in ‘Wild Oats’ was an exquisite bit of acting, and this is said -without any disparagement of Mr. D. James, who recently acted the part -at Mr. Belmore’s benefit with a natural truthfulness which reminded -old play-goers of the ‘real old thing.’ If Mr. Knight did not succeed -in pictorial art, he left a son who did—the gentleman who so recently -retired from the secretaryship of the Royal Academy. The two names of -Knight and Harley were, for a long time, pleasant in the ears of the -patrons of the drama. John Pritt Harley was intended for many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> things, -but amateur acting made a capital comedian of him. His father was a -reputable draper and mercer—and jealous actors used to say that he -sold stays and that his son helped to make them. The truth is that he -was first devoted to surgery, but Harley ‘couldn’t abide it.’ Next he -tried the law, and sat on a stool with the edge of a desk pressing into -him till he could bear it no longer. There was, at the time, a company -of amateurs who performed in the old Lyceum, and there, and at other -private theatres, Harley worked away as joyously as he ever played; and -worked harder still through country theatres, learning how to starve -as well as act, and to fancy that a cup of tea and a penny loaf made a -good dinner—which no man could make upon them. His opportunity came -when, in 1815, Mr. Arnold, who had watched some part of his progress, -brought him out at the Lyceum—his old amateur playing ground—as -Marcelli, in ‘The Devil’s Bridge.’ Harley lived a highly-esteemed actor -and a most respectable bachelor. Some little joking used to be pointed -at him in print, on account of an alleged attachment between him and -Miss Tree, the most graceful of dancers and of columbines. But Miss -Tree was a Mrs. Quin—though she had scarcely seen her husband, since -she was compelled to marry him in her childhood. The nicest pointed -bit of wit was manufactured in a hoaxing announcement of a benefit -to be taken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> by both parties. The pieces advertised were ‘A Tale of -<i>Mystery</i>,’ and a ‘Harley-Quinade.’ The names of the parties could -not have been more ingeniously put together in sport. Harley, though -a mannerist, was an excellent actor to the last. When he was stricken -with apoplexy, while playing Bottom, in the ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ -at the Princess’s Theatre, in Charles Kean’s time, he was carried -home, and the last words he uttered were words in his part: ‘I feel an -exposition to sleep coming over me.’ And straightway the unconscious -speaker slept—for aye!</p> - -<p>We must not add to the grievances of Ireland by altogether overlooking -Erin’s private theatricals. From the day in 1544, when Bale’s -‘Pammachius’ was acted by amateurs at the market cross of Kilkenny, -to the last recent record of Irish amateur acting, in the ‘Dublin -Evening Mail,’ this amusement has been a favourite one among the ‘West -Britons.’ The practice did not die out at the Union. Kilkenny, Lurgan, -Carton, and Dublin had their private stages. When the amateur actors -played for charity’s sake everybody took private boxes and nobody paid -for them. In 1761, the ‘Beggars’ Opera’ was played at the Duke of -Leinster’s (Carton). Dean Marly played Lockit, and wrote and spoke the -prologue, in which the reverend gentleman thus alluded to himself: </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>But when this busy mimic scene is o’er</div> -<div>All shall resume the worth they had before;</div> -<div>Lockit himself his knavery shall resign,</div> -<div>And lose the Gaoler in the dull Divine.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The above was not quite as dignified as Milton’s ‘Arcades,’ played by -the children of the Dowager Countess of Derby, at her house, Harefield -Place; or as ‘Comus,’ acted by the young Egertons before the Earl of -Bridgewater, at Ludlow Castle. Perhaps it was more amusing.</p> - -<p>One of our own best amateur actresses was the Princess Mary of -Cambridge (now Duchess of Teck). This excellent lady had once to -commence the piece (a musical piece, written for the occasion by an -amateur) on a private stage in one of the noblest of our country -mansions. An illustrious audience was waiting for the curtain to go up; -but the kindly-hearted princess was thinking of some less illustrious -folks, who were not among that audience and whom she desired to see -there, namely, the servants of the household—as many as could be -spared. They had had much trouble, and she hoped they would be allowed -to share in the amusement. There was some difficulty; but it was only -when she was informed that the servants were really ‘in front,’ that -the ‘Queen of Hearts’ (her part in the piece) answered that she was -ready to begin the play. She never acted better than on this occasion.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>THE SMELL OF THE LAMPS.</i></h2> - -<p>As we look at the two volumes of Mr. Planché’s autobiography we -experience a sensation of delight. They remind us of a story told of -Maria Tree, long after she had become Mrs. Bradshaw, and was accustomed -to luxuries unknown in her early and humble life. She was one night -crossing the stage behind the curtain, on a short way to a private -box, when she stopped for a moment, and, as she caught the well-known -incense of the foot-lights, joyously exclaimed, ‘The smell of the -lamps! How I love it!’ Therewith she spoke of the old times, when she -worked hard—that is, ‘played,’ for the support of others as well as -for her own support; and what a happy time it was, and how she wished -it could all come over again! The noble peer who had the honour of -escorting her, looked profoundly edified, smiled good-humouredly, -and then completed his duty as escort. Here we open Mr. Planché’s -book, and catch from it a ‘smell of the lamps.’ Yes, there must have -been—must be—something delicious in it to those who have achieved -success. To old play-goers there is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> similar delight in books of -stage reminiscences which include memories of great actors whom those -play-goers have seen in their youth. A few of these still survive to -talk of the old glories and to prove by comparison of ‘cast’ that for -the costly metal of other days we have nothing now but pinchbeck. We -have heard one of the old gentlemen of the <i>ancien régime</i> talk, with -unfeigned emotion, of the way in which ‘The Gamester’ used to be acted -by Mrs. Siddons, John Kemble, Charles Kemble, and George Frederick -Cooke. How ladies sobbed and found it hard to suppress a shriek; how -gentlemen veiled their eyes to hide the impertinent tears, and tried -to look as if nothing were the matter; and, how people who had seen -the dreadful tragedy more than once, and dreaded to witness it again, -were so fascinated that they would stand in the box-passages gazing -through the glass panels of the box doors, beholding the action of the -drama, but sparing themselves the heartbreaking utterances of the chief -personages. Within a few weeks we have heard a veteran play-goer give -imitations of John Kemble in ‘Coriolanus,’ which he last played more -than half a century ago! It had the perfect enunciation which was the -chief merit of the Kemble school; it was dignified; it gave an idea of -a grand actor, and it was a pleasure conferred on the hearers such as -Charles Mathews the elder used to confer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> on his audiences ‘At Home,’ -when he presented them with Tate Wilkinson, and they were delighted to -make acquaintance with the famous man who had so long before got, as -the old Irishwoman said at Billy Fullam’s funeral, his ‘pit order at -last.’</p> - -<p>While we wait for a paper-cutter to open the closed pages of Mr. -Planché’s book, we will just remark that those were days when audiences -were differently arranged to what they are now. In the little -summer-house in the Haymarket, when stalls were not yet invented, -the two-shilling gallery was the rendezvous of some of the richest -tradesmen in Pall Mall and the neighbourhood around. At that period, -London tradesmen lived and slept at their places of business. They did -not pass their nights at a country house. London audiences were made up -almost entirely of London people. In the present day, they are largely -made up of visitors from the country. In proportion as travelling -companies of actors of merit increase and continue to represent plays -sometimes better than they are represented in London, country visitors -will cease to go to ‘the play,’ as it is called, in the metropolis, and -will find some other resort where they can shuffle off the mortal coil -of tediousness which holds them bound during their absence from home.</p> - -<p>In good old times the pit was the place, not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> only for the critics, but -for the most eminent men of the day. Indeed, not only eminent men, but -ladies also, whose granddaughters, as they sweep into the stalls, would -think meanly of their grandmothers and grandfathers, and would shudder -at the thought of themselves, being in that vulgar part of the house. -It is an excellent vulgarity that sits there. Nineteen out of twenty, -perhaps ninety out of a hundred, of persons in the pit are the truest -patrons of the drama; they pay for the places; and, generally speaking, -the places are made as uncomfortable as if the occupiers were intruders -of whom the managers would be glad to get rid.</p> - -<p>The best proof of the quality of the old pittites is to be found in -the diary of the Right Hon. William Windham (1784-1810). One of the -entries in the first-named year records a breakfast with Sir Joshua -Reynolds, a visit to Miss Kemble, and ‘went in the evening to the pit -with Mrs. Lukin.’ The play was ‘The Gamester.’ A day or two afterwards -the great statesman went with Steevens and Miss Kemble to see ‘Measure -for Measure.’ ‘After the play,’ writes Windham, ‘went with Miss Kemble -to Mrs. Siddons’s dressing-room; met Sheridan there.’ What interest -Windham took in that actress is illustrated in another entry: ‘Feb. 1, -1785. Drove to Mrs. Siddons in order to communicate a hint on a passage -in Lady Macbeth,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> which she was to act the next night. Not finding her -at home, went to her at the play-house.’ Well might Mrs. Siddons write, -on inviting Windham to tea: ‘I am sure you would like it; and you can’t -be to learn that I am truly sensible of the honour of your society.’</p> - -<p>The pits in the London theatres have undergone as great a change, -though a different one, as the pit at the opera, which now only -nominally exists, if it exist at all. It is now an area of stalls; -the old price for admission is doubled, and the entertainment is not -worth an eighth of what charged for it compared with that of the olden -time, when for an eight-and-sixpenny pit ticket you had Grisi, Mario, -Lablache, and Tamburini, with minor vocalists, thorough artists, in -the same opera. What a spectacle was the grand old house! The old -aristocracy had their boxes for the season, as they had their town -and country houses. You got intimate with them by sight; it was a -pleasure to note how the beautiful young daughters of each family -grew in gracefulness. You took respectful part in the marriages. At -each opening season you marked whether the roses bloomed or paled -upon the young cheeks, and you sympathised accordingly. You spoke of -Lord Marlshire’s look with a hearty neighbourly feeling, and you were -glad that Lady Marlshire really seemed only the eldest sister of a -group of beauties who were her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> daughters. As for the sons of those -great families, they were in full dress, sauntering or gossiping in -that Elysium ill-naturedly called ‘Fops’ Alley’; they were exchanging -recognitions with friends and kinsmen in all parts of the house. If you -heard a distant laugh—loud enough where the laughers were moved to -it—you might be sure it was caused by Lord Alvanley, who was telling -some absurdly jocose story to a group of noble Young Englanders in the -pit passage under the boxes. We have seen the quiet entry of a quiet -man into a private box make quite a stir. Every stranger felt that the -quiet man was a man of mark; he came to snatch a momentary joy, and -then away to affairs of state again; he was the prime minister. Dozens -of opera-goers have recorded their <i>souvenirs</i> of the old glorious days -when the opera, as they say, was an institution, opened only twice a -week: whereas each house is merely an ordinary theatre, with audiences -that are never, two nights running, chiefly made up of the same -<i>habitués</i>. They have told what friendly interest used to be aroused -when the Duchess of Kent and her daughter, the Princess Victoria, took -their seats every opera night. We seem again to hear a ringing laugh, -and we know it comes from the sparkling English lady with an Italian -title, the Countess St. Antonio. We seem again to see that marvellously -audacious-looking pair, Lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> Blessington and Count D’Orsay, gauging -the house and appearing to differ as to conclusions. The red face of -the Duchess of St. Albans and the almost as ruddy vessel from which -her tea was poured have been described over and over again; and, in -the records of other chroniclers we fancy that once more there come -upon us the voices of two gentlemen who talked so above the singers -that a remonstrant ‘Hush!’ went round the building. The offenders were -the Duke of Gloucester and Sir Robert Wilson. The soldier would draw -out of sight, and the prince would make a sort of apologetic remark in -a voice a little higher than that which had given offence. These are -reminiscences chronicled in the memoirs, diaries, and fugitive articles -of old opera-goers.</p> - -<p>Mr. Planché must have been among those ancient lovers of music and -of song, and that he should record his experiences is a thing to be -grateful for, especially as he writes of the battle and joys of life -while he is still in harness and the wreathed bowl is in his hand. -In 1818, he began with burlesque—‘Amoroso, King of Little Britain,’ -written for amateurs, and taken by Harley, unknown to the author, -to Drury Lane. In 1872, after fifty-four years of work, Mr. Planché -executed the better portion of ‘Babil and Bijou,’ which, compared -with ‘Amoroso,’ is as the <i>Great Eastern</i> steamer to a walnut-shell. -We heartily welcome all chroniclers of an art that lives only in -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> artist, and never survives him in tradition. Our own collection -begins with Downes, and Mr. Planché’s emerald-green volumes will find -room there. Scores of biographies are ‘squeezing’ room for him. Fred -Reynolds’s portrait seems to say, ‘Let Planché come next to me.’ As we -look at those dramatic historians we are struck with their usefulness -as well as their power of entertaining. For example, a paragraph in one -of the most ancient of dramatic chronicles—the ‘Roscius Anglicanus,’ -by old Downes, the prompter—is of infinite use to the reputation of -Shakespeare. Dryden, who produced <i>his</i> version of ‘The Tempest’ to -show how Shakespeare <i>ought</i> to have written it, maintained that after -the Restoration our national poet was not much cared for by the people, -and that for a long time two plays of Beaumont and Fletcher were acted -for one of Shakespeare. In Downes’s record the prompter registers -the revival of ‘Hamlet;’ and, without any reference to Dryden, or -knowledge, indeed, of his depreciation of Shakespeare, he states that -the tragedy in question brought more money to the house and more -reputation to the players than any piece by any other author during a -great number of years.</p> - -<p>To some nameless chronicler we owe a knowledge of the fact that -Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ was played on board ship, in Shakespeare’s time, -by sailors. Why was this left unnoticed when the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> royal captain of the -<i>Galatea</i> took the chair at the last Theatrical Fund dinner? But for -the chroniclers we should be ignorant that, just six hundred years -ago, the Chester mysteries and passion-plays were at their highest -point of attraction. Indeed, they could never have been unattractive; -for all those who undertook to witness the performance during about -a month’s season were promised to be relieved from hundreds of years -of the fire of purgatory. What a delicious feeling to the earnest -play-goer, that the more regularly he went to the play on these -occasions, the more pleasantly he would work out his salvation! The -different dramatic scenes were represented by the best actors in the -Chester trading companies. One would like to know on what principle the -distribution of parts was made by the manager. Why should the Tanners -have been chosen to play the ‘Fall of Lucifer’? What virtue was there -in the Blacksmiths, that they should be especially appointed to enact -‘The Purification’? or, in the Butchers, that they should represent -‘The Temptation’? or, in the Bakers, that they should be deemed the -fittest persons to illustrate ‘The Last Supper’? One can understand -the Cooks being selected for ‘The Descent into Hell,’ because they -were accustomed to stand fire; but what of angelical or evangelical -could be found exclusively in the Tailors, that they should be cast for -‘The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> Ascension’? Were the Skinners, whose mission it was to play ‘The -Resurrection,’ not deemed worthy of going higher? Or, were the Tailors -lighter men, and more likely to rise with alacrity?</p> - -<p>We are inclined to think that the idea of plays being naughty things -and players more than naughty persons in the early days is a vulgar -error. Plays must have been highly esteemed by the authorities, or -Manningtree in Essex (and probably many another place) would not have -enjoyed its privilege of holding a fair by tenure of exhibiting a -certain number of stage plays annually.</p> - -<p>There was undoubtedly something Aristophanic in many of the early -plays. There was sharp satire, and sensitive ribs which shrank from -the point of it. When the Cambridge University preachers satirised -the Cambridge town morals the burgesses took the matter quietly; but -when the Cambridge University players (students) caricatured the town -manners in 1601, exaggerating their defects on the University stage, -there was much indignation.</p> - -<p>The presence of Queen Elizabeth at plays in London, and the acting of -them in the mansions which she honoured by a visit, are proofs of the -dignity of the profession. We have her, in the year last named, at one -of the most popular of London theatres, with a bevy of fair listening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> -maids of honour about her. This was in her old age. ‘I have just come,’ -writes Chamberlain to Charlton, ‘from the Blackfriars, where I saw her -at the play with all her <i>candida auditrices</i>.’ At Christmas time, -Carlile writes to Chamberlain, ‘There has been such a small court this -Christmas, that the guard were not troubled to keep doors at the plays -and pastimes.’</p> - -<p>And if the name of Elizabeth should have a sweet savour to actors -generally, not less delicious to dramatic memories should be the mayor -of Abingdon, in that queen’s time, who invited so many companies of -players to give a taste of their quality in that town for fee and -reward. If any actor to whom the history of the stage be of interest -should turn up at Abingdon, let him get the name of this play-loving -mayor, and hang it over the fire-place of the best room of the Garrick, -or rather of the club that <i>will</i> be—the social, cosey, comfortable, -professional, not palatial nor swellish, but homelike house, that the -Garrick was in its humbler and happier days.</p> - -<p>Now the companies the Mayor had down to Abingdon included the -Queen’s players, the Earl of Leicester’s players, the players of -the Earl of Worcester, of Lord Sussex, of the Earl of Bath, of Lord -Berkely, of Lord Shrewsbury, of Lord Derby, and of Lord Oxford. Is -there no one who can get at the names of these actors, and of the -pieces they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> played—played for rewards varying from twenty pence to -twenty shillings? Will that thoroughly English actor, one of the few -accomplished comedians of the well-trained times now left to us, be the -more successfully urged to the task, if we remind him that, in 1573, -his professional namesake, Mr. Compton, took his players to Abingdon, -and earned four shillings by the exercise of their talents?</p> - -<p>The Elizabethan time was a very lively one. It had its theatrical -cheats and its popular riots. We learn from State records that on the -anniversary of the Queen’s accession, November, 1602, ‘One Verner, of -Lincoln’s Inn, gave out bills of a play on Bankside, to be acted by -persons of account; price of entry, 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> or 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> Having -got most of the money he fled, but was taken and brought before the -Lord Chief Justice, who made a jest of it, and bound him over in 5<i>l.</i> -to appear at the sessions. The people, seeing themselves deluded, -revenged themselves on the hangings, chairs, walls, &c., and made a -great spoil. There was much good company, and many noblemen.’</p> - -<p>The Queen died in March, 1603. There were the usual ‘blacks,’ but the -court and stage were brilliant again by Christmas. Early in January of -the following year people were talking of the gay doings, the brilliant -dresses, the noble dramas, the grand bear-baitings, the levity, -dancing, and the golden play, which had solemnised the Christmas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> just -ended. Thirteen years later Shakespeare died, and in little more than -half a century small spirits whispered that he was not such a great -spirit himself after all.</p> - -<p>In Mr. Planché’s professional autobiography, which makes us as -discursive as the biographer himself, there is a seeming inclination -to overpraise some actors of the present time at the expense of those -whom we must consider their superiors in bygone days. As far as this -may tend to show that there is no actor so good but that his equal may -in time be discovered, we have no difference with the author of these -‘Recollections.’ It is wonderful how speedily audiences recover the -loss of their greatest favourites. Betterton, who restored the stage -soon after Monk had restored the monarchy, was called ‘the glory and -the grief’ of that stage. The glory while he acted and lived in the -memories of those who had seen him act. To the latter his loss was an -abiding grief. For years after Betterton’s decease it was rank heresy -to suppose that he might be equalled. Pope, in expressive, yet not the -happiest of his verses, has alluded to this prejudice. The prejudice, -nevertheless, was unfounded. Betterton remains indeed with the prestige -of being an actor who has not been equalled in many parts, who has been -excelled in none. Old playgoers, who could compare him in his decline -with young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> Garrick in his vigour, were of different opinions as to -the respective merits of these two great masters of their art. We may -fairly conclude that Garrick’s Hamlet was as ‘great’ as Betterton’s; -that the latter’s Sir John Brute was hardly equal to Garrick’s Abel -Drugger; and that the Beverley of the later actor was as perfect an -original creation as the Jaffier of Betterton.</p> - -<p>When Wilks made the ‘Constant Couple, or a Trip to the Jubilee,’ a -success by the spirit and ease with which he played the part of Sir -Harry Wildair, Farquhar, the author of the comedy, said ‘That he made -the part will appear from hence: whenever the stage has the misfortune -to lose him Sir Harry Wildair may go to the Jubilee.’ Nevertheless, -Margaret Woffington achieved a new success for that play by the fire -and joyousness of her acting. When Wilks died, poets sang in rapturous -grief of his politeness, grace, gentility, and ease; and they protested -that a supernatural voice had been heard moaning through the air—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">Farewell, all manly Joy!</div> -<div>And ah! true British Comedy, adieu!</div> -<div>Wilks is no more.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Notwithstanding this, British comedy did not die; Garrick’s Ranger was -good compensation for Wilks’s Sir Harry.</p> - -<p>When Garrick heard of Mrs. Cibber’s death, in 1766, he exclaimed, ‘Mrs. -Cibber dead! Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> tragedy has died with her!’ At that very time a -little girl of twelve years of age was strolling from country theatre -to country theatre, and she was destined to be an actress of higher -quality and renown than even Mrs. Cibber, namely, Sarah Siddons. Mrs. -Pritchard could play Lady Macbeth as grandly as Mrs. Siddons; and Mrs. -Crawford (Spranger Barry’s widow), who laughed at the ‘paw and pause’ -of the Kemble school, was a Lady Randolph of such force and pathos -that Sarah feared and hated her. Not many years after Garrick had -pronounced Tragedy and Cibber to have expired together, his own death -was described as having eclipsed the harmless gaiety of nations, and -Melpomene wept with Thalia for their common adopted son, and neither -would be comforted. But as Siddons was compensation for Mrs. Cibber, so -the Kembles, to use an old simile, formed the very fair small change -for Garrick. When Kemble himself departed, his most ardent admirers or -worshippers could not assert that his legitimate successor could not be -found. Edmund Kean had already supplanted him. The romantic had thrust -out the classic; the natural had taken place of the artificial; and -Shakespeare, by flashes of the Kean lightning, proved more attractive -than the stately eloquence of ‘Cato,’ or the measured cadences of -‘Coriolanus.’</p> - -<p>Edmund Kean, however, has never had a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>successor in certain parts. Mrs. -F. Kemble has justly said of him: ‘Kean is gone, and with him are gone -Shylock, Richard, and Othello.’ Mrs. Siddons, at her first coming, did -not dethrone the old popular favourites. After she had withdrawn from -the stage, Miss O’Neill cast her somewhat under the shadow of oblivion; -but when old Lady Lucy Meyrick saw Mrs. Siddons’s Lady Macbeth in her -early triumph, she acknowledged the fine conception of the character, -but the old lady, full of ancient dramatic memories, declared that, -compared with Mrs. Pritchard and Mrs. Cibber, Mrs. Siddons’s grief was -the grief of a cheesemonger’s wife. Miss Hawkins is the authority for -this anecdote, the weak point in which is that in Lady Macbeth the -player is not called upon to exhibit any illustration of grief.</p> - -<p>We have said that Kean never had a superior in certain parts. Elliston -considered himself to be superior in one point; and by referring to -some particular shortcoming in other actors Elliston contrived to -establish himself as <i>facile princeps</i> of dramatic geniuses—in his own -opinion. This we gather from Moncrieff, whom Elliston urged to become -his biographer. He would not interfere with Moncrieff’s treatment of -the subject. ‘I will simply call your attention, my dear fellow,’ said -Elliston, ‘to three points, which you <i>may</i> find worthy of notice, when -you draw your parallels of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> great actors. Garrick could not sing; I -can. Lewis could not act tragedy; I can. Mossop could not play comedy; -I can. Edmund Kean never wrote a drama; I have.’ In the last comparison -Elliston was altogether out. In the cheap edition of ‘Their Majesties’ -Servants’ I have inserted a copy of a bill put up by Kean, in 1811, at -York, in the ball-room of the Minster Yard of which city Edmund Kean -and his young wife announced a two nights’ performance of scenes from -plays, imitations, and songs, the whole enacted by the poor strolling -couple. In that bill Mr. Kean is described as ‘late of the Theatres -Royal, Haymarket and Edinburgh, and author of “The Cottage Foundling, -or Robbers of Ancona,” now preparing for immediate representation at -the theatre Lyceum.’ We never heard of this representation having taken -place. Hundreds of French dramas once came into the cheap book market -from the Lyceum, where they had been examined for the purpose of seeing -whether any of them could be made useful in English dresses. Some of -them undoubtedly were. Kean’s manuscript drama may still be lying among -the Arnold miscellanies; if found, we can only hope that the owner will -make over ‘The Cottage Foundling <i>and</i> the Robbers of Ancona’ to the -Dramatic College. The manuscript would be treasured there as long as -the College itself lasts. How long that will be we cannot say; probably -as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> long as the College serves its present profitable purpose. We could -wish that the <i>emeriti</i> players had a more lively lookout. A view from -its doorway over the heath is as cheerful as that of an empty house to -the actor who looks through the curtain at it on his benefit night!</p> - -<p>Edmund Kean’s loss has not been supplied as Mrs. Siddons’s was, to a -certain extent, and to that actress’s great distaste, by Miss O’Neill; -but Drury Lane has flourished with and by its Christmas pantomimes. -Audiences cannot be what they were in Mr. Planché’s younger days. They -examine no coin that is offered to them. They take what glitters as -real currency, and are content. When we were told the other day of -a player at the Gaiety representing Job Thornberry in a moustache, -we asked if the pit did not shave him clean out of the comedy? Job -Thornberry in a moustache! ‘Well,’ was the rejoinder, ‘he only follows -suit. He imitates the example of Mr. Sothern, who played Garrick in a -moustache.’ We were silent, and thought of the days when actors dressed -their characters from portraits, as William Farren did his Frederick -and his Charles XII.</p> - -<p>If Mr. Planché’s book had not been as suggestive as it is purely -historical we should not have been so long coming to it. But he records -a fact or makes a reflection, and straightway a reader,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> who has long -memories of books or men, goes far back into older records in search -of contrasts or of parallels. We come to him now definitely, and do -not again mean to let him go, as far as his dramatic experiences are -concerned. Mr. Planché makes even his birth <i>theatrical</i>; he says, ‘I -believe I made my first appearance in Old Burlington Street on the -27th of February, 1796, about the time the farce begins’ (used to -begin?) ‘at the Haymarket, that is, shortly after one o’clock in the -morning.’ The Haymarket season, however, ran at that time only from -June to September. In spite of ourselves, Mr. Planché’s record of his -birth leads us to a subject that is, however, in connection with the -record. We find that Mr. Planché was not only of the Kemble and Kean -periods, since which time the stage has been ‘nothing’ especial, but -that he was born under both. On the night of his birth John Kemble -played Manly in ‘The Plain Dealer,’ with a cast further including Jack -Bannister, the two Palmers, Dodd, Suett, and Mrs. Jordan! Think of the -dolls and puppets and groups of sticks whom people are now asked to -recognise as artists, and who gain more in a night than the greatest -of the above-named players earned in a week. A few nights later -Edmund Kean, if he himself is to be credited rather than theatrical -biographers, made his first appearance on any stage as the ‘Robber’s -Boy’ on the first night the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> ‘Iron Chest’ was acted—a play in which -the boy was destined to surpass, in Sir Edward Mortimer, the original -representative, John Kemble. At the other house little Knight, the -father of the present secretary of the Royal Academy, made his <i>début</i> -in London; and the father of Mr. Macready was playing <i>utility</i> with -a finish that, if he were alive to do it now, would entitle him to a -name on ‘posters’ three feet high, and to the sarcasm of managers, who -readily pay comedians who ‘draw’ and laugh at <i>them</i> and at the public -who are drawn by them. But here is Mr. Planché waiting.</p> - -<p>Well! he seems to have been backward in speaking; though he says, as -a proof to the contrary, that he spoke Rolla’s speech to his soldiers -shortly after he had found his own. ‘Pizarro,’ we will observe, was -not produced till 1799, and was not printed <i>then</i>. But, on the other -hand, Mr. Planché, like Pope, seems to have lisped in numbers, for at -ten he wrote odes, sonnets, and particularly an address to the Spanish -patriots, which he describes as ‘really terrible to listen to.’ When -he passed into his teens, the serious question of life turned up. He -could not be made to be a watchmaker, the calling of his good father, -a French refugee. Barrister, artist, geometrician, cricketer, were -vocations which were considered and set aside. His tutor in geometry -died before the pupil could discover the quadrature of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> circle; -and the other callings not seeming to give him a chance, Mr. Planché -bethought himself that, as he was fond of writing, he was especially -qualified to become a bookseller. It was while he was learning this -<i>métier</i> that his dramatic propensities were further developed. They -had begun early; he had been ‘bribed to take some nasty stuff when an -urchin, on one occasion, by the present of a complete harlequin’s suit, -mask, wand, and all, and on another by that of a miniature theatre -and strong company of pasteboard actors,’ in whose control he enjoyed -what Charles Dickens longed to possess—a theatre given up to him, -with absolute despotic sway, to do what he liked with, house, actors -and pieces, monarch of all he surveyed. Mr. Kent has published this -‘longing’ in his ‘Charles Dickens as a Reader,’ and added one shadow -on Dickens’s character to the many which Mr. Forster has made public, -and which thoughtful biographers ought to have suppressed. We allude -particularly to where Dickens describes his mother as advertising to -receive young ladies as pupils in a boarding school, without having the -means to make preparations for their reception; also his showing-up of -his own father as Micawber; and above all, his recording that he never -had forgiven and never would forgive his mother for wishing him to go -back to his humble work at the blacking-maker’s instead of to school. -The light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> which thoughtless worshippers place before their favourite -saint often blackens him at least as much as it does him honour.</p> - -<p>While under articles with the bookseller Mr. Planché amused himself -as amateur actor at the then well-known private theatres in Berwick -Street, Catherine Street, Wilton Street, and Pancras Street. The -autobiographer says he there ‘murdered many principal personages of -the acting drama in company with several accomplices who have since -risen to deserved distinction upon the public boards.’ He adds, the -probability, had he continued his line of art, of his becoming by -this time ‘a very bad actor, had not “the sisters three and such odd -branches of learning” occasioned me by the merest accident to become -an indifferent dramatist.’ He says jocosely that finding nothing in -Shakespeare or Sheridan worthy of him, he wrote for amateurs the -burlesque entitled ‘Amoroso, King of Little Britain,’ which one of -the company showed to Harley, who at once put it on the stage of -Drury Lane in April 1818. There, night after night, Queen Coquetinda -stabbed Mollidusta, King Amoroso stabbed the Queen, Roastando stabbed -Amoroso, who however stabbed <i>his</i> stabber, the too amorous cook—all -to excellent music and capitally acted, whether in the love-making, -the killing, or the recovery. Drury Lane Theatre is described by Mr. -Planché as being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> at the time ‘in a state of absolute starvation.’ Yet -it was a season in which Kean led in tragedy and Elliston in comedy, -and David Fisher played Richard and Hamlet as rival to the former, and -little Clara Fisher acted part of Richard the Third in ‘Lilliput.’ -Drury Lane had not had so good a company for years; and besides revived -pieces of sterling merit it brought out ‘Rob Roy the Gregarach,’ and -the ‘Falls of Clyde;’ and Kean played Othello and Richard, Hamlet and -Reuben Glenroy, Octavian and Sir Giles, Shylock and Luke, Sir Edward -Mortimer and King John, Oroonoko, Richard Plantagenet (‘Richard Duke of -York’), and Selim (‘Bride of Abydos’); Barabbas (‘Jew of Malta’), Young -Norval, Bertram, and, for his benefit, Alexander the Great, Sylvester -Daggerwood, and Paul in ‘Paul and Virginia.’ Nevertheless the success -of ‘Amoroso’ was the <i>popular</i> feature of that Drury Lane season. It -made Mr. Planché become a dramatist in earnest. ‘At this present date,’ -he says, ‘I have put upon the stage, of one description and another, -seventy-six pieces.’</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>A LINE OF FRENCH ACTRESSES.</i></h2> - -<p>The English stage has not been wanting in an illustrious line of right -royal queens of tragedy. Mrs. Barry is the noble founder, and perhaps -the noblest queen of that brilliant line. Then came Mrs. Cibber, Mrs. -Pritchard, Mrs. Spranger Barry (Mrs. Crawford), Mrs. Siddons (who hated -Mrs. Crawford for not abdicating), and Miss O’Neill, whom Mrs. Siddons -equally disliked for coming after her.</p> - -<p>With all these the lovers of dramatic literature are well acquainted. -Of the contemporary line of French tragedy queens very little is known -in this country; nevertheless the dynasty is one of great brilliancy, -and the details are not without much dramatic interest.</p> - -<p>In the year 1644, in the city of Rouen, there lived a family named -Desmares, which family was increased in that year by the birth of a -little girl who was christened Marie. Corneille, born in the same city, -was then eight-and-thirty years of age. Rouen is now proud of both -of them—poet and actress. The actress is only known to fame by her -married name. The clever Marie Desmares became the wife of the player, -Champmeslé. Monsieur was to Madame very much what poor Mr. Siddons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> -was to his illustrious consort. Madame, or Mademoiselle, or <i>La</i> -Champmeslé, as she was called indifferently, associated with Corneille -by their common birth-place, was more intimately connected with Racine, -who was her senior by five years. La Champmeslé was in her twenty-fifth -year when she made her <i>début</i> in Paris as Hermione, in Racine’s -masterpiece, ‘Andromaque.’ For a long time Paris could talk of nothing -but the new tragedy and the new actress. The part from which the piece -takes its name was acted by Mdlle. Duparc, whom Racine had carried off -from Molière’s company. The author was very much interested in this -lady, the wife of a M. Duparc. Madame was, when a widow, the mother -of a very posthumous child indeed. The mother died. She was followed -to the grave by a troop of the weeping adorers of her former charms, -‘and,’ says Racine, alluding to himself, ‘the most interested of them -was half dead as he wept.’</p> - -<p>The poet was aroused from his grief by a summons from the king, who, in -presence of the sensitive Racine’s bitterest enemy, Louvois, accused -him of having robbed and poisoned his late mistress. The accusation was -founded on information given by the infamous woman, Voisin, who was a -poisoner by passion and profession, and was executed for her devilish -practices. The information was found to be utterly false, and Racine, -absolved, soon found consolation and compensation. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - -<p>He became the master of La Champmeslé, and taught her how to play the -heroines of the dramas which he wrote expressly for her. She, in her -turn, became the mistress of her tutor. Of his teaching indeed she -stood in little need, except to learn from him his ideas and object, as -author of the play. She was not only sublime, but La Champmeslé was the -first sublime actress that had hitherto appeared on the French stage. -Madame de Sévigné wrote to her daughter:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>La Champmeslé is something so extraordinary that you have never -seen anything like it in all your life. One goes to hear the -actress, and not the play. I went to see ‘Ariadne’ for her sake -alone. The piece is inspired: the players execrable. But as soon -as La Champmeslé comes upon the stage a murmur of gladness runs -throughout the house, and the tears of the audience flow at her -despair.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The magic of the actress lured Madame de Sévigné’s son, the young -Marquis, from the side of Ninon de l’Enclos. ‘He is nothing but a -pumpkin fricasseed in snow,’ said the perennial beauty. After the young -nobleman thought proper to inform his mother of the interest he took in -La Champmeslé, Madame de Sévigné was so proud that she wrote and spoke -of her son’s mistress as her daughter-in-law! To her own daughter she -wrote as follows of the representation of Racine’s ‘Bajazet,’ in which -La Champmeslé acted Roxane:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote><p>The piece appeared to me fine. My daughter-in-law seemed to me -the most miraculously good actress I had ever seen; a hundred -thousand times better than Des Œillets; and I, who am allowed to -be a very fair player, am not worthy of lighting the candles for -her to act by. Seen near, she is plain, and I am not astonished -that my son was ‘choked’ at his first interview with her; but when -she breaks into verse she is adorable. I wish you could have come -with us after dinner; you would not have been bored. You would -probably have shed one little tear, since I let fall a score. You -would have admired your sister-in-law.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Two months later the mother sent to her daughter a copy of the piece, -and wrote: ‘If I could send you La Champmeslé with it you would admire -it, but without her it loses half its value.’</p> - -<p>Racine, as Madame de Sévigné said, wrote pieces for his mistress, and -not for posterity. ‘If ever,’ she remarked, ‘he should become less -young, or cease to be in love, it will be no longer the same thing.’ -The interpreter of the poet produced her wonderful effects dressed in -exaggerated court costume, and delivering her <i>tirades</i> in a cadenced, -sing-song, rise-and-fall style, marking the rhymes rather than keeping -to the punctuation. It was the glory of the well-educated <i>arlequin</i> -and <i>columbine</i>, ‘dans leur Hostel de Bourgogne,’ to act whole scenes -of mock tragedy in the manner of La Champmeslé and her companions. It -was such high-toned burlesque as the gifted Robson’s Medea was to the -Medea of Ristori. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> - -<p>Lovers consumed fortunes to win the smiles they sought from the plain -but attractive actress. Dukes, courtiers, simple gentlemen, flung -themselves and all they had at her feet. La Fontaine wrote verses in -worship of her, when he was not helping her complaisant husband to -write comedies. Boileau, in the most stinging of epigrams, has made the -conjugal immorality immortal, and de Sévigné has made the nobly-endowed -actress live for ever in her letters.</p> - -<p>After Racine shut his eyes, as complaisantly as the husband, to the -splendid infidelities of La Champmeslé—when temptation was powerless, -and religion took the place of passionate love—he moralised on the -sins of his former mistress. ‘The poor wretch,’ he wrote contemptuously -to his son, ‘in her last moments, refused to renounce the stage.’ -Without such renunciation the Church barred her way to heaven! Racine, -however, was misinformed. La Champmeslé died (1698) like so many of -her gayest fellows, ‘<i>dans les plus grands sentiments de piété</i>.’ Her -widowed husband, when the rascal quality died out of him, kept to -drink, and he turned now and then to devotion. One morning, in the year -1708, he went to the church of the Cordeliers, and ordered two masses -for the repose of the souls of his mother and of his wife; and he put -thirty sous into the hand of the <i>sacristain</i> to pay for them. The man -offered him ten sous as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> change. But M. Champmeslé put the money back: -‘Keep it,’ he said, ‘for a third mass for myself. I will come and hear -it.’ Meanwhile he went and sat at the door of a tavern (<i>L’Alliance</i>) -waiting for church time. He chatted gaily with his comrades, promised -to join them at dinner, and as he rose to his feet he put his hand to -his head, uttered a faint shriek, and fell dead to the ground.</p> - -<p>As Racine formed La Champmeslé, so did the latter form her niece as her -successor on the stage—Mdlle. Duclos, who reigned supreme; but she was -a less potential queen of the drama than her mistress. Her vehemence -of movement once caused her to make an ignoble fall as she was playing -Camille in ‘Les Horaces.’ Her equally vehement spirit once carried her -out of her part altogether. At the first representation of La Motte’s -‘Inés de Castro’ the sudden appearance of the children caused the pit -to laugh and to utter some feeble jokes. Mdlle. Duclos, who was acting -Inés, was indignant. ‘Brainless pit!’ she exclaimed, ‘you laugh at -the finest incident in the piece!’ French audiences are not tolerant -of impertinence on the stage; but they took this in good part, and -listened with interest to the remainder of the play.</p> - -<p>Mdlle. Duclos, like her aunt, chanted or recitatived her parts. The -French had got accustomed to the sing-song cadences of their rhymed -plays,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> when suddenly a new charm fell upon their delighted ears. -The new charmer was Adrienne Lecouvreur—a hat-maker’s daughter, an -amateur actress, then a strolling player. In 1717 she burst upon Paris, -and in one month she enchanted the city by her acting in Monimia, -Electra, and Bérénice, and had been named one of the king’s company -for the first parts in tragedy and comedy. Adrienne’s magic lay in her -natural simplicity. She spoke as the character she represented might be -expected to speak. This natural style had been suggested by Molière, -and had been attempted by Baron, but unsuccessfully. It was given to -the silver-tongued Adrienne to subdue her audience by this exquisite -simplicity of nature. The play-going world was enthusiastic. Whence did -the new charmer come? She came from long training in the provinces, and -was the glory of many a provincial city before, in 1717, she put her -foot on the stage of the capital, and at the age of twenty-seven began -her brilliant but brief artistic career of thirteen years. Tracing -her early life back, people found her a baby, true child of Paris. In -her little-girlhood she saw ‘Polyeucte’ at the playhouse close by her -father’s house. She immediately got up the tragedy, with other little -actors and actresses. Madame la Présidente La Jay, hearing of the -ability of the troupe and of the excellence of Adrienne as Pauline at -the rehearsals in a grocer’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> warehouse, lent the court-yard of her -hotel in the Rue Garancière, where a stage was erected, and the tragedy -acted, in presence of an audience which included members of the noblest -families in France. All Paris was talking of the marvellous skill of -the young company, but especially of Adrienne, when the association -called the ‘Comédie Française,’ which had the exclusive right of acting -the legitimate drama, arose in its spite, screamed ‘Privilege!’ and got -the company suppressed.</p> - -<p>The little Adrienne, however, devoted herself to the stage; and when -she came to Paris, after long and earnest experience in the provinces, -her new subjects hailed their new queen—queen of tragedy, that is to -say; for when she took comedy by the hand the muse bore with, rather -than smiled upon her; and, wanting sympathy, Adrienne felt none. -Outside the stage her heart and soul were surrendered to the great -soldier and utterly worthless fellow, Maurice de Saxe. He was the only -man to whom she ever gave her heart; and he had given his to so many -there was little left for her worth the having. What little there was -was coveted by the Princesse de Bouillon. Adrienne died while this -aristocratic rival was flinging herself at the feet of the handsome -Maréchal; and the wrathful popular voice, lamenting the loss of the -dramatic queen, accused the princess of having poisoned the actress. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> - -<p>Adrienne Lecouvreur (whose story has been twice told in French dramas, -and once marvellously illustrated by the genius of Rachel), before she -made her exit from the world, thought of the poor of her district, and -she left them several thousands of francs. The curé of St.-Sulpice was -told of the death and of the legacy. The good man took the money and -refused to allow the body to be buried in consecrated ground. Princes -of the church went to her <i>petits soupers</i>, but they would neither say -‘rest her soul’ nor sanction decent rest to her body; and yet charity -had beautified the one, as talent and dignity had marked the other. The -corpse of this exquisite actress (she was only forty when she died) -was carried in a <i>fiacre</i>, accompanied by a faithful few, to a timber -yard in the Faubourg St.-Germain; a hired porter dug the shallow grave -of the tragedy queen; and I remember, in my youthful days, a stone -post at the corner of the Rue de Bourgogne and the Rue de Grenelle -which was said to stand over the spot where Monimia had been so -ingloriously buried. It was then a solitary place, significantly named -La Grenouillière.</p> - -<p>And when this drama had closed, a valet of Baron, the great tragedian, -looked at an old woman who attended in a box lobby of the Comédie -Française, and they mutually thought of their daughter as the successor -to poor Adrienne Lecouvreur. Their name was Gaussem;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> but when, a -year after Adrienne’s death, they succeeded in getting the young -girl—eighteen, a flower of youth, beauty, and of simplicity, most -exquisite, even if affected—they changed their name to Gaussin. As -long as she was young, Voltaire intoxicated her with the incense of his -flattery. He admired her Junie, Andromaque, Iphigénie, Bérénice; but he -worshipped her for her perfect acting in parts he had written—Zaïre -(in which there is a ‘bit of business’ with a veil, which Voltaire -stole from the ‘handkerchief’ in ‘Othello,’ the author of which he -pretended to despise)—Zaïre, Alzire; and in other characters Voltaire -swore that she was a miracle of acting. But La Gaussin never equalled -Adrienne. She surpassed Duclos in ‘Inés de Castro:’ she was herself to -be surpassed by younger rivals. At about forty Voltaire spoke of his -once youthful idol as <i>that old girl</i>!</p> - -<p>La Gaussin had that excellent thing in woman—a sympathetic voice. -Her pathos melted all hearts to the melodious sorrow of her own. -In Bérénice, her pathetic charm had such an effect on one of the -sentinels, who, in those days, were posted at the wings, that he -unconsciously let his musket fall from his arm. Her eyes were as -eloquent as her voice was persuasive. In other respects, Clairon (an -actress) has said of her that La Gaussin had instinct rather than -intelligence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> with beauty, dignity, gracefulness, and an invariably -winning manner which nothing could resist. Her great fault, according -to the same authority, was sameness. Clairon added that she played -Zaïre in the same manner as she did Rodogune. It is as if an English -actress were to make no difference between Desdemona and Lady Macbeth.</p> - -<p>When La Gaussin had reached the age of forty-seven the French pit did -what the French nation invariably does—smote down the idol which it -had once worshipped. The uncrowned queen married an Italian ballet -dancer, one Tevolaigo, who rendered her miserable, but died two years -before her, in 1767. It is, however, said that Mdlle. La Gaussin was -led to withdraw from the stage out of sincerely religious scruples. A -score of French actresses have done the same thing, and long before -they had reached the <i>quarantaine</i>.</p> - -<p>There is a good illustration of how unwilling the French audiences -were to lose a word of La Gaussin’s utterances in Cibber’s ‘Apology.’ -‘At the tragedy of “Zaïre,”’ he says, ‘while the celebrated Mdlle. -Gossin (<i>sic</i>) was delivering a soliloquy, a gentleman was seized with -a sudden fit of coughing, which gave the actress some surprise and -interruption, and, his fit increasing, she was forced to stand silent -so long that it drew the eyes of the uneasy audience upon him;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> when a -French gentleman, leaning forward to him, asked him if this actress had -given him any particular offence, that he took so public an occasion to -resent it? The English gentleman, in the utmost surprise, assured him -that, so far from it, he was a particular admirer of her performance; -that his malady was his real misfortune, and that if he apprehended any -return of it he would rather quit his seat than disoblige either the -actor or the audience.’ Colley calls this the ‘publick decency’ of the -French theatre.</p> - -<p>The Mdlle. Clairon, named above, took up the inheritance which her -predecessor had resigned. Claire Joseph Hippolyte Legris de Latude -were her names; but, out of the first, she made the name by which she -became illustrious. Her life was a long one—1723-1803. She acted from -childhood to middle age; first as sprightly maiden, then in opera, -till Rouen discovered in her a grand <i>tragédienne</i>, and sent her up to -Paris, which city ratified the warrant given by the Rouennais. She made -her first appearance as Phèdre, and the Parisians at once worshipped -the new and exquisite idol.</p> - -<p>The power that Mdlle. Clairon held over her admirers, the sympathy -that existed between them, is matter of notoriety. She was once acting -Ariane in Thomas Corneille’s tragedy, at Marseilles, to an impassioned -southern audience.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> In the last scene of the third act, where she is -eager to discover who her rival can be in the heart of Theseus, the -audience took almost as eager a part; and when she had uttered the -lines in which she mentions the names of various beauties, but does not -name, because she does not suspect, her own sister, a young fellow who -was near her murmured, with the tears in his eyes, ‘It is Phædra! it is -Phædra!’—the name of the sister in question. Clairon was one of those -artists who conceal their art by being terribly in earnest. In her days -the pit stood, there were no seats; <i>parterre</i> meant exactly what it -says, ‘on the ground.’ The audience there gathered as near the stage -as they could. Clairon, in some of her most tragic parts, put such -intensity into her acting that as she descended the stage, clothed in -terror or insane with rage, as if she saw no pit before her and would -sweep through it, the audience there actually recoiled, and only as the -great actress drew back did they slowly return to their old positions.</p> - -<p>The autobiographical memoirs of Mdlle. Clairon give her rank as author -as well as actress. Her style was declamatory, rather heavy, and marked -by dramatic catchings of the breath which were among the faults that -weaker players imitated. It was the conventional style, not to be -rashly broken through in Paris; she accordingly first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> tried to do so -at Bordeaux in 1752. ‘I acted,’ she tells us, ‘the part of Agrippina, -and from first to last I played according to my own ideas. This simple, -natural, unconventional style excited much surprise in the beginning; -but, in the very middle of my first scene, I distinctly heard the words -from a person in the pit, “That is really fine!”’ It was an attempt -to change the sing-song style, just as Mdlle. Clairon attempted to -change the monotonous absurdity of the costume worn by actresses; -but she was preceded by earlier reformers, Adrienne Lecouvreur, for -instance. Her inclination for natural acting was doubtless confirmed on -simply hearing Garrick recite passages from English plays in a crowded -French drawing-room. She did not understand a word of English, but she -understood Garrick’s expression, and, in her enthusiasm, Mdlle. Clairon -kissed Roscius, and then gracefully asked pardon of Roscius’s wife for -the liberty she had taken.</p> - -<p>It is said that Clairon was one of those actresses who kept themselves -throughout the day in the humour of the character they were to act at -night. It is obvious that this might be embarrassing to her servants -and unpleasant to her friends, family, and visitors. A Lady Macbeth -vein all day long in a house would be too much of a good thing; but -Mdlle. Clairon defended the practice, as others did: ‘How,’ she would -say,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> ‘could I be exalted, refined, imperial at night, if through the -day I had been subdued to grovelling matters, every-day commonness, -and polite servility?’ There was something in it; and in truth the -superb Clairon, in ordinary life, was just as if she had to act every -night the most sublimely imperious characters. With authors she was -especially arbitrary, and to fling a manuscript part in the face of the -writer, or to box his ears with it, was thought nothing of. Even worse -than that was ‘only pretty Fanny’s way.’</p> - -<p>The cause of Mdlle. Clairon’s retirement from the stage was a singular -one. An actor named Dubois had been expelled from membership with the -company of the Théâtre Français, on the ground that his conduct had -brought dishonour on the profession. An order from the King commanded -the restoration of Dubois, till the question could be decided. For -April 15, 1765, the ‘Siege of Calais’ was accordingly announced, with -Dubois in his original character. On that evening, Lekain, Molé, and -Brizard, advertised to play, did not come down to the theatre at all. -Mdlle. Clairon arrived, but immediately went home. There was an awful -tumult in the house, and a general demand that the deserters should be -clapped into prison. The theatre was closed: Lekain, Molé, and Brizard -suffered twenty-four days’ imprisonment, and Mdlle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> Clairon was shut -up in Fort L’Évêque. At the re-opening of the theatre Bellecourt -offered a very humble apology in the names of all the company; but -Mdlle. Clairon refused to be included, and she withdrew altogether from -the profession.</p> - -<p>On a subsequent evening, when she was receiving friends at her own -house, the question of the propriety of her withdrawal was rather -vivaciously discussed, as it was by the public generally. Some officers -were particularly urgent that she should return, and play in the -especially popular piece the ‘Siege of Calais.’ ‘I fancy, gentlemen,’ -she replied, ‘that if an attempt was made to compel you to serve with a -fellow-officer who had disgraced the profession by an act of the utmost -baseness, you would rather withdraw than do so?’ ‘No doubt we should,’ -replied one of the officers, ‘but we should not withdraw on a day of -<i>siege</i>.’ Clairon laughed, but she did not yield. She retired in 1765, -at the age of forty-two.</p> - -<p>Clairon, being great, had many enemies. They shot lies at her as -venomous as poisoned arrows. They identified her as the original of the -shameless heroine in the ‘Histoire de Frétillon.’ With her, however, -love was not sporadic. It was a settled sentiment, and she loved but -one at a time; among others, Marmontel (see his Memoirs), the Margrave -of Anspach, and the comedian Larive. After all, Clairon had a divided -sway. The rival<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> queen was Marie Françoise Dumesnil. The latter was -much longer before the public. The life of Mademoiselle Dumesnil was -also longer, namely, from 1711 to 1803. Her professional career in -Paris reached from 1737, when she appeared as Clytemnestra, to 1776, -when she retired. For eleven years after Clairon’s withdrawal Dumesnil -reigned alone. She was of gentle blood, but poor; she was plain, but -her face had the beauty of intelligence and expression. When Garrick -was asked what he thought of the two great <i>tragédiennes</i>, Clairon and -Dumesnil, he replied, ‘Mdlle. Clairon is the most perfect actress I -have seen in France.’ ‘And Mdlle. Dumesnil?’ ‘Oh!’ rejoined Garrick, -‘when I see Mdlle. Dumesnil I see no actress at all. I behold only -Semiramis and Athalie!’—in which characters, however, she for many -years wore the <i>paniers</i> that were in vogue. She is remembered as the -first tragic actress who actually ran on the stage. It was in ‘Mérope,’ -when she rushed to save Ægisthe, exclaiming, ‘Hold! he is my son!’ She -reserved herself for the ‘points,’ whether of pathos or passion. The -effect she produced was the result of nature; there was no art, no -study. She exercised great power over her audiences. One night having -delivered her famous fine in Clytemnestra,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">Je maudirais les dieux, s’ils me rendaient le jour,</p> - -<p>an old captain standing near her clapped her on the back, with the -rather rough compliment of ‘Va-t-en chienne, à tous les diables!’ Rough -as it was, Dumesnil was delighted with it. On another occasion, Joseph -Chénier, the dramatist, expressed a desire, at her own house, to hear -her recite. It is said that she struck a fearful awe into him, as she -replied, ‘Asséyez-vous, Néron, et prenez votre place!’—for, as she -spoke, she seemed to adopt the popular accusation that Joseph had been -accessory to the guillotining of his brother, the young poet, André -Chénier. Her enemies asserted that Dumesnil was never ‘up to the mark’ -unless she had taken wine, and a great deal of it. Marmontel insists -that she caused his ‘Héraclides’ to fail through her having indulged in -excess of wine; but Fleury states that she kept up her strength during -a tragedy by taking chicken broth with a little wine poured into it.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Dumesnil retired, as we have said, in 1776. The stage was -next not unworthily occupied by Mdlle. Raucourt. But meanwhile there -sprang up two young creatures destined to renew the rivalry which had -existed between Clairon and Dumesnil. While these were growing up the -French Revolution, which crushed all it touched, touched the Comédie -Française, which fell to pieces. It pulled itself together, after a -manner, but it was neither flourishing nor easy under the republic.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> -The French stage paid its tribute to prison and to scaffold.</p> - -<p>When the storm of the Revolution had swept by, that stage became once -more full of talent and beauty. Talma reappeared, and soon after three -actresses set the town mad. There was Mdlle. Georges, a dazzling -beauty of sixteen, a mere child, who had come up from Normandy, and -who knew nothing more of the stage than that richly dressed actors -there represented the sorrows, passion, and heroism of ancient times. -Of those ancient times she knew no more than what she had learned -in Corneille and Racine. But she had no sooner trod the stage, as -Agrippina, than she was at once accepted as a great mistress of her -art. Her beauty, her voice, her smile, her genius and her talent, -caused her to be hailed queen; but not quite unanimously. There was -already a recognised queen of tragedy on the same stage, Mdlle. -Duchesnois. This older queen (originally a dressmaker, next, like Mrs. -Siddons, a lady’s-maid), was as noble an actress as Mdlle. Georges, but -her noble style was not supported by personal beauty. She was, perhaps, -the ugliest woman that had ever held an audience in thrall by force of -her genius and ability alone. While song-writers celebrated the charms -of Mdlle. Georges, portrait-painters, too cruelly faithful, placed the -sublime ugliness of Mdlle. Duchesnois in the shop windows. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> she -was to be seen in character, with one of the lines she had to utter in -it, as the epigraph:</p> - -<p class="center">Le roi parut touché de mes faibles attraits.</p> - -<p>Even Talleyrand stooped to point a joke at her expense. A certain lady -had no teeth. Mdlle. Duchesnois <i>had</i>, but they were not pleasant to -see. ‘If,’ said Talleyrand, alluding to the certain lady, ‘If Madame -—— had teeth, she would be as ugly as Mdlle. Duchesnois.’</p> - -<p>Between these two queens of tragedy the company of the Théâtre Français -were as divided in their allegiance as the public themselves. The -Emperor Napoleon and Queen Hortense were admirers of Mdlle. Georges; he -covered her with diamonds, and he is said to have lent her those of his -wife Josephine, who was the friend of Mdlle. Duchesnois. Bourbonites -and Republicans also adopted Mdlle. Duchesnois, who was adopted by -Mdlle. Dumesnil. Talma paid allegiance to the same lady, while Lafon -swore only by Mdlle. Georges, in whose behalf Mdlle. Raucourt once -nearly strangled Duchesnois. In society, every member of that awful -institution was compelled to choose a side and a night. One queen -played on a Monday, the other on a Wednesday; Mdlle. Georges on a -Friday, and Duchesnois again on Sunday; and on the intervening nights -the brilliant muse of comedy, Mdlle. Mars (as the daughter of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> Monvel, -the actor, always called herself), came and made Paris ecstatic with -her Elmire, her Célimène, and other characters. Of these three supreme -actresses, Mdlle. Mars alone never grew old on the stage, in voice, -figure, movement, action, feature, or expression. I recollect her well -at sixty, creating the part of Mdlle. de Belleisle, a young girl of -sixteen; and Mdlle. Mars that night was sixteen, and no more. It was -only by putting the <i>binocle</i> to the eyes that you might fancy you -saw something older; but the voice! It was the pure, sweet, gentle, -penetrating, delicious voice of her youth—ever youthful. Jules Janin -describes the nights on which the brilliant and graceful Mdlle. Mars -acted as intervals of inexpressible charm, moments of luxurious rest. -Factions were silenced. The two queens of tragedy were forgotten for a -night, and all the homage was for the queen of comedy.</p> - -<p>The beauty, youth, and talent of Mdlle. Georges would probably have -secured her seat on an undisputed throne, only for the caprices that -accompany those three inestimable possessions. The youthful muse -suddenly disappeared. She rose again in Russia, whither she had been -tempted by the imperial liberality of Alexander the Czar. She was -queening it there in more queenly fashion than ever; her name glittered -on the walls of Moscow, when the Grand Army of France scattered all -such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> glories and wrecked its own. A quarter of a million of men -perished in that bloody drama, but the tragedy queen contrived to get -safe and sound over the frontier.</p> - -<p>Thenceforth she gleamed like a meteor from nation to nation. Mdlle. -Duchesnois and Mdlle. Mars held the sceptres of tragedy and comedy -between them. They reigned with glory, and when their evening of life -came on they departed with dignity—Duchesnois in 1835. The more -impetuous Mdlle. Georges flashed now here now there, and blinded -spectators by her beauty, as she dazzled them by her talent. The joy of -acting, the ecstasy of being applauded, soon became all she cared for. -One time she was entrancing audiences in the most magnificent theatres; -at another, she was playing with strollers on the most primitive of -stages; but always with the same care. Now, the Parisians hailed the -return of their queen; in a month she was acting Iphigenia to the -Tartars of the Crimea!</p> - -<p>When the other once youthful queens of tragedy and comedy were -approaching the sunset glories of their reigns, Mdlle. Georges, in -her mature and majestic beauty too, seized a new sceptre, mounted -a new throne, and reigned supreme in a new kingdom. She became the -queen of drama—not melodrama—of that prose tragedy, which is full of -action, emotion, passion, and strong<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> contrasts. Racine and Corneille -were no longer the fountains at which she quaffed long draughts of -inspiration. New writers hailed her as their muse and interpreter. -She was the original Christine at Fontainebleau, in Dumas’s piece so -named; and Victor Hugo wrote for her his terrible ‘Mary Tudor’ and his -‘Lucretia Borgia.’ It was a delicious terror, a fearful delight, a -painful pleasure, to see this wonderful woman transform herself into -those other women, and seem the awful reality which she was only—but -earnestly, valiantly, artistically—acting. She could be everything by -turns: proud and cruel as Lady Macbeth; tender and gentle as Desdemona. -Mdlle. Georges, however, found a rival queen in drama, as she had -done in tragedy—Madame Allan Dorval, who made weeping a luxury worth -the paying for. Competitors, perhaps, rather than rivals. There was -concurrency, rather than opposition. One of the prettiest incidents -in stage annals occurred on the occasion of these artists being twice -‘called,’ after a representation of ‘Mary Tudor,’ in which Mdlle. -Georges was the Queen and Madame Dorval Lady Jane Grey. After the -two actresses had gracefully acknowledged the ovation of which they -were the objects, Madame Dorval, with exquisite refinement and noble -feeling, kissed the hand of Mdlle. Georges, as if she recognised in her -the still supremely reigning queen. It was a pleasure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> to see this; -it is a pleasure to remember it; and it is equally a pleasure to make -record of it here.</p> - -<p>When all this brilliant talent began to be on the wane, and play-goers -began to fear that all the thrones would be vacant, a curious scene -used to occur nightly in summer time in the Champs Élysées. Before -the seated public, beneath the trees, an oldish woman used to appear, -with a slip of carpet on her arm, a fiddle beneath it, and a tin cup -hanging on her finger. She was closely followed by a slim, pale, dark, -but fiery-eyed girl, whose thoughts seemed to be with some world far -away. When the woman had spread the carpet, had placed the cup at one -corner, and had scraped a few hideous notes on the fiddle, the pale -dark-eyed girl advanced on the carpet and recited passages from Racine -and Corneille. With her beautiful head raised, with slight, rare, but -most graceful action, with voice and emphasis in exact accord with -her words, that pale-faced, inspired girl, enraptured her out-of-door -audience. After a time she was seen no more, and it was concluded that -her own inward fire had utterly consumed her, and she was forgotten. -By-and-by there descended on the deserted temple of tragedy a new -queen—nay, a goddess, bearing the name of Rachel. As the subdued and -charmed public gazed and listened and sent up their incense of praise -and their shout of adulation, memories of the pale-faced girl who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> -used to recite beneath the stars in the Champs Élysées came upon them. -Some, however, could see no resemblance. Others denied the possibility -of identity between the abject servant of the muse in the open air, -and the glorious, though pale-faced, fiery-eyed queen of tragedy, -occupying a throne which none could dispute with her. When half her -brief, splendid, extravagant, and not blameless reign was over, Mdlle. -Rachel gave a ‘house-warming’ on the occasion of opening her new and -gorgeously-furnished mansion in the Rue Troncin. During the evening the -hostess disappeared, and the <i>maître d’hôtel</i> requested the crowded -company in the great saloon so to arrange themselves as to leave space -enough for Mdlle. Rachel to appear at the upper end of the room, as -she was about to favour the company with the recital of some passages -from Racine and Corneille. Thereupon entered an old woman with strip -of carpet, fiddle, and tin pot, followed by the queen of tragedy, in -the shabbiest of frocks, pale, thoughtful, inspired, and with a sad -smile that was not altogether out of tune with her pale meditations; -and then, the carpet being spread, the fiddle scraped, and the cup -deposited, Rachel trod the carpet as if it were the stage, and recited -two or three passages from the masterpieces of the French masters in -dramatic poetry, and moved her audience according to her will, in -sympathy and delight. When the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>hurricane of applause had passed, -and while a murmuring of enjoyment seemed as its softer echo, Rachel -stooped, picked up the old tin cup, and, going round with it to collect -gratuities from the company, said, ‘Anciennement, c’était pour maman; à -présent, c’est pour les pauvres.’</p> - -<p>The Rachel career was of unsurpassable splendour. Before it declined -in darkness and set in premature painful death, the now old queen of -tragedy, Mdlle. Georges, met the sole heiress of the great inheritance, -Mdlle. Rachel, on the field of the glory of both. Rachel was then at -the best of her powers, at the highest tide of her triumphs. They -appeared in the same piece, Racine’s ‘Iphigénie.’ Mdlle. Georges was -Clytemnestre; Rachel played Ériphile. They stood in presence, like the -old and the young wrestlers, gazing on each other. They each struggled -for the crown from the spectators, till, whether out of compliment, -which is doubtful, or that she was really subdued by the weight, power, -and majestic grandeur of Mdlle. Georges, Ériphile forgot to act, and -seemed to be lost in admiration at the acting of the then very stout, -but still beautiful, mother of the French stage.</p> - -<p>The younger rival, however, was the first to leave the arena. She acted -in both hemispheres, led what is called a stormy life, was as eccentric -as she was full of good impulses, and to the last she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> knew no more of -the personages she acted than what she learned of them from the pieces -in which they were represented. Rachel died utterly exhausted. The wear -and tear of her professional life was aggravated by the want of repose, -the restlessness, and the riot of the tragedy queen at home. She was -royally buried. In the <i>foyer</i> of the Théâtre Français Rachel and Mars, -in marble, represent the Melpomene and Thalia of France. They are both -dead and forgotten by the French public.</p> - -<p>For years after Mdlle. Duchesnois had vanished from the scene, Mdlle. -Georges may be said to have languished out her life. One day of snow -and fog, in January 1867, a funeral procession set out from Passy, -traversed the living city of Paris, and entered through the mist the -city of the dead, Père la Chaise. Alexandre Dumas was chief mourner. -‘In that coffin,’ said Jules Janin, ‘lay more sorrows, passions, -poetry, and hopes than in a thousand proud tombs in the cemetery of -Père la Chaise.’ She who had represented and felt and expressed all -these sentiments, emotions, and ideas, was the last survivor of the -line of dramatic queens in France.</p> - -<p>That line had its Lady Jane Grey, its queen for an hour; one who was -loved and admired during that time, and whose hard fate was deplored -for full as long a period. About the year 1819-20 there appeared at -the Odéon a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> Mdlle. Charton. She made her <i>début</i> in a new piece, -‘Lancastre,’ in which she acted Queen Elizabeth. Her youth and beauty, -combined with extraordinary talent, took the public mind prisoner. -Here was a young goddess who would shower delight when the maturer -divinities had gone back to Olympus. The lithographed portrait of -Mdlle. Charton was in all the shops and was eagerly bought. Suddenly -she ceased to act. A jealous lover had flung into that beautiful -and happy face a cup of vitriol, and destroyed beauty, happiness, -and partially the eyesight, for ever. The young actress refused to -prosecute the ruffian, and sat at home suffering and helpless, till she -became ‘absorbed in the population’—that is to say, starved, or very -nearly so. She had one poor female friend who helped just to keep her -alive. In this way the once proud young beauty literally went down life -into old age and increase of anguish. She dragged through the horrible -time of the horrible Commune, and then she died. Her body was carried -to the common pauper grave at Montmartre, and one poor actor who had -occasionally given her what help he could, a M. Dupuis, followed her to -that bourn.</p> - -<p>Queens as they were, their advent to such royalty was impeded by every -obstacle that could be thrown in their way. The ‘Society’ of French -actors has been long noted for its cruel illiberality<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> and its mean -jealousy, especially the ‘Society’ that has been established since the -Revolution—or, to speak correctly, during the Revolution which began -in 1789, and which is now in the eighty-fourth year of its progress. -The poor and modest Duchesnois had immense difficulty in being allowed -to appear at all. The other actors would not even speak to her. When -she was ‘called’ by an enthusiastic audience no actor had the gallantry -to offer a hand to lead her forward. A poor player, named Florence, at -length did so, but on later occasions he was compelled to leave her -to ‘go on’ alone. When Mdlle. Rachel, ill-clad and haggard, besought -a well-known <i>sociétaire</i> to aid her in obtaining permission to make -her <i>début</i> on the stage of the Théâtre Français, he told her to get -a basket and go and sell flowers. On the night of her triumph, when -she <i>did</i> appear, and heaps of bouquets were flung at her feet, on her -coming forward after the fall of the curtain, she flung them all into a -basket, slung it from her shoulders, went to the actor who had advised -her to go and vend flowers, and kneeling to him, asked him, half in -smiles and half in tears, if he would not buy a nosegay! It is said -that Mdlle. Mars was jealous of the promise of her sister, Georgina. -Young <i>débutantes</i> are apt to think that the aged queens should abandon -the parts of young princesses, and when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> the young <i>débutantes</i> have -become old they are amazed at the impertinence of new comers who expect -them to surrender the juvenile characters. The latest successful -<i>débutante</i>, Mdlle. Rousseil and M. Mounae Sully, are where they now -are in spite of their fellows who were there before them.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>SOME ECCENTRICITIES OF THE FRENCH STAGE.</i></h2> - -<p>The future historian of the French Stage will not want for matter to -add to a history which has already had many illustrators and writers. -Just a year ago, I saw a magnificent funeral pass from the church of -Notre Dame de Lorette. ‘<i>C’est Lafont, le grand Comédien!</i>’ was the -comment of the spectators. ‘Poor Glatigny!’ said another, ‘was not thus -buried—like a prince!’ Wondering who Glatigny might be, I, in the -course of that day, took up a French paper in the reading-room of the -Grand Hôtel, in which the name caught my eye, and I found that Glatigny -had been one of the eccentric actors of the French stage. He was -clever, but reckless; he had a bad memory, but when it was in fault, he -could <i>improvise</i>—with impudence, but effect.</p> - -<p>Glatigny once manifested his improvising powers in a very extraordinary -manner. The story, on the authority of the Paris papers, runs thus:</p> - -<p>Passing in front of the Mont-Parnasse Theatre, he saw the name of his -friend Chevilly in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>play-bill. Glatigny entered by the stage-door, -and asked to see him. He was told that Chevilly was on the stage, and -could not be spoken to; he was acting in Ponsard’s ‘Charlotte Corday.’ -Glatigny, thereupon, and to the indignant astonishment of the manager, -coolly walked forward to the side of Chevilly, as the latter was -repeating the famous lines—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div class="i4">Non, je ne crois pas, moi,</div> -<div>Que tout soit terminé quand on n’a plus de roi;</div> -<div>C’est le commencement.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>As Chevilly concluded these words, he stared in inexpressible surprise -at Glatigny, and exclaiming: ‘What, you here!’ shook him cordially by -the hand, as if both were in a private room, and not in the presence of -a very much perplexed audience. The audience did not get out of their -perplexity by finding that Ponsard’s play was altogether forgotten, and -that the two players began talking of their private affairs, walking -up and down the stage the while, as if they had been on the boulevards -or in the gardens of the Tuileries. At length, said Glatigny, ‘I am -afraid, that I perhaps intrude?’ ‘Not at all!’ said Chevilly. ‘I am -sure I do,’ rejoined Glatigny, ‘so farewell. When you have finished, -you will find me at the café, next door.’ The eccentric player had -reached the wing, when he returned, saying: ‘By-the-by, before we -part, shall we sing together a little <i>couplet de facture</i>?’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> ‘With -all my heart,’ was the reply; and both of them, standing before the -foot-lights, sang a verse from some old vaudeville, on the pleasure of -old friends meeting unexpectedly, and which used to bring the curtain -down with applause.</p> - -<p>At this duet, the public entered into the joke—they could not hiss, -for laughing,—and the most joyous uproar reigned amongst them, till -Glatigny retired as if nothing had happened, and Chevilly attempted -seriously to resume his part in ‘Charlotte Corday.’</p> - -<p>There was a serious as well as a comic tinge in Glatigny’s experiences. -On one morning in February, 1869, some country folk, returning from the -market at Tarbes, saw a man stretched fast asleep on the steps of the -theatre. It was early dawn, and snow was gently falling. The peasants -shook the sleeper, told him, when half awake, of the danger he was -in by thus exposing himself, and asked him what he was doing there? -‘Well,’ said Glatigny, ‘I am waiting for the manager;’ he turned round -to go to sleep again, and the country folk left him to his fate. Later -in the day, he shook himself, by way of toilet and breakfast, and made -his call upon the manager. ‘My name,’ he said, ‘is Albert Glatigny. -I am a comedian and a poet. At the present moment, I have no money, -but am terribly hungry. Have you any vacancy in your company, leading -tragedian or lamp-cleaner?’ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>The manager asked him if he was perfect in -the part of Pylades. ‘Thoroughly so!’ was the answer. ‘All the better,’ -said the manager; ‘we play “Andromaque,” to-night; my Pylades is ill. -You will replace him. Good morning!’</p> - -<p>When the evening came, Glatigny put on the Greek costume, and entered -on the stage, without knowing a single line of his part. That was -nothing. When his turn came, he improvised a little reply to Pyrrhus. -Glatigny now and then had a line too short by a syllable or two, but he -made up for it by putting a syllable or two over measure in the line -that followed. He knew the bearing of the story, and he improvised as -naturally as if he were taking part in a conversation. The audience -was not aware of anything unusual. The manager who, at first, was -ready to tear his hair from his head, wisely let Glatigny take his own -course, and when the play was ended he offered the eccentric fellow an -engagement, at the stupendous salary of sixty francs a month!</p> - -<p>Never was there a man who led a more unstable and wandering life. One -day, he would seem fixed in Paris; the week after he was established -in Corsica; and after disappearing from the world that knew him, he -would turn up again at the Café de Suède, with wonderful stories of his -errant experiences. With all his mad ways there was no lack of method -in Glatigny’s mind when he chose to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>discipline it. French critics -speak with much favour of the grace and sweetness of his verses, and -quote charming lines from his comedy, ‘Le Bois,’ which was successfully -acted at the Odéon. Glatigny had a hard life withal. It was for bread -that he became a strolling player,—that he gave some performances at -the Alcazar, as an improvisatore—and, finally, that he woke up one -fine morning, with republican opinions.</p> - -<p>Probably not a few play-goers among us who were in Paris in 1849 will -forget the first representation of ‘Adrienne Lecouvreur,’ in the April -of that year. Among the persons of the drama was the Abbé de Chazeuil, -which was represented by M. Leroux, and well represented; a perfect -<i>abbé de boudoir</i>, loving his neighbour’s wife, and projecting a -revolution by denouncing the fashion of wearing patches! M. Leroux, -like Michonnet in the play, was eager to become a <i>sociétaire</i> of -the Théâtre Français, but (like poor Firmin, whose memory was not so -blameless as his style and genius—and who committed suicide, like -Nourrit, by flinging himself out of the window of an upper storey) -Leroux was not a ‘quick study,’ and, year by year, he fell into the -background, and had fewer parts assigned to him. The actor complained. -The answer was that his memory was not to be trusted. He rejoined that -it had never been trustworthy, and yet he had got on, in a certain -sense, without it. The rejoinder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> was not accepted as satisfactory. The -oblivious player (with all his talent) fell into oblivion. He not only -was not cast for new parts, but many of his old ones that he had really -got by heart were consigned to other members of the company. Leroux -was, before all things, a Parisian, and yet, in disgust, he abandoned -Paris. He wandered through the provinces, found his way to Algiers, and -there, after going deeper and deeper still, did not forget one thing -for which he had been cast in the drama of life—namely, his final exit.</p> - -<p>Political feeling has often led to eccentric results on, and in front -of, the French stage. With all the Imperial patronage of the drama, -the public never lost an opportunity of laughing at the vices of the -Imperial <i>régime</i>. When Ponsard’s ‘Lucréce’ was revived at the Odéon, -the public were simply bored by Lucretia’s platitudes at home and the -prosings of her husband in the camp. But when Brutus abused the Senate, -and scathing sarcasm was flashed against the extravagance of the -women of the court, and their costume, the pit especially, the house -generally, burst forth into a shout of recognition and derision. It is -to be observed that the acute Emperor himself often led the applause on -passages which bore political allusions, and which denounced tyranny -in supreme lords or in their subordinates. When the Emperor did not -take the initiative, the people did. At the first representation -of Augier’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> ‘La Contagion,’ there was a satirical passage against -England. The audience accepted it with laughter; but when the actor -added: ‘After all, the English are our best friends, and are a free -people!’ the phrase was received with a thundering <i>Bravo!</i> from the -famous Pipe-en-bois, who sat, wild and dishevelled, in the middle of -the pit, and whose exclamation aroused tumultuous echoes. At another -passage, ‘There comes a time when baffled truths are affirmed by -thunder-claps!’ the audience tried to encore the phrase. M. Got was too -well-trained an actor to be guilty of obeying, but the house shouted, -‘<i>Vivent les coups de tonnerre!</i>’ ‘Thunder-claps for ever!’ and the -passive Cæsar looked cold and unmoved across that turbulent pit.</p> - -<p>The French public is cruel to its idols whose powers have passed away. -The French stage is ungrateful to its old patrons who can no longer -confer patronage. When the glorious three days of 1830 had overthrown -the Bourbon Charles X., King of France and Navarre, and put in his -place Louis Philippe, King of the French, and the ‘best of republics,’ -the actors at the Odéon inaugurated their first representation under -the ‘Revolution’ by acting Pichat’s tragedy of ‘William Tell’ and -Molière’s ‘Tartuffe.’ All the actors were ignoble enough to associate -themselves with the downfall of a dynasty many kings of which had been -liberal benefactors of the drama. In ‘William Tell’ Ligier stooped to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> -the anachronism of wearing a tri-coloured rosette on the buffskin tunic -of Tell. In ‘Tartuffe’ all the actors and actresses but one wore the -same sign of idiocy. Tartuffe himself wore the old white ribbon of the -Bourbons, but only that the symbol which once was associated with much -glory might be insulted in its adversity. Dorine, the servant, tore the -white rosette from Tartuffe’s black coat amid a hurricane of applause -from the hot-headed heroes of the barricades, who had by fire, sword, -artillery, and much slaughter, set on the throne the ‘modern Ulysses.’ -Eighteen years later, that Ulysses shared the fate of all French -objects of idolatry, and was rudely tumbled down from his high estate. -At the Porte St. Martin, Frederic Lemaître played a chiffonier in one -of the dramas in which he was so popular. In his gutter-raking at -night, after having tossed various objects over his shoulder into his -basket, he drove his crook into some object which he held up for the -whole house to behold. It was a battered kingly crown, and when, with a -scornful chuckle, he flung it among the rags and bones in the basket on -his back, the vast mob of spectators did not hiss him from the stage; -they greeted the unworthy act by repeated salvoes of applause!</p> - -<p>Turning from eccentric actors to eccentric pieces, there may be -reckoned among the latter a piece called ‘Venez,’ which was first -produced, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> few years ago, at Liége. A chief incident in the piece is -where a pretty actress, seeking an engagement, is required by the young -manager, as a test of her competency, to give to the above word as many -varied intonations as might be possible. One of these proves to be so -exquisitely seductive that the manager offers a permanent engagement -for life, which is duly accepted. From Liége to Compiègne is a long -step, but it brings us to another eccentricity. Nine years ago, at one -of the Imperial revels there, certain of the courtiers and visitors -acted in an apropos piece, named ‘Les Commentaires de César.’ The -Prince Imperial represented the Future, without having the slightest -idea of it. Prosper Mérimée, Academician, poet, and historian, acted -the Past, of which he had often written so picturesquely. In the more -farcical part which followed the prologue, the most prominent personage -was the Princesse de Metternich (wife of the Austrian ambassador), who -played the part of a French cabman out on strike. She tipped forth the -Paris slang, and sang a character song, with an audacity which could -not be surpassed by the boldest of singing actresses at any of the -popular minor theatres. The august audience were convulsed at this -manifestation of high dramatic art—in its way! These fêtes led to much -extravagance in dress, and to much contention thereon between actresses -and managers. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> - -<p>The directors of the Palais Royal Theatre have frequently been at -law with their first ladies. Mdlle. Louisa Ferraris, in 1864, signed -an engagement to play there for three years at a salary beginning at -2,400 francs, and advancing to 3,000 and 3,600 francs, with a forfeit -clause of 12,000 francs. The salary would hardly have sufficed to pay -the lady’s shoemaker. In the course of the engagement the ‘Foire aux -Grotesques’ was put in rehearsal. In the course of this piece Mdlle. -Ferraris had to say to another actress, ‘I was quite right in not -inviting you to my ball, for you could not have come in a new dress, -as you owe your dressmaker 24,000 francs!’ As this actress was really -deeply indebted to that important personage, she begged that this -speech, which seemed a deliberate insult to her, might be altered. -Mdlle. Ferraris, in spite of the authors, who readily changed the -objectionable phrase, continued, however, to repeat the original words. -As she was peremptorily ordered to omit them she flung up her part, -whereupon the directors applied to the law to cancel her engagement -for breach of contract, and to award them 12,000 francs damages. -Mademoiselle repented and offered to resume the part. On this being -declined she entered a cross action to gain the 12,000 francs for -breach of contract on the directors’ side. The Tribunal de Commerce, -after consideration, cancelled the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>engagement, but condemned Mdlle. -Ferraris to pay 2,000 francs damages and the costs of suit. It is to -the stage, and not to the empress, that inordinate luxury in dress -is to be attributed. Sardou, in ‘La Famille Bénoiton,’ has been -stigmatised as the forerunner of such an exaggerated luxury that no -private purse was sufficient to pay for the toilette of a woman whose -maxim was, <i>La mode à tout prix</i>.</p> - -<p>Two or three years ago there was an actress at the Palais Royal Theatre -known as Antonia de Savy. Her real name was Antoinette Jathiot. Her -salary was 1,200 francs for the first year, 1,800 francs for the -second: not three-and-sixpence a night in English money. But out of the -three-and-sixpences Mdlle. Antonia was bound to provide herself with -‘linen, shoes, stockings, head-dresses, and all theatrical costumes -requisite for her parts, except foreign costumes totally different -from anything habitually worn in France.’ For any infringement of -these terms Mademoiselle was to pay a fine of 10,000 francs—about -her salary for half-a-dozen years. Circumstances led Antonia to be -wayward, and the management entered on a suit for the cancelling of -the engagement on the ground of her refusing to play a particular -part, and her unpunctuality. Her counsel, M. G. Chaix d’Est Ange, -pleaded that the lady was a minor, that her father had not given his -consent to such an engagement, and that it was an imposition on her -youth and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> inexperience. The other side replied that Mdlle. Jathiot -had ceased to be a minor since the engagement was signed; that as -to her inexperience, she was a very experienced young lady in the -ways of Parisian life; that the engagement was concluded with her -because she dressed in the most magnificent style, and that it would -be profitable to the theatre as well as to herself to exhibit those -magnificent dresses on the stage; and that as to her respected sire, -he was a humble clerk, living in a garret in the Rue Saint-Lazare, -and had no control whatever over a daughter who lived in the style of -a princess, spent fabulous sums in maintaining it, and had the most -perfect ‘turn-out’ in the way of carriage, horses, and servants in the -French capital. The plaintiffs asked to be relieved from this modest -young lady, and to be awarded damages for her insubordination and -unpunctuality. The Tribunal de Commerce ordered the engagement to be -cancelled, and the defendant to pay 1500 francs damages and the costs -of suit. But the Imperial Court of Appeal took another view of the -case. They refused in any way to sanction such an immoral notion as -that the terms of the contract were not disadvantageous for the minor -because it was known that she got her living in a way that could not -be avowed. They quashed the judgment of the Tribunal de Commerce, and -ordered the managers of the Palais Royal to pay all the costs. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> - -<p>The most singular of all law cases between French actresses and -managers was one the names of the parties to which have slipped -out of my memory. It arose out of the refusal of a young actress, -who had not lost her womanly modesty, to ‘go on’ in the dress -provided for her, which would hardly have afforded her more covering -than a postage-stamp. In the lawsuit which followed this act of -insubordination, the modest young lady was defeated, and was rebuked -by the magistrate for infringing the laws of the stage, of which -the manager was the irresponsible legislator! The actress preferred -the cancelling of her engagement to the degradation of such nightly -exposure as was demanded by the manager and was sanctioned by the -magistrate.</p> - -<p>I have said above that the eccentric extravagance of dress—the other -extreme from next to none at all—was not a consequence of an example -set by the empress. But there is something to be said on both sides. -Only two years ago Mdlles. Fargueil, Bernhardt, and Desclées made -public protest against the <i>pièces aux robes</i>, in which they were -required to dress like empresses (of fashion) at their own expense. -They traced the ruinous custom to the period when the Imperial Court -was at Compiègne, and when the actresses engaged or ‘invited’ to play -to the august company there were required by the inexorable rule of the -Court<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> to obey the sumptuary laws which regulated costume. Every lady -was invited for three days; each day she was to wear three different -dresses, and no dress was to be worn a second time. Count Bacciochi, -the grand chamberlain, kept a sharp eye on the ladies of the drama. -Histrionic queens and countesses were bound to be attired as genuinely -as the historical dignitaries themselves. The story might be romance, -the outward and visible signs were to be all reality. The awful Grand -Chamberlain once banished an actress from the Court stage at Compiègne -for the crime of wearing mock pearls when she was playing the part of a -duchess!</p> - -<p>This evil fashion, insisted on by dreadful Grand Chamberlains, was -adopted by Paris managers, who hoped to attract by dresses—the very -skirt of any one of which would swallow more than a <i>vicaire’s</i> yearly -income—and by a river of diamonds on a fair neck, whatever might -be in the head above it. A young actress who hoped to live by such -salary as her brains alone could bring her, and who would presume to -wear sham jewellery or machine-made lace, was looked upon as a poor -creature who would never have a reputation—that is, such a reputation -as her gorgeously attired sisters, who did not particularly care to -have <i>any</i> but that for which the most of them dressed themselves. -When the empire fell the above-named actresses thought that a certain -republican simplicity might properly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> take the place of an imperial -magnificence. Or they maintained that if stage-ladies were required to -find stage-dresses that cost twenty times their salary, the cost of -providing such dresses should fall on the stage-proprietors, and not -on the stage-ladies. It is said that the bills Mdlle. Fargueil had to -pay for her dresses in ‘La Famille Bénoiton’ and ‘Patrie’ represented -a sum total which, carefully invested, would have brought her in a -comfortable annuity! This may be a little exaggerated, but the value -of the dresses may be judged of from one fact, namely, that the Ghent -lace which Mdlle. Fargueil wore on her famous blue dress in ‘La Famille -Bénoiton’ was worth very nearly 500<i>l.</i></p> - -<p>How the attempt to introduce ‘moderation’ into the stage laws of -costume has succeeded, the most of us have seen. It has not succeeded -at all. Certain actresses are proud to occupy that bad preeminence from -which they are able to set the fashion. ‘<i>Mon chancelier vous dira le -reste!</i>’</p> - -<p>One of the eccentricities of the modern French stage is the way in -which it deals with the most delicate, or, rather, the most indelicate -subjects and people. The indelicate people and subject may indeed be -coarsely represented and outspoken, but they must observe certain -recognised, though undefined rules. There must be an innocent young -lady among the wicked people, and the lady (the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> <i>ingénue</i>) and her -ingenuousness must be respected. One fly may taint a score of carcases -and make a whole pot of ointment stink, but one <i>ingénue</i> keeps a -French piece of nastiness comparatively pure, and the public taste -for the impure is satisfied with this little bit of sentimentality. -The subjects which many French authors have brought on the stage do -not, it is to be hoped, hold a true mirror up to French nature. If -so, concubinage, adultery, and murder reign supreme. The changes have -been rung so often on this triple theme that an anonymous writer -has proposed that the theme should be represented, once for all, in -something of the following form, and that dramatic authors should -then turn to fresh woods and pastures new: ‘Scene.—A Drawing-room; -a married lady is seated, her lover at her feet; the folding-door at -back opens, and discovers husband with a double-barrelled revolver. -He fires and kills married lady and her lover. Husband then advances -and contemplates his victims. After a pause, he exclaims: “A thousand -pardons! I have come to a room on the wrong flat!” Curtain slowly -descends.’ This represents quite as faithfully the iniquities which, -according to the modern French drama, prevail universally in society, -as the dramas of Florian achieve the mission which was assigned to him -of illustrating <i>les petites vertus de tous les jours</i>—the little -virtues of everyday life. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> - -<p>The name of Mademoiselle Aimée Desclées reminds me of our Lord -Chamberlain. Extremes meet, in the mind as well as elsewhere! That -actress, who, after many years of hard struggle, floated triumphantly -as La Dame aux Camélias, and after a few years’ progress over sunny -seas slowly sank in sight of port, was discovered and brought out by M. -Dumas <i>fils</i>. A year or two ago she came to London with his plays, the -above ‘Dame,’ the ‘Princesse Georges,’ the ‘Visite de Noces,’ and some -others. But they stank in the nostrils of our Lord Chamberlain, and he -would no more allow them to be produced than the Lord Mayor would allow -corrupt meat to be exposed for sale in a City market. Great was the -outcry that arose thereupon, from the French inhabitants, and some of -the ignorant natives of London. The Chamberlain’s prudery and English -delicacy generally were made laughing-stocks. But, gently! Is it known -that the French themselves have raised fiercer outcry against plays -which our Lord Chamberlain has refused to license than ever Jeremy -Collier raised against that disgusting school of English comedy which -Dryden founded, and the filth of which was not compensated for by the -wit, such as it is, of Congreve, or the humour, if it may be so called, -of Wycherly? The <i>Gaulois</i> and the <i>Figaro</i>, papers which cannot be -charged with over straitlacedness, have blushed at the adulterous -comedy of France<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> as deeply as the two harlequins at Southwark Fair -blushed at the blasphemy of Lord Sandwich. A French critic, M. -Fournier, referring to the ‘Visite de Noces’ of the younger Dumas, -remarks that ‘the theatre ought not to be a surgical operating theatre, -or a dissecting-room. There are operations,’ he adds, ‘which should -not be performed on the stage, unless, indeed, a placard be posted at -the doors, “Women not admitted!”’ With respect to this suggestion, M. -Hostein, another critic, says: ‘People ask if the “Visite de Noces” be -proper for ladies to see. Men generally reply with an air of modesty, -that no woman who respects herself would go to see it. Capital puff!’ -exclaims M. Hostein, ‘they flock to it in crowds!’ Not <i>all</i>, however. -Not even all men. Men with a regard for ‘becomingness’ are warned by -indignant French critics. The dramatic critic of the ‘France’ thus -vigorously speaks to the point: ‘We say it with regret, with sadness, -in no other country, no other civilised city, in no other theatre of -Europe, would the new piece of M. Dumas <i>fils</i> be possible, and we -doubt whether there could be found elsewhere than in Paris a public who -would applaud it even by mistake. The “Visite de Noces” has obtained -a striking and decided success; so much the worse for the author and -for us. If our tastes, if our sentiments, if our conscience be so -perjured and perverted that we accept without repugnance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> and encourage -with our cheers such pictures, we are truly <i>en décadence</i>.’ Such is -the judgment of the leading critics. One of them, indeed, tersely -said, ‘the piece will have a success of indignation and money.’ The -public provided both, and the author accepted the latter. The women -who were of his audience and were <i>not</i> indignant were of the same -nature as those who listen to cases in our divorce courts. But the Lord -Chamberlain is fully justified in refusing a licence to play French -pieces which French critics have denounced as degrading to the moral -and the national character. The only fault to be found is in the manner -of the doing it; which in the Chamberlain’s servants takes a rude and -boorish expression. Meanwhile, let us remark that the attention of -the Lord Chamberlain might well be directed to other matters under -his control. If a fire, some night, break out in a crowded theatre -(where, every night, there is imminent peril) he will be asked if he -had officially done all in his power to prevent such a calamity. And -if he were to put restraint on the performances of certain licenced -places of amusement, husseydom might deplore it, but there would be -one danger the less for young men for whose especial degradation these -entertainments seem at present to be permitted. While this matter is -being thought of, a study of that old-fashioned book ‘The Elegant -Letter-Writer,’ would perhaps improve the style of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> the Chamberlain’s -<i>subs</i>, and would not be lost on certain young gentlemen of Oxford.</p> - -<p>If not among the eccentricities—at least among the marvels of -modern French-actress life—may be considered the highly dramatic -entertainments given by some of the ladies in their own homes.</p> - -<p>Like the historical tallow-chandler, who, after retiring from business, -went down to the old manufactory on melting days, the actor, generally -speaking, never gets altogether out of his profession. Some who retire -give ‘readings,’ or return periodically to the stage, after no end of -‘final farewells’ for positively the last time, and nothing is more -common than to see concert singers (on holiday) at concerts. French -actresses have been especially addicted to keeping to their vocation, -even in their amusements. If they are not at the theatre they have -private theatricals at home; and, if not private theatricals, at least -what comes next to them, or most nearly resembles them.</p> - -<p>In the grand old days of the uninterrupted line of French actresses -there was a Mdlle. Duthé, who was first in the second line of -accomplished players. She was of the time of, and often a substitute -for, Mdlle. Clairon. The latter was never off the stage. She was always -acting. When she was released from Fort l’Évêque, where she had been -imprisoned for refusing to act with Dubois, whom she considered as -a disgrace to the profession, Clairon said to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> bevy of actresses -in her heroic way, ‘The King may take my life, or my property, but -not my honour!’ ‘No, dear,’ responded the audacious Sophie Arnould, -‘certainly not. Where there is nothing, the King loses his rights!’ -Mdlle. Duthé belonged to these always-acting actresses. She is the -first on record who gave a <i>bal costumé</i>—a ball to which every guest -was to come in a theatrical or fancy dress. This was bringing amateur -acting into the ball-room. The invitation included the entire company -of the Théâtre Français, every one of whom came in a tragedy suit. -The non-professionals, authors, artists, <i>abbés</i>, <i>noblesse</i>, and -<i>gentils-hommes</i> also donned character dresses; and ball and supper -constituted a wonderful success. An entertainment similar to the -above was given when Louis Philippe was king, by Mdlle. Georges, the -great <i>tragédienne</i>. All who were illustrious in literature, fine -arts, diplomacy, and so forth, elbowed one another in the actress’s -suite of splendid rooms. Théophile Gautier, we are told, figured as -an incroyable, Jules Janin as a Natchez Indian, and Victor Hugo, who -now takes the ‘Radical’ parts, was present <i>en Palicare</i>. But the most -striking of what may be called these amateur theatrical balls was -given last April by M. and Mdme. Judic, or rather by the latter, in -the name of both. According to the ‘Paris Journal,’ such things are -easily done—if you are able to do them. If you have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> an exquisitely -arranged house, though small, you may get three hundred dancers into it -with facility. You have only, if your house is in France, to send for -Belloir, who will clap a glass cover to your court-yard, lay carpets -here, hang tapestry there, place mirrors right and left from floor -to ceiling, and scatter flowers and chandeliers everywhere, and the -thing is done—particularly if you have an account at your bankers’. -Something like this was done on the night of Saturday, April 19, 1873, -when ‘La Rosière d’ici’ invited her guests to come in theatrical -array to her ball, which was to begin at midnight. According to the -descriptions of this spring festival, which were circulated by oral -or printed report, not every one was invited who would fain have been -there. The select company numbered the choicest of the celebrities of -the stage, art, and literature (with few exceptions), and <i>therefore</i> -the ‘go’ and the gaiety of the <i>fête</i> never paused for a single instant.</p> - -<blockquote><p>As for the costumes, says Jehan Valter, they who did not see the -picturesque, strange, and fantastic composition, have never seen -anything. Never was coachman so perfect a coachman as Grénier. -Never was waggoner more waggoner than Grévin. Moreover, there were -peasants from every quarter of the world, of every colour, and of -every age. There were stout market porters, incroyables, jockeys, -brigands, waltzing, schottisching, and mazourkaing; for the dance -went fast and furious on that memorable evening (or rather, -Sunday morning). And no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> wonder, for among the ladies were Madame -Judic, in the costume of a village bride; with Mesdames Moissier, -Gabrielle Gautier, Massart, and Gérandon, as the bridesmaids. -Alice Regnault was a châtelaine of the mediæval period, Hielbron -and Damain (the latter, the younger of the sister actresses -of that name, who played so charmingly little conversational -pieces in English drawing-rooms during the Franco-German war), -were country lasses; and, among others, were Blanche D’Antigny, -Debreux, Léontine Spelier, Esther David, Gournay, &c., &c.—in -short, all the young and pretty actresses of the capital were -present. At four o’clock in the morning a splendid supper brought -all the guests together, after which dancing was resumed till -seven. The festival terminated by the serving of a <i>soupe à -l’oignon à la paysanne</i>; this stirrup-cup of rustic onion soup was -presented in little bowls, with a wooden spoon in each! The sun -had been up a very long time before the last of the dancers, loth -to depart, had entered their carriages on their way home.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Such is the newest form in which theatrical celebrities get up and -enjoy costume-balls after their fashion.</p> - -<p>One eccentric matter little understood in this country is co-operation, -or collaboration, in the production of French pieces. There is an old -story of an ambitious gentleman offering M. Scribe many thousand francs -to be permitted to have his name associated with that of M. Scribe -as joint authors of a piece by the former, of which the ambitious -gentleman was to be allowed to write a line, to save his honour. Scribe -wrote in reply that it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> against Scripture to yoke together a horse -and an ass. ‘I should like to know,’ asked the gentleman, ‘what right -you have to call me a horse?’ This showed that the gentleman had wit -enough to become a partner in a dramatic manufactory. Indeed, much less -than wit—a mere idea, is sufficient to qualify a junior partner. The -historian of ‘La Collaboration au Théâtre,’ M. Goizot, states that a -young provincial once called on Scribe with a letter of introduction -and a little comedy, in manuscript. Scribe talked with him, promised -to read the piece, and civilly dismissed him. The provincial youth -returned <i>au pays</i>, hoped, waited, and despaired; finally, at the -end of a year, he went up to Paris, and again called on M. Scribe. -With difficulty the dramatist recognised him; with more difficulty -could he recollect the manuscript to which his visitor referred, but -after consulting a note-book, he took out a manuscript vaudeville of -his own and proposed to read it to the visitor. It was that of his -popular piece ‘La Chanoinesse.’ The visitor submitted, but he became -delighted as he listened. The reading over, he ventured to refer to his -own manuscript. ‘I have just read it to you,’ said Scribe, ‘with my -additions. Your copy had an idea in it; ideas are to me everything. I -have made use of yours, and you and I are authors of “La Chanoinesse.”’</p> - -<p>Collaboration rarely enables us to see the share<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> of each author in the -work. The bouquet we fling to the successful pair is smelt by both. The -lately deceased Mr. P. Lébrun made the reception speech when M. Émile -Angier was admitted to one of the forty seats of the French Academy. -There was a spice of sarcasm in the following words addressed to one -of the two authors of ‘Le Gendre de M. Poirier:’ ‘What is your portion -therein? and are we not welcoming, not only yourself, to the Academy, -but also your <i>collaborateur</i> and friend?’ The fact is that in the -highest class of co-operative work the work itself is founded on a -single thought. The thought is discussed through all its consequences, -till the moment for giving it dramatic action arrives, and then the -pens pursue their allotted work. There is, however, another method. MM. -Legouvé and Prosper Dinaux wrote their drama of ‘Louise de Lignerolles’ -in this way. The two authors sat face to face at the same table, and -wrote the first act. The two results were read, compared, and finally, -out of what was considered the best work in the two, a new act was -selected with some new writing in addition. Thus three acts were really -constructed to build up one. This ponderous method is not followed -by many writers. Indeed, how some co-operative dramatists work is -beyond conjecture. A vaudeville in one act sometimes has four authors; -indeed, several of these single-act pieces have been advertised as the -work of a dozen;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> in one case, according to M. Goizot, of <i>sixteen</i> -authors, who probably chatted, laughed, drank, and smoked the piece -into existence at a café; and the piece becoming a reality, the whole -company of revellers were named as the many fathers of that minute -bantling.</p> - -<p>Undoubtedly the most marvellous example of dramatic eccentricity -that was ever put upon record is the one which tells us of a regular -performance by professional actors in a public theatre, before an -ordinary audience, who had extraordinary interest in the drama. The -locality was in Paris, in the old theatre of the Porte Saint-Martin. -The piece was the famous melodrama, ‘La Pie Voleuse,’ on which Rossini -founded ‘La Gazza Ladra,’ and which, under the name of ‘The Maid -and the Magpie,’ afforded such a triumph to Miss Kelly as that lady -may remember with pride; for we believe that most accomplished and -most natural of all actresses still survives—or was surviving very -lately—with two colleagues at least of the olden time, Mrs. W. West -and Miss Love. When ‘La Pie Voleuse’ was being acted at the above-named -French theatre, the allied armies had invaded France; a portion of the -invading force had entered Paris. The circumstance now to be related -is best told on French authority. An English writer might almost -be suspected of calumniating the French people by narrating such -an incident, unsupported<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> by reference to the source from which he -derived it. We take it from one of the many dramatic <i>feuilletons</i> of -M. Paul Foucher, an author of several French plays, a critic of French -players and play-writers, and a relative, by marriage, of M. Victor -Hugo. This is what M. Paul Foucher tells us: ‘On the evening of the -second entry of the foreign armies into Paris, the popular melodrama -“La Pie Voleuse,” was being acted at the Porte Saint-Martin. There was -one thousand eight hundred francs in the house, which at that time -was considered a handsome receipt. During the performance the doors -were closed, because the rumbling noise of the cannon, rolling over -the stones, interrupted the interest of the dialogue, and it rendered -impossible the sympathetic attention of the audience.’ Frenchmen there -were who were ashamed of this heartless indifference for the national -tragedy. Villemot was disgusted at this elasticity of the Parisian -spirit, and he added to his rebuke these remarkable words:—‘I take -pleasure in hoping that we may never again be subjected to the same -trial, and that, in any case, we may bear it in a more dignified -fashion.’ How Paris bore it, when the terrible event again occurred, -is too well known to be retold; but the incident of ‘La Pie Voleuse’ -is perhaps the most eccentric of the examples of dramatic and popular -eccentricity to be found in the annals of the French stage.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>NORTHUMBERLAND HOUSE AND THE PERCYS.</i></h2> - -<p>When Hotspur treads the stage with passionate grace, the spectator -hardly dreams of the fact that the princely original lived, paid taxes, -and was an active man of his parish, in Aldersgate Street. <i>There</i>, -however, stood the first Northumberland House. By the ill-fortune of -Percy it fell to the conquering side in the serious conflict in which -Hotspur was engaged; and Henry IV. made a present of it to his queen, -Jane. Thence it got the name of the Queen’s Wardrobe. Subsequently it -was converted into a printing office; and in the course of time, the -first Northumberland House disappeared altogether.</p> - -<p>In Fenchurch Street, not now a place wherein to look for nobles, the -great Earls of Northumberland were grandly housed in the time of Henry -VI.; but vulgar citizenship elbowed the earls too closely, and they -ultimately withdrew from the City. The deserted mansion and grounds -were taken possession of by the roysterers. Dice were for ever rattling -in the stately saloons. Winners shouted for joy, and blasphemy was -considered a virtue by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> the losers. As for the once exquisite gardens, -they were converted into bowling-greens, titanic billiards, at which -sport the gayer City sparks breathed themselves for hours in the summer -time. There was no place of entertainment so fashionably frequented as -this second Northumberland House; but dice and bowls were at length to -be enjoyed in more vulgar places, and ‘the old seat of the Percys was -deserted by fashion.’ On the site of mansion and gardens, houses and -cottages were erected, and the place knew its old glory no more. So -ended the second Northumberland House.</p> - -<p>While the above mansions or palaces were the pride of all Londoners -and the envy of many, there stood on the strand of the Thames, at -the bend of the river, near Charing Cross, a hospital and chapel, -whose founder, William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, had dedicated it to -St. Mary, and made it an appanage to the Priory of Roncesvalle, in -Navarre. Hence the hospital on our river strand was known by the name -of ‘St. Mary Rouncivall.’ The estate went the way of such property at -the dissolution of the monasteries; and the first lay proprietor of -the forfeited property was a Sir Thomas Cawarden. It was soon after -acquired by Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton, son of the first Earl -of Surrey. Howard, early in the reign of James I., erected on the site -of St. Mary’s Hospital a brick mansion which, under various names, -has developed into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> that third and present Northumberland House which -is about to fall under pressure of circumstances, the great need of -London, and the argument of half a million of money.</p> - -<p>Thus the last nobleman who clung to the Strand, which, on its south -side, was once a line of palaces, has left it for ever. The bishops -were the first to reside on that river-bank outside the City walls. -Nine episcopal palaces were once mirrored in the then clear waters of -the Thames. The lay nobles followed, when they felt themselves as safe -in that fresh and healthy air as the prelates. The chapel of the Savoy -is still a royal chapel, and the memories of time-honoured Lancaster -and of John, the honest King of France, still dignify the place. But -the last nobleman who resided so far from the now recognised quarters -of fashion has left what has been the seat of the Howards and Percys -for nearly three centuries, and the Strand will be able no longer to -boast of a duke. It also recently possessed an English earl; but <i>he</i> -was only a modest lodger in Norfolk Street.</p> - -<p>When the Duke of Northumberland went from the Strand, there went with -him a shield with very nearly nine hundred quarterings; and among them -are the arms of Henry VII., of the sovereign houses of France, Castile, -Leon, and Scotland, and of the ducal houses of Normandy and Brittany! -<i>Nunquam minus solus quam cum solus</i>, might be a fitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> motto for -a nobleman who, when he stands before a glass, may see therein, not -only the Duke, but also the Earl of Northumberland, Earl Percy, Earl -of Beverley, Baron Lovaine of Alnwick, Sir Algernon Percy, Bart., two -doctors (LL.D. and D.C.L.), a colonel, several presidents, and the -patron of two-and-twenty livings.</p> - -<p>As a man who deals with the merits of a book is little or nothing -concerned with the binding thereof, with the water-marks, or with the -printing, but is altogether concerned with the life that is within, -that is, with the author, his thoughts, and his expression of them, -so, in treating of Northumberland House, we care much less for notices -of the building than of its inhabitants—less for the outward aspect -than for what has been said or done beneath its roof. If we look with -interest at a mere wall which screens from sight the stage of some -glorious or some terrible act, it is not for the sake of the wall or -its builders: our interest is in the drama and its actors. Who cares, -in speaking of Shakespeare and Hamlet, to know the name of the stage -carpenter at the Globe or the Blackfriars? Suffice it to say, that -Lord Howard, who was an amateur architect of some merit, is supposed -to have had a hand in designing the old house in the Strand, and -that Gerard Christmas and Bernard Jansen are said to have been his -‘builders.’ Between that brick house and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> present there is as -much sameness as in the legendary knife which, after having had a new -handle, subsequently received in addition a new blade. The old house -occupied three sides of a square. The fourth side, towards the river, -was completed in the middle of the seventeenth century. The portal -retains something of the old work, but so little as to be scarcely -recognisable, except to professional eyes.</p> - -<p>From the date of its erection till 1614 it bore the name of Northampton -House. In that year it passed by will from Henry Howard, Lord -Northampton, to his nephew, Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk, from -whom it was called Suffolk House. In 1642, Elizabeth, daughter of -Theophilus, second Earl of Suffolk, married Algernon Percy, tenth Earl -of Northumberland, and the new master gave his name to the old mansion. -The above-named Lord Northampton was the man who has been described as -foolish when young, infamous when old, an encourager, at threescore -years and ten, of his niece, the infamous Countess of Essex; and who, -had he lived a few months longer, would probably have been hanged for -his share, with that niece and others, in the mysterious murder of Sir -Thomas Overbury. Thus, the founder of the house was noble only in name; -his successor and nephew has not left a much more brilliant reputation. -He was connected, with his wife, in frauds upon the King,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> and was -fined heavily. The heiress of Northumberland, who married his son, came -of a noble but ill-fated race, especially after the thirteenth Baron -Percy was created Earl of Northumberland in 1377. Indeed, the latter -title had been borne by eleven persons before it was given to a Percy, -and by far the greater proportion of the whole of them came to grief. -Of one of them it is stated that he (Alberic) was appointed Earl in -1080, but that, <i>proving unfit for the dignity</i>, he was displaced, and -a Norman bishop named in his stead! The idea of turning out from high -estate those who were unworthy or incapable is one that might suggest -many reflections, if it were not <i>scandalum magnatum</i> to make them.</p> - -<p>In the chapel at Alnwick Castle there is displayed a genealogical -tree. At the root of the Percy branches is ‘Charlemagne;’ and there -is a sermon in the whole, much more likely to scourge pride than to -stimulate it, if the thing be rightly considered. However this may be, -the Percys find their root in Karloman, the Emperor, through Joscelin -of Louvain, in this way: Agnes de Percy was, in the twelfth century, -the sole heiress of her house. Immensely rich, she had many suitors. -Among these was Joscelin, brother of Godfrey, sovereign Duke of -Brabant, and of Adelicia, Queen Consort of Henry the First of England. -Joscelin held that estate at Petworth which has not since gone out -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> the hands of his descendants. This princely suitor of the heiress -Agnes was only accepted by her as husband on condition of his assuming -the Percy name. Joscelin consented; but he added the arms of Brabant -and Louvain to the Percy shield, in order that, if succession to those -titles and possessions should ever be stopped for want of an heir, his -claim might be kept in remembrance. Now, this Joscelin was lineally -descended from ‘Charlemagne,’ and, <i>therefore</i>, that greater name lies -at the root of the Percy pedigree, which glitters in gold on the walls -of the ducal chapel in the castle at Alnwick.</p> - -<p>Very rarely indeed did the Percys, who were the earlier Earls of -Northumberland, die in their beds. The first of them, Henry, was slain -(1407) in the fight on Bramham Moor. The second, another Henry (whose -father, Hotspur, was killed in the hot affair near Shrewsbury), lies -within St. Alban’s Abbey Church, having poured out his lifeblood in -another Battle of the Roses, fought near that town named after the -saint. The blood of the third Earl helped to colour the roses, which -are said to have grown redder from the gore of the slain on Towton’s -hard-fought field. The forfeited title was transferred, in 1465, to -Lord John Nevill Montagu, great Warwick’s brother; but Montagu soon -lay among the dead in the battle near Barnet. The title was restored -to another Henry Percy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> and that unhappy Earl was murdered, in 1489, -at his house, Cucklodge, near Thirsk. In that fifteenth century there -was not a single Earl of Northumberland who died a peaceful and natural -death.</p> - -<p>In the succeeding century the first line of Earls, consisting of six -Henry Percys, came to an end in that childless noble whom Anne Boleyn -called ‘the Thriftless Lord.’ He died childless in 1537. He had, -indeed, two brothers, the elder of whom might have succeeded to the -title and estates; but both brothers, Sir Thomas and Sir Ingram, had -taken up arms in the ‘Pilgrimage of Grace.’ Attainder and forfeiture -were the consequences; and in 1551 Northumberland was the title of the -dukedom conferred on John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, who lost the dignity -when his head was struck off at the block, two years later.</p> - -<p>Then the old title, Earl of Northumberland, was restored in 1557, -to Thomas, eldest son of that attainted Thomas who had joined the -‘Pilgrimage of Grace.’ Ill-luck still followed these Percys. Thomas -was beheaded—the last of his house who fell by the hands of the -executioner—in 1572. His brother and heir died in the Tower in 1585.</p> - -<p>None of these Percys had yet come into the Strand. The brick house -there, which was to be their own through marriage with an heiress, was -built in the lifetime of the Earl, whose father, as just mentioned, -died in the Tower in 1585. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> son, too, was long a prisoner in -that gloomy palace and prison. While Lord Northampton was laying the -foundations of the future London house of the Percys in 1605, Henry -Percy, Earl of Northumberland, was being carried into durance. There -was a Percy, kinsman to the Earl, who was mixed up with the Gunpowder -Plot. For no other reason than relationship with the conspiring Percy, -the Earl was shut up in the Tower for life, as his sentence ran, and -he was condemned to pay a fine of thirty thousand pounds. The Earl -ultimately got off with fifteen years’ imprisonment and a fine of -twenty thousand pounds. He was popularly known as the Wizard Earl, -because he was a studious recluse, companying only with grave scholars -(of whom there were three, known as ‘Percy’s Magi’) and finding -relaxation in writing rhymed satires against the Scots.</p> - -<p>There was a stone walk in the Tower which, having been paved by the -Earl, was known during many years as ‘My Lord of Northumberland’s -Walk.’ At one end was an iron shield of his arms; and holes in which he -put a peg at every turn he made in his dreary exercise.</p> - -<p>One would suppose that the Wizard Earl would have been very grateful to -the man who restored him to liberty. Lord Hayes (Viscount Doncaster) -was the man. He had married Northumberland’s daughter, Lucy. The -marriage had excited the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> Earl’s anger, as a <i>low match</i>, and the proud -captive could not ‘stomach’ a benefit for which he was indebted to a -son-in-law on whom he looked down. This proud Earl died in 1632. Just -ten years after, his son, Algernon Percy, went a-wooing at Suffolk -House, in the Strand. It was then inhabited by Elizabeth, the daughter -and heiress of Theophilus, Earl of Suffolk, who had died two years -previously, in 1640. Algernon Percy and Elizabeth Howard made a merry -and magnificent wedding of it, and from the time they were joined -together the house of the bride has been known by the bridegroom’s -territorial title of Northumberland.</p> - -<p>The street close to the house of the Percys, which we now know as -Northumberland Street, was then a road leading down to the Thames, and -called Hartshorn Lane. Its earlier name was Christopher Alley. At the -bottom of the lane the luckless Sir Edmundsbury Godfrey had a stately -house, from which he walked many a time and oft to his great wood wharf -on the river. But the glory of Hartshorn Lane was and is Ben Jonson. -No one can say where rare Ben was born, save that the posthumous child -first saw the light in Westminster. ‘Though,’ says Fuller, ‘I cannot, -with all my industrious inquiry, find him in his cradle, I can fetch -him from his long coats. When a little child he lived in Hartshorn -Lane, Charing Cross, where his mother married a bricklayer for her -second<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> husband.’ Mr. Fowler was a master bricklayer, and did well with -his clever stepson. We can in imagination see that sturdy boy crossing -the Strand to go to his school within the old church of St. Martin -(then still) in the Fields. It is as easy to picture him hastening of a -morning early to Westminster, where Camden was second master, and had -a keen sense of the stuff that was in the scholar from Hartshorn Lane. -Of all the figures that flit about the locality, none attracts our -sympathies so warmly as that of the boy who developed into the second -dramatic poet of England.</p> - -<p>Of the countesses and duchesses of this family, the most singular was -the widow of Algernon, the tenth Earl. In her widowhood she removed -from the house in the Strand (where she had given a home not only to -her husband, but to a brother) to one which occupied the site on which -White’s Club now stands. It was called Suffolk House, and the proud -lady thereof maintained a semi-regal state beneath the roof and when -she went abroad. On such an occasion as paying a visit, her footmen -walked bareheaded on either side of her coach, which was followed -by a second, in which her women were seated, like so many ladies in -waiting! Her state solemnity went so far that she never allowed her son -Joscelin’s wife (daughter of an Earl) to be seated in her presence—at -least till she had obtained permission to do so. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> - -<p>Joscelin’s wife was, according to Pepys, ‘a beautiful lady indeed.’ -They had but one child, the famous heiress, Elizabeth Percy, who -at four years of age was left to the guardianship of her proud and -wicked old grandmother. Joscelin was dead, and his widow married -Ralph, afterwards Duke of Montague. The old Dowager Countess was a -matchmaker, and she contracted her granddaughter, at the age of twelve, -to Cavendish, Earl of Ogle. Before this couple were of age to live -together, Ogle died. In a year or two after, the old matchmaker engaged -her victim to Mr. Thomas Thynne, of Longleat; but the young lady had no -mind to him. In the Hatton collection of manuscripts there are three -letters addressed by a lady of the Brunswick family to Lord and Lady -Hatton. They are undated, but they contain a curious reference to part -of the present subject, and are thus noticed in the first report of -the Royal Commission on Historical Manuscripts: ‘Mr. Thinn has proved -his marriage with Lady Ogle, but she will not live with him, for fear -of being “rotten before she is ripe.” Lord Suffolk, since he lost his -wife and daughter, lives with his sister, Northumberland. They have -here strange ambassadors—one from the King of Fez, the other from -Muscovett. All the town has seen the last; he goes to the play, and -stinks so that the ladies are not able to take their muffs from their -noses all the play-time. The <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>lampoons that are made of most of the -town ladies are so nasty that no woman would read them, else she would -have got them for her.’</p> - -<p>‘Tom of Ten Thousand,’ as Thynne was called, was murdered (shot dead -in his carriage) in Pall Mall (1682) by Königsmark and accomplices, -two or three of whom suffered death on the scaffold. Immediately -afterwards, the maiden wife of two husbands <i>really</i> married Charles, -the proud Duke of Somerset. In the same year, Banks dedicated to her -(<i>Illustrious Princess</i>, he calls her) his ‘Anna Bullen,’ a tragedy. -He says: ‘You have submitted to take a noble partner, as angels have -delighted to converse with men;’ and ‘there is so much of divinity and -wisdom in your choice, that none but the Almighty ever did the like’ -(giving Eve to Adam) ‘with the world and Eden for a dower.’ Then, after -more blasphemy, and very free allusions to her condition as a bride, -and fulsomeness beyond conception, he scouts the idea of supposing that -she ever should die. ‘You look,’ he says, ‘as if you had nothing mortal -in you. Your guardian angel scarcely is more a deity than you;’ and so -on, in increase of bombast, crowned by the mock humility of ‘my muse -still has no other ornament than truth.’</p> - -<p>The Duke and Duchess of Somerset lived in the house in the Strand, -which continued to be called Northumberland House, as there had long -been a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> <i>Somerset</i> House a little more to the east. Anthony Henley once -annoyed the above duke and showed his own ill-manners by addressing -a letter ‘to the Duke of Somerset, over against the trunk-shop at -Charing Cross.’ The duchess was hardly more respectful when speaking -of her suburban mansion, Sion House, Brentford. ‘It’s a hobbledehoy -place,’ she said; ‘neither town nor country.’ Of this union came a son, -Algernon Seymour, who in 1748 succeeded his father as Duke of Somerset, -and in 1749 was created Earl of Northumberland, for a particular -reason. He had no sons. His daughter Elizabeth had encouraged the -homage of a handsome young fellow of that day, named Smithson. She was -told Hugh Smithson had spoken in terms of admiration of her beauty, and -she laughingly asked why he did not say as much to herself. Smithson -was the son of ‘an apothecary,’ according to the envious, but, in -truth, the father had been a physician, and earned a baronetcy, and -was of the good old nobility, the landowners, with an estate, still -possessed by the family, at Stanwick, in Yorkshire. Hugh Smithson -married this Elizabeth Percy, and the earldom of Northumberland, -conferred on her father, was to go to her husband, and afterwards to -the eldest male heir of this marriage, failing which the dignity was to -remain with Elizabeth and her heirs male by any other marriage.</p> - -<p>It is at this point that the present line of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>Smithson-Percys begins. -Of the couple who may be called its founders so many severe things -have been said, that we may infer that their exalted fortunes and best -qualities gave umbrage to persons of small minds or strong prejudices. -Walpole’s remark, that in the earl’s lord-lieutenancy in Ireland ‘their -vice-majesties scattered pearls and diamonds about the streets,’ is -good testimony to their royal liberality. Their taste may not have -been unexceptionable, but there was no touch of meanness in it. In -1758 they gave a supper at Northumberland House to Lady Yarmouth, -George II.’s old mistress. The chief ornamental piece on the supper -table represented a grand <i>chasse</i> at Herrenhausen, at which there was -a carriage drawn by six horses, in which was seated an august person -wearing a blue ribbon, with a lady at his side. This was not unaptly -called ‘the apotheosis of concubinage.’ Of the celebrated countess -notices vary. Her delicacy, elegance, and refinement are vouched for -by some; her coarseness and vulgarity are asserted by others. When -Queen Charlotte came to England, Lady Northumberland was made one of -the ladies of the queen’s bed-chamber. Lady Townshend justified it to -people who felt or feigned surprise, by remarking, ‘Surely nothing -could be more proper. The queen does not understand English, and can -anything be more necessary than that she should learn the vulgar -tongue?’ One of the countess’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> familiar terms for conviviality was -‘junkitaceous,’ but ladies of equal rank had also little slang words -of their own, called things by the very plainest names, and spelt -<i>physician</i> with an ‘f.’</p> - -<p>There is ample testimony on record that the great countess never -hesitated at a jest on the score of its coarseness. The earl was -distinguished rather for his pomposity than vulgarity, though a vulgar -sentiment marked some of both his sayings and doings. For example, when -Lord March visited him at Alnwick Castle, the Earl of Northumberland -received him at the gates with this queer sort of welcome: ‘I believe, -my lord, this is the first time that ever a Douglas and a Percy met -here in friendship.’ The censor who said, ‘Think of this from a -Smithson to a true Douglas,’ had ample ground for the exclamation. -George III. raised the earl and countess to the rank of duke and -duchess in 1766. All the earls of older creation were ruffled and angry -at the advancement; but the honour had its drawback. The King would not -allow the title to descend to an heir by any other wife but the one -then alive, who was the true representative of the Percy line.</p> - -<p>The old Northumberland House festivals were right royal things in their -way. There was, on the other hand, many a snug, or unceremonious, or -eccentric party given there. Perhaps the most splendid was that given -in honour of the King of Denmark<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> in 1768. His majesty was fairly -bewildered with the splendour. There was in the court what was called -‘a pantheon,’ illuminated by 4,000 lamps. The King, as he sat down to -supper, at the table to which he had expressly invited twenty guests -out of the hundreds assembled, said to the duke, ‘How did you contrive -to light it all in time?’ ‘I had two hundred lamplighters,’ replied the -duke. ‘That was a stretch,’ wrote candid Mrs. Delany; ‘a dozen could -have done the business;’ which was true.</p> - -<p>The duchess, who in early life was, in delicacy of form, like one -of the Graces, became, in her more mature years, fatter than if the -whole three had been rolled into one in her person. With obesity came -‘an exposition to sleep,’ as Bottom has it. At ‘drawing-rooms’ she -no sooner sank on a sofa than she was deep in slumber; but while she -was awake she would make jokes that were laughed at and censured the -next day all over London. Her Grace would sit at a window in Covent -Garden, and be <i>hail fellow well met</i> with every one of a mob of tipsy -and not too cleanly-spoken electors. On these occasions it was said -she ‘signalised herself with intrepidity.’ She could bend, too, with -cleverness to the humours of more hostile mobs; and when the Wilkes -rioters besieged the ducal mansion, she and the duke appeared at a -window, did salutation to their masters, and performed homage to the -demagogue by drinking his health in ale. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> - -<p>Horace Walpole affected to ridicule the ability of the duchess as a -verse writer. At Lady Miller’s at Batheaston some rhyming words were -given out to the company, and anyone who could, was required to add -lines to them so as to make sense with the rhymes furnished for the end -of each line. This sort of dancing in fetters was called <i>bouts rimés</i>. -‘On my faith,’ cried Walpole, in 1775, ‘there are <i>bouts rimés</i> on a -buttered muffin by her Grace the Duchess of Northumberland.’ It may be -questioned whether anybody could have surmounted the difficulty more -cleverly than her Grace. For example:</p> - -<table summary="rhymes"> - <tr> - <td class="left">The pen which I now take and</td> - <td class="left">brandish,</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Has long lain useless in my</td> - <td class="left">standish.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Know, every maid, from her own </td> - <td class="left">patten</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">To her who shines in glossy</td> - <td class="left">satin,</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">That could they now prepare an</td> - <td class="left">oglio</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">From best receipt of book in</td> - <td class="left">folio,</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">Ever so fine, for all their</td> - <td class="left">muffin;</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">A muffin, Jove himself might</td> - <td class="left">feast on,</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left">If eaten with Miller, at</td> - <td class="left">Batheaston.</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p>To return to the house itself. There is no doubt that no mansion of -such pretensions and containing such treasures has been so thoroughly -kept from the vulgar eye. There is one exception, however, to this -remark. The Duke (Algernon) who was alive at the period of the first -Exhibition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> threw open the house in the Strand to the public without -reserve. The public, without being ungrateful, thought it rather a -gloomy residence. Shut in and darkened as it now is by surrounding -buildings—canopied as it now is by clouds of London smoke—it is less -cheerful and airy than the Tower, where the Wizard Earl studied in his -prison room, or counted the turns he made when pacing his prison yard. -The Duke last referred to was in his youth at Algiers under Exmouth, -and in his later years a Lord of the Admiralty. As Lord Prudhoe, he was -a traveller in far-away countries, and he had the faculty of seeing -what he saw, for which many travellers, though they have eyes, are not -qualified. At the pleasant Smithsonian house at Stanwick, when he was -a bachelor, his household was rather remarkable for the plainness of -the female servants. Satirical people used to say the youngest of them -was a grandmother. Others, more charitable or scandalous, asserted -that Lord Prudhoe was looked upon as a father by many in the country -round, who would have been puzzled where else to look for one. It was -his elder brother Hugh (whom Lord Prudhoe succeeded) who represented -England as Ambassador Extraordinary at the coronation of Charles X. at -Rheims. Paris was lost in admiration at the splendour of this embassy, -and never since has the <i>hôtel</i> in the Rue de Bac possessed such a -gathering of royal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> and noble personages as at the <i>fêtes</i> given there -by the Duke of Northumberland. His sister, Lady Glenlyon, then resided -in a portion of the fine house in the Rue de Bourbon, owned and in part -occupied by the rough but cheery old warrior, the Comte de Lobau. When -that lady was Lady Emily Percy, she was married to the eccentric Lord -James Murray, afterwards Lord Glenlyon. The bridegroom was rather of -an oblivious turn of mind, and it is said that when the wedding morn -arrived, his servant had some difficulty in persuading him that it was -the day on which he had to get up and be married.</p> - -<p>There remains only to be remarked, that as the Percy line has been -often represented only by an heiress, there have not been wanting -individuals who boasted of male heirship.</p> - -<p>Two years after the death of Joscelin Percy in 1670, who died the -last male heir of the line, leaving an only child, a daughter, who -married the Duke of Somerset, there appeared, supported by the Earl of -Anglesea, a most impudent claimant (as next male heir) in the person -of James Percy, an Irish trunkmaker. This individual professed to -be a descendant of Sir Ingram Percy, who was in the ‘Pilgrimage of -Grace,’ and was brother of the sixth earl. The claim was proved to be -unfounded; but it may have rested on an <i>illegitimate</i> foundation. -As the pretender continued to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> call himself Earl of Northumberland, -Elizabeth, daughter of Joscelin, ‘took the law’ of him. Ultimately he -was condemned to be taken into the four law courts in Westminster Hall, -with a paper pinned to his breast, bearing these words: ‘The foolish -and impudent pretender to the earldom of Northumberland.’</p> - -<p>In the succeeding century, the well-known Dr. Percy, Bishop of Dromore, -believed himself to be the true male representative of the ancient line -of Percy. He built no claims on such belief; but the belief was not -only confirmed by genealogists, it was admitted by the second heiress -Elizabeth, who married Hugh Smithson. Dr. Percy so far asserted his -blood as to let it boil over in wrath against Pennant when the latter -described Alnwick Castle in these disparaging words: ‘At Alnwick -no remains of chivalry are perceptible; no respectable train of -attendants; the furniture and gardens are inconsistent; and nothing, -except the numbers of unindustrious poor at the castle gate, excited -any one idea of its former circumstances.’</p> - -<p>‘Duke and Duchess of Charing Cross,’ or ‘their majesties of Middlesex,’ -were the mock titles which Horace Walpole flung at the ducal couple of -his day who resided at Northumberland House, London, or at Sion House, -Brentford. Walpole accepted and satirised the hospitality of the London -house, and he almost hated the ducal host<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> and hostess at Sion, because -they seemed to overshadow his mimic feudal state at Strawberry! After -all, neither early nor late circumstance connected with Northumberland -House is confined to memories of the inmates. Ben Jonson comes out upon -us from Hartshorn Lane with more majesty than any of the earls; and -greatness has sprung from neighbouring shops, and has flourished as -gloriously as any of which Percy can boast. Half a century ago, there -was a long low house, a single storey high, the ground floor of which -was a saddler’s shop. It was on the west side of the old Golden Cross, -and nearly opposite Northumberland House. The worthy saddler founded -a noble line. Of four sons, three were distinguished as Sir David, -Sir Frederick, and Sir George. Two of the workmen became Lord Mayors -of London; and an attorney’s clerk, who used to go in at night and -chat with the men, married the granddaughter of a king and became Lord -Chancellor.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>LEICESTER FIELDS.</i></h2> - -<p>In the reign of James I. there was an open space of ground north of -what is now called Leicester Square (which by some old persons is -still called Leicester Fields), and which was to the London soldiers -and civilians of that day very much what Wormwood Scrubs is to the -military and their admirers of the present time. Prince Henry exercised -his artillery there, and it continued to be a general military -exercise-ground far into the reign of Charles I. People trooped -joyfully over the lammas land paths to witness the favourite spectacle. -The greatest delight was excited by charges of cavalry against lines -or masses of dummies, through which the gallant warriors and steeds -plunged and battled—thus teaching them not to stop short at an -impediment, but to dash right through it.</p> - -<p>In 1631 there were unmistakable signs that this land was going to be -built over, and people were aghast at the pace at which London was -growing. Business-like men were measuring and staking; the report -was that the land had been given to Sydney, Earl of Leicester. Too -soon the builders got<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> possession, and the holiday folk with military -proclivities no longer enjoyed their old ecstasy of accompanying the -soldiery to Paggington’s tune of</p> - -<p class="center">My masters and friends and good people, draw near.</p> - -<p>Why Sydney was allowed to establish himself on the lammas land no one -can tell. All that we know is, that Lord Carlisle wrote from Nonsuch, -in August 1631, to Attorney-General Heath, informing him that it was -the king’s pleasure that Mr. Attorney should prepare a licence to the -Earl of Leicester to build upon a piece of ground called Swan Close, in -St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, a house convenient for his habitation.’</p> - -<p>The popular idea of Earl of Leicester is Elizabeth’s Robert Dudley. -Well, that earl had a sister, Mary, who married Sir Henry Sydney, of -Penshurst. This couple had a son, whom they called Robert, and whom -King James created at successive periods Baron Sydney, Viscount Lisle, -and Earl of Leicester. And this Earl Robert had a son who, in 1626, -succeeded to the earldom, and to him King Charles, in 1631, gave Swan -Close and some other part of the lammas land, whereon he erected the -once famous Leicester House.</p> - -<p>This last Robert was the father of the famous and rather shabby -patriot, Algernon Sydney, also of the handsome Henry. He is still more -famous as having for daughter Dorothy, the ‘Sacharissa’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> with whom -Waller pretended to be in love, and he gave his family name to Sydney -Alley. When, some few years later, the Earl of Salisbury (Viscount -Cranbourn) built a house in the neighbourhood, he partly copied the -other earl’s example, and called the road which led to his mansion -Cranbourn Alley.</p> - -<p>The lammas land thus given away was land which was open to the poor -after Lammastide. Peter Cunningham quotes two entries from the St. -Martin’s rate-books to this effect: ‘To received of the Honble. Earle -of Leicester for ye Lamas of the ground that adjoins the Military Wall, -3<i>l.</i>’ The ‘military wall’ was the boundary of the Wormwood Scrubs of -that day. The Earl also had to pay ‘for the lamas of the ground whereon -his house and garden are, and the field that is before his house, near -to Swan Close.’ The field before his house is now Leicester Square, -‘but Swan Close,’ says Peter, ‘is quite unknown.’ Lord Carlisle’s -letter in the State Paper Office states that the house was to be built -‘<i>upon</i> Swan Close.’</p> - -<p>It was a palatial mansion, that old Leicester House. It half filled -the northern side of the present square, on the eastern half of that -side. Its noble gardens extended beyond the present Lisle Street. At -first that street reached only to the garden wall of Leicester House. -When the garden itself disappeared the street was lengthened. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> was -a street full of ‘quality,’ and foreign ambassadors thought themselves -lodged in a way not to dishonour their masters if they could only -secure a mansion in Lisle Street.</p> - -<p>Noble as the mansion was, Robert Sydney Earl of Leicester is the only -earl of his line who lived in it, and his absences were many and of -long continuance. He was a thrifty man, and long before he died, in -1677, he let the house to very responsible tenants. One of these was -Colbert. If the ordinary run of ambassadors were proud to be quartered -in Lisle Street, the proper place for the representative of ‘<i>L’Etat -c’est moi</i>,’ and for the leader of civilisation, was the palace in -Leicester Fields; and there France established herself, and there and -in the neighbourhood, in hotels, cafés, restaurants, <i>charcutiers</i>, -<i>commissionnaires</i>, refugees, and highly-coloured ladies, she has been -ever since.</p> - -<p>Colbert probably the more highly approved of the house as it had been -dwelt in already by a queen. On February 7, 1662, the only queen that -ever lived in Drury Lane—the Queen of Bohemia (daughter of James -I.)—removed from Drury House and its pleasant gardens, now occupied by -houses and streets, at the side of the Olympic Theatre, to Leicester -House. Drury House was the residence of Lord Craven, to whom it was -popularly said that the widowed queen had been privately married.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> Her -occupancy of Leicester House was not a long one, for the queen died -there on the 12th of the same month.</p> - -<p>Six years later, in 1668,the French ambassador, Colbert, occupied -Leicester House. Pepys relates how he left a joyous dinner early, on -October 21, to join Lord Brouncker, the president, and other members -of the Royal Society, in paying a formal return visit to Colbert; but -the party had started before Pepys arrived at the Society’s rooms. The -little man hastened after them; but they were ‘gone in’ and ‘up,’ and -Pepys was too late to be admitted. His wife, perhaps, was not sorry, -for he took her to Cow Lane; ‘and there,’ he says, ‘I showed her the -coach which I pitch on, and she is out of herself for joy almost.’</p> - -<p>It is easy to guess why the Royal Society honoured themselves by -honouring Colbert. The great Frenchman was something more than a -mere Marquis de Segnelai. Who remembers M. le Marquis? Who does not -know Colbert—the pupil of Mazarin, the astute politician, the sharp -finance-minister, the patron—nay, the pilot—of the arts and sciences -in France? The builder of the French Royal Observatory, and the founder -of the Academies of Painting and Sculpture and of the Sciences in -France, was just the man to pay the first visit to the Royal Society. -Leicester House was nobly tenanted by Colbert, and nobly frequented by -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> men of taste and of talent whom he gathered about him beneath its -splendid roof.</p> - -<p>The house fell into other hands, and men who were extremely opposite to -philosophers were admitted within its walls <i>with</i> philosophers, who -were expected to admire their handiwork. In October 1672, the grave -Evelyn called at Leicester House to take leave of Lady Sunderland, who -was about to set out for Paris, where Lord Sunderland was the English -ambassador. My lady made Evelyn stay to dinner, and afterwards sent -for Richardson, the famous fire-eater. A few years ago a company of -Orientals, black and white, exhibited certain feats, but they were too -repulsive (generally) to attract. What the members of this company did -was done two hundred years ago in Leicester Square by Richardson alone. -‘He devoured,’ says Evelyn, ‘brimstone on glowing coals before us, -chewing and swallowing them; he melted a large glass and eat it quite -up; then, taking a live coal on his tongue, he put on it a raw oyster, -the coal was blowed on with bellows till it flamed and sparkled in his -mouth, and so remained till the oyster gaped and was quite boiled. Then -he melted pitch and wax with sulphur, which he drank down as it flamed. -I saw it flaming in his mouth a good while. He also took up a thick -piece of iron, such as laundresses use to put in their smoothing-boxes, -when it was fiery hot, held it between his teeth, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> in his hands, -and threw it about like a stone; but this I observed, that he cared -not to hold very long. Then he stood on a small pot, and bending his -body, took a glowing iron in his mouth from between his feet, without -touching the pot or ground with his hands; with divers other prodigious -feats.’ Such was the singular sort of entertainment provided by a lady -for a gentleman after dinner in the seventeenth century and beneath the -roof of Leicester House.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Little France increased and flourished in and about the -neighbourhood, and ‘foreigners of distinction’ were to be found airing -their nobility in Leicester Square and the Haymarket—almost country -places both.</p> - -<p>Behind Leicester House, and on part of the ground which once formed -Prince Henry Stuart’s military parade ground, there was a riding -academy, kept by Major Foubert. In 1682, among the major’s resident -pupils and boarders, was a handsome dare-devil young fellow, who was -said to be destined for the Church, but who subsequently met his own -destiny in quite another direction. His name was Philip Christopher -Königsmark (Count, by title), and his furious yet graceful riding must -have scared the quieter folks pacing the high road of the fields. He -had with him, or rather <i>he</i> was with an elder brother, Count Charles -John. This elder Count walked Leicester Fields in somewhat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> strange -company—a German Captain Vratz, Borosky, a Pole, and Lieutenant Stern, -a third foreigner. To what purpose they associated was seen after -that Sunday evening in February 1682, when three mounted men shot Mr. -Thomas Thynne (Tom of Ten Thousand) in his coach, at the bottom of the -Haymarket. Tom died of his wounds. Thynne had been shot because he had -just married the wealthy child-heiress, Lady Ogle. Count Charles John -thought <i>he</i> might obtain the lady if her husband were disposed of. -The necessary disposal of him was made by the three men named above, -after which they repaired to the Counts lodgings and then scattered; -but they were much wanted by the police, and so was the Count; when it -was discovered that he had suddenly disappeared from the neighbourhood -of the ‘Fields,’ and had gone down the river. He was headed, and -taken at Gravesend. The subordinates were also captured. For some -time indeed Vratz could not be netted. One morning, however, an armed -force broke into a Swedish doctor’s house in Leicester Fields, and -soon after they brought out Vratz in custody, to the great delight -of the assembled mob. At the trial, the Count was acquitted. His -younger brother, Philip, swore to an <i>alibi</i>, which proved nothing, -and the King influenced the judges! The three hired murderers went to -the gallows, and thought little of it. Vratz excused the deed, on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> -the ground of murder not having been intended; ‘besides,’ said this -sample of the Leicester Fields foreigner of the seventeenth century, -‘I am a gentleman, and God will deal with me accordingly.’ The two -counts left England, and made their names notorious in Continental -annals. The French riding-master shut up his school behind Leicester -House, and removed to a spot where his name still lives: Foubert’s -Passage, in Regent Street, opposite Conduit Street, is the site of the -academy where that celebrated teacher once instructed young ladies and -gentlemen how to ‘witch the world with noble horsemanship.’</p> - -<p>We have spoken of the square being almost in the country. It was not -the only one which was considered in the same light. In 1698 the author -of a book called ‘Mémoires et Observations faites par un Voyageur en -Angleterre,’ printed at the Hague in the above year, thus enumerates -the London squares or <i>places</i>: ‘Les places qui sont dans Londres, ou -pour mieux dire, dans les faubourgs, occupent des espaces qui, joints -ensemble, en fourniraient un suffisant pour bâtir une grande ville. Ces -places sont toutes environnées de balustrades, qui empêchant que les -carrosses n’y passant. Les principales sont celles de Lincoln’s Inn -Fields, de Moor Fields, de Southampton ou Blumsbury, de St. James, &c., -Covent Garden; de Sohoe, ou Place Royale, du Lion rouge (Red Lyon),<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> du -Quarré d’Or (Golden Square), et de Leicester Fields.’</p> - -<p>All these are said to be in the <i>suburbs</i>. Soho Square was called by -fashionable people, King Square. It was only vulgar folk who used the -prevailing name of Soho.</p> - -<p>From early in Queen Anne’s days till late in those of George I., the -representative of the Emperor of Germany resided in Leicester House. -It was said that Jacobites found admittance there, for plotting or -for refuge. It is certain that the imperial residence was never so -tumultuously and joyously surrounded as when Prince Eugene arrived in -Leicester Square, in the above Queen’s reign, on a mission from the -Emperor, to induce England to join with him in carrying on the war. -During his brief stay Leicester Fields was thronged with a cheering -mobility and a bowing nobility and gentry, hastening to ‘put a -distinguished respect’ on Marlborough’s great comrade, who was almost -too modest to support the popular honours put on himself. Bishop Burnet -and the Prince gossiping together at their frequent interviews at -Leicester House have quite a picturesque aspect.</p> - -<p>The imperial chaplain there was often as busy as his master. Here is a -sample of one turn of his office:</p> - -<p>One evening a man, in apparent hurry, knocked at the door of Leicester -House, the imperial <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>ambassador’s residence. He was bent on being -married, and he accomplished that on which he was bent. This person was -the son of a cavalier squire; he was also a Templar, for a time; but he -hated law and Fleet Street, and he set up as near to being a courtier -as could be expressed by taking lodgings in Scotland Yard, which -was next door to the court then rioting at Whitehall. His name was -Fielding, and his business was to drink wine, make love, and live upon -pensions from female purses. Three kings honoured the rascal: Charles, -James, and William; and one queen did him a good turn. For a long -time Beau Fielding was the handsomest ass on the Mall. Ladies looked -admiringly and languishingly at him, and the cruel beau murmured, ‘Let -them look and die.’ Maidens spoke of him as ‘Adonis!’ and joyous widows -hailed him ‘Handsome as Hercules!’ It was a mystery how he lived; how -he maintained horses, chariot, and a brace of fellows in bright yellow -coats and black sarcenet sashes. They were the Austrian colours; for -Fielding thought he was cousin to the House of Hapsburg.</p> - -<p>Supercilious as he was, he had an eye to the widows. His literature was -in Doctors’ Commons, where he studied the various instances of marital -affection manifested by the late husbands of living widows. One day -he rose from the perusal of a will with great apparent satisfaction. -He had just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> read how Mr. Deleau had left his relict a town house in -Copthall Court, a Surrey mansion at Waddon, and sixty thousand pounds -at her own disposal. The handsome Hercules resolved to add himself to -the other valuables of which widow Deleau could dispose.</p> - -<p>Fielding knew nothing whatever of the widow he so ardently coveted; -but he, like love, could find out the way. There was a Mrs. Villars, -who had dressed the widow’s hair, and she undertook, for a valuable -consideration, to bring the pair gradually together. Fielding was -allowed to see the grounds at Waddon. As he passed along, he observed -a lady at a window. He put his hand on the left side of his waistcoat, -and bowed a superlative beau’s superlative bow; and he was at the high -top-gallant of his joy when he saw the graceful lady graciously smile -in return for his homage. This little drama was repeated; and at last -Mrs. Villars induced the lady to yield so very much all at once as to -call with her on Fielding at his lodgings. Three such visits were made, -and ardent love was made also on each occasion. On the third coming of -Hero to Leander, there was a delicious little banquet, stimulating to -generous impulses. The impulses so overcame the lady that she yielded -to the urgent appeals of Mrs. Villars and the wooer, and consented to a -private marriage in her lover’s chambers. The ecstatic Fielding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> leapt -up from her feet, where he had been kneeling, clapt on his jaunty hat -with a slap, buckled his bodkin sword to his side with a hilarious -snap, swore there was no time like the present, and that he would -himself fetch a priest and be back with him on the very swiftest of the -wings of love.</p> - -<p>That was the occasion on which, at a rather late hour, Fielding was -to be seen knocking at the front door of Leicester House. When the -door was opened his first inquiry was after the imperial ambassador’s -chaplain. The beau had, in James II.’s days, turned Papist; and when -Popery had gone out as William came in, he had not thought it worth -while to turn back again, and was nominally a Papist still. When the -Roman Catholic chaplain in Leicester House became aware of what his -visitor required, he readily assented, and the worthy pair might be -seen hastily crossing the square to that bower of love where the bride -was waiting. The chaplain satisfied her scruples as to the genuineness -of his priestly character, and in a twinkling he buckled beau and belle -together in a manner which, as he said, defied all undoing.</p> - -<p>‘Undoing?’ exclaimed the lover. ‘I marry my angel with all my heart, -soul, body, and everything else!’—and he put a ring on her finger -bearing the poesy <i>Tibi soli</i>—the sun of his life.</p> - -<p>In a few days the bubble burst. The lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> turned out to be no rich -widow, but a Mrs. Wadsworth, who was given to frolicking, and who -thought this the merriest frolic of her light-o’-love life. Fielding, -who had passed himself off as a count, had not much to say in his own -behalf, and he turned the ‘sun of his life’ out of doors. Whither he -could turn he knew right well. He had long served all the purposes -of the Duchess of Cleveland, the degraded old mistress of Charles -II.; and within three weeks of his being buckled to Mrs. Wadsworth by -the Leicester Square priest he married Duchess Barbara. Soon after -he thrashed Mrs. Wadsworth in the street for claiming him as her -lawful husband, and he beat the Duchess at home for asserting that -Mrs. Wadsworth was right. Old Barbara did more. She put two hundred -pounds into that lady’s hand, to prosecute Fielding for bigamy, and -the Duchess promised her a hundred pounds a year for fifteen years -if she succeeded in getting him convicted. And the handsome Hercules -was convicted accordingly, at the Old Bailey, and was sentenced to be -burnt in the hand; but the rascal produced Queen Anne’s warrant to stay -execution. And so ended the Leicester Square wedding.</p> - -<p>As long as the Emperor’s envoy lived in Leicester Fields he was the -leader of fashion. Crowds assembled to see his ‘turn out.’ Sir Francis -Gripe, in the ‘Busy-body,’ tempts Miranda by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> saying, ‘Thou shalt be -the envy of the Ring, for I will carry thee to Hyde Park, and thy -equipage shall surpass the what-d’ye-call-’em ambassador’s.’</p> - -<p>Leicester House was, luckily, to let when the Prince of Wales -quarrelled with his father, George I. In that house the Prince set up -a rival court, against attending which the ‘London Gazette’ thundered -dreadful prohibitions. But St. James’s was dull; Leicester House was -‘jolly’; and the fields were ‘all alive’ with spectators ‘hooraying’ -the arrivals. Within, the stately Princess towered among her graceful -maids. With regard to her diminutive husband it was said of his -visitors,</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>In his embroidered coat they found him,</div> -<div>With all his strutting dwarfs around him.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Most celebrated among the Leicester House maids of honour was the -young, bright, silvery-laughing, witty, well-bred girl, who could not -only spell, but could construe Cæsar—the maid of whom Chesterfield -wrote—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>Should the Pope himself go roaming,</div> -<div>He would follow dear Molly Lepell.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And there rattled that other Mary—Mary Bellenden, laughing at all her -lovers, the little, faithless Prince himself at the head of them. She -would mock him and them with wit of the most audacious sort, and tell -stories to the Princess, at which that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> august lady would laugh behind -her fan, while the wildest, and not the least beautiful of the maids -would throw back her handsome head, burst into uncontrollable laughter, -and then run across to shock prim Miss Meadows, ‘the prude,’ with the -same galliard story. Perhaps the most frolicksome nights at Leicester -House were when the Princess of Wales was in the card-room, where a -dozen tables were occupied by players, while the Prince, in another -room, gave topazes and amethysts to be raffled for by the maids of -honour, amid fun and laughter, and little astonishment when the prizes -were found to be more or less damaged.</p> - -<p>It was a sight for a painter to see these, with other beauties, -leaving Leicester Fields of a morning to hunt with the Prince near -Hampton. Crowds waited to see them return in the evening; and, when -they were fairly housed again and dressed for the evening, lovers -flocked around the young huntresses. Then Mary Bellenden snubbed her -Prince and master, and walked, whispering, with handsome Jack Campbell; -and Molly Lepell blushed and laughed encouragingly at the pleasant -phrases poured into her ear by John, Lord Hervey. There Sophy Bellenden -telegraphed with her fan to Nanty Lowther; and of <i>their</i> love-making -came mischief, sorrow, despair, and death. And there were dark-looking -Lord<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> Lumley and his Orestes, Philip Dormer Stanhope; and dark Lumley -is not stirred to laugh—as the maids of honour do, silently—as -Stanhope follows the Princess to the card-room, imitating her walk -and even her voice. This was the ‘Chesterfield’ who thought himself a -‘gentleman.’ The Princess leans on Lady Cowper’s shoulder and affects -to admire what she really scorns—the rich dress of the beautiful Mary -Wortley Montague. On one of the gay nights in Leicester House, when -the Princess appeared in a dress of Irish silk—a present from ‘the -Irish parson, Swift’—the Prince spoke in such terms of the giver as to -induce Lord Peterborough to remark, ‘Swift has now only to chalk his -pumps and learn to dance on the tightrope, to be yet a bishop.’</p> - -<p>The above are a few samples of life in the royal household in Leicester -Square. There, were born, in 1721, the Duke of Cumberland, who was -so unjustly called ‘Butcher’; in 1723, Mary, who married the ‘brute’ -Prince of Hesse-Cassel; and in 1724, Louisa, who died—one of the -unhappy English Queens of Denmark.</p> - -<p>After the father of these children had become George II., his eldest -son, Frederick, Prince of Wales, established enmity with his sire, and -an opposition court at Leicester House, at Carlton House (which he -occupied at the same time), and at Kew. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> - -<p>Frederick, Prince of Wales, has been the object of heavy censure, and -some of it, no doubt, was well-deserved. But he had good impulses -and good tastes. He loved music, and was no mean instrumentalist. He -manifested his respect for Shakespeare by proposing that the managers -of the two theatres should produce all the great poet’s plays in -chronological order, each play to run for a week. The Prince had some -feeling for art, and was willing to have his judgment regulated by -those competent to subject it to rule.</p> - -<p>In June 1749, some tapestry that had belonged to Charles I. was offered -to the Prince for sale. He was then at Carlton House, and he forthwith -sent for Vertue. The engraver obeyed the summons, and on being ushered -into the presence he found a group that might serve for a picture of -<i>genre</i> at any time. The Prince and Princess were at table waiting -for dessert. Their two eldest sons, George and Edward, then handsome -children, stood in waiting, or feigned the service, each with a napkin -on his arm. After they had stood awhile in silence, the Prince said to -them, ‘This is Mr. Vertue. I have many curious works of his, which you -shall see after dinner.’ Carlton House was a store of art treasures. -The Prince, with Luke Schaub in attendance and Vertue accompanying, -went through them all. He spoke much and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> listened readily, and parted -only to have another art-conference in the following month.</p> - -<p>The illustrious couple were then seated in a pavilion, in Carlton House -garden. The Prince showed both knowledge and curiosity with respect to -art; and the party adjourned to Leicester House (Leicester Square), -where Mr. Vertue was shown all the masterpieces, with great affability -on the part of Frederick and his consort. The royal couple soon after -exhibited themselves to the admiring people, through whom they were -carried in two chairs over Leicester Fields back to Carlton House. -Thence the party repaired to Kew, and the engraver, after examining the -pictures, dined at the palace, ‘though,’ he says, ‘being entertained -there at dinner was not customary to any person that came from London.’</p> - -<p>During the tenancy of Frederick, Prince of Wales, Leicester House -was the scene of political intrigues and of ordinary private life -occurrences: Carlton House was more for state and entertainment. -Leicester House and Savile House, which had been added to the former, -had their joyous scenes also. The story of the private theatricals -carried on in either mansion has been often told. The actors were, for -the most part, the Prince’s children. He who was afterwards George III. -was among the best of the players, but he had a good master. After his -first public address as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> king, Quin, proud of his pupil, exclaimed, -‘I taught the boy to speak.’ Some contemporary letter-writers could -scarcely find lofty phrases enough wherewith to praise these little -amateurs. Bubb Doddington, who served the Prince of Wales and lost -his money at play to him (‘I’ve nicked Bubb!’ was the cry of the -royal gambler, when he rose from the Leicester House card-tables with -Bubb’s money in his pocket), Bubb, I say, was not so impressed by the -acting of these boys and girls. He rather endured than enjoyed it. -On January 11, 1750, all that he records in his diary is, ‘Went to -Leicester House to see “Jane Grey” acted by the Prince’s children.’ -In the following May, Prince Frederick William was born in Leicester -House, ‘the midwife on the bed with the Princess, and Dr. Wilmot -standing by,’ and a group of ladies at a short distance. The time was -half an hour after midnight. ‘Then the Prince, the ladies, and some of -us,’ says Doddington, ‘sat down to breakfast in the next room—then -went to prayers, downstairs.’ In June the christening took place, in -Leicester House, the Bishop of Oxford officiating. ‘Nobody of either -sex was admitted into the room but the actual servants’ (that is, the -ladies and gentlemen of the household) ‘except Chief Justice Willes -and Sir Luke Schaub.’ Very curious were some of the holiday rejoicings -on this occasion. For example, here is a ‘setting out’ from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> Leicester -House to make a day of it, on June 28: ‘Lady Middlesex’ (the Prince’s -favourite), ‘Lord Bathurst, Mr. Breton, and I’ (writes Bubb) ‘waited -on their Royal Highnesses to Spitalfields, to see the manufactory of -silk, and to Mr. Carr’s shop, in the morning. In the afternoon the same -company, with Lady Torrington in waiting, went in private coaches to -Norwood Forest, to see a settlement of Gipsies. We returned and went -to Bettesworth, the conjurer, in hackney coaches.... Not finding him -we went in search of the little Dutchman, but were disappointed; and -concluded the particularities of this day by supping with Mrs. Cannon, -the Princess’s midwife.’ Such was the condescension of royalty and -royalty’s servants in the last century!</p> - -<p>In March, of the following year, Bubb Doddington went to Leicester -House. The Prince told him he ‘had catched cold’ and ‘had been -blooded.’ It was the beginning of the end. Alternately a little better -and much worse, and then greatly improved, &c., till the night of the -20th. ‘For half an hour before he was very cheerful, asked to see some -of his friends, ate some bread-and-butter and drank coffee.’ He was -‘suffocated’ in a fit of coughing; ‘the breaking of an abscess in his -side destroyed him. His physicians, Wilmot and Lee, knew nothing of his -distemper.... Their ignorance, or their knowledge, of his disorder, -renders<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> them equally inexcusable for not calling in other assistance.’ -How meanly this prince was buried, how shabbily everyone, officially -in attendance, was treated, are well known. The only rag of state -ceremony allowed this poor Royal Highness was, that his body went in -one conveyance and his bowels in another—which was a compliment, no -doubt, but hardly one to be thankful for.</p> - -<p>The widowed Princess remained in occupation of the mansion in which her -husband had died. One of the pleasantest domestic pictures of Leicester -House is given by Bubb Doddington, under date November 17, 1753:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>The Princess sent for me to attend her between eight and nine -o’clock. I went to Leicester House, expecting a small company and -a little musick, but found nobody but her Royal Highness. She made -me draw a stool and sit by the fireside. Soon after came in the -Prince of Wales and Prince Edward, and then the Lady Augusta, all -in an undress, and took their stools and sat round the fire with -us. We continued talking of familiar occurrences till between ten -and eleven, with the ease and unreservedness and unconstraint, -as if one had dropped into a sister’s house that had a family, -to pass the evening. It is much to be wished that the Princes -conversed familiarly with more people of a certain knowledge of -the world.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The Princess, however, did not want for worldly knowledge. About this -time the Princess Dowager of Wales was sitting pensive and melancholy, -in a room in Leicester House, while the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> two Princes were playing about -her. Edward then said aloud to George, ‘Brother, when we are men, you -shall marry, and I will keep a mistress.’ ‘Be quiet, Eddy,’ said his -elder brother, ‘we shall have anger presently for your nonsense. There -must be no mistresses at all.’ Their mother thereon bade them, somewhat -sharply, learn their nouns and pronouns. ‘Can you tell me,’ she asked -Prince Edward, ‘what a pronoun is?’ ‘Of course I can,’ replied the -ingenuous youth; ‘a pronoun is to a noun what a mistress is to a -wife—a substitute and a representative.’</p> - -<p>The Princess of Wales continued to maintain a sober and dignified -court at Leicester House, and at Carlton House also. She was by no -means forgotten. Young and old rendered her full respect. One of the -most singular processions crossed the Fields in January 1756. Its -object was to pay the homage of a first visit to the court of the -Dowager Princess of Wales at Leicester House—the visitors being a -newly-married young couple, the Hon. Mr. Spencer and the ex-Miss Poyntz -(later Earl and Countess of Spencer). The whole party were contained in -two carriages and a ‘sedan chair.’ Inside the first were Earl Cowper -and the bridegroom. Hanging on from behind were three footmen in state -liveries. In the second carriage were the mother and sister of the -bride, with similar human adornments on the outside as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> with the first -carriage. Last, and alone, of course, as became her state, in a new -sedan, came the bride, in white and silver, as fine as brocade and -trimming could make it. The chair itself was lined with white satin, -was preceded by a black page, and was followed by three gorgeous -lackeys. Nothing ever was more brilliant than the hundred thousand -pounds’ worth of diamonds worn by the bride except her own tears in -her beautiful eyes when she first saw them and the begging letter of -the lover which accompanied them. As he handed her from the chair, -the bridegroom seemed scarcely less be-diamonded than the bride. His -shoe-buckles alone had those precious stones in them to the value of -thirty thousand pounds. They were decidedly a brilliant pair. Public -homage never failed to be paid to the Princess. In June 1763, Mrs. -Harris writes to her son (afterwards first Lord Malmesbury) at Oxford: -I was yesterday at Leicester House, where there were more people than -I thought had been in town.’ In 1766 Leicester House was occupied by -William Henry, Duke of Cumberland, the last royal resident of that -historical mansion, which was ultimately demolished in the year 1806.</p> - -<p>But there were as remarkable inhabitants of other houses as of -Leicester House. In 1733 there came into the square a man about whom -the world more concerns itself than it does<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> about William Henry, and -that man is William Hogarth.</p> - -<p>There is no one whom we more readily or more completely identify with -Leicester Square than Hogarth. He was born in the Old Bailey in 1697, -close to old Leicester House, which, in Pennant’s days, was turned -into a coach factory. His father was a schoolmaster, who is, perhaps, -to be recognised in the following curious advertisement of the reign -of Queen Anne; ‘At Hogarth’s Coffee House, in St. John’s Gate, the -midway between Smithfield Bars and Clerkenwell, there will meet daily -some learned gentlemen who speak Latin readily, where any gentleman -that is either skilled in the language, or desirous to perfect himself -in speaking thereof, will be welcome. The Master of the House, in the -absence of others, being always ready to entertain gentlemen in that -language.’ It was in the above Queen’s reign that Hogarth went, bundle -in hand, hope in his heart, and a good deal of sense and nonsense -in his head, to Cranbourne Alley, Leicester Fields, where he was -’prentice bound to Ellis Gamble, the silver-plate engraver. There, -among other and nobler works, Hogarth engraved the metal die for the -first newspaper stamp (‘one halfpenny’) ever known in England. It was -in Little Cranbourne Alley that Hogarth first set up for himself for -a brief time, and left his sisters (it is supposed) to succeed him -there as keepers of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> ‘frock shop.’ Hogarth studied in the street, as -Garrick did, and there was no lack of masks and faces in the little -France and royal England of the Leicester Fields vicinity. Much as -Sir James Thornhill disliked his daughter’s marriage with Hogarth, he -helped the young couple to set up house on the east side of Leicester -Fields. Thornhill did not, at first, account his son-in-law a painter. -‘They say he can’t paint,’ said Mrs. Hogarth once. ‘It’s a lie. Look -at that!’ as she pointed to one of his great works. Another day, as -Garrick was leaving the house in the Fields, Ben Ives, Hogarth’s -servant, asked him to step into the parlour. Ben showed David a head -of Diana, done in chalks. The player and Hogarth’s man knew the model. -‘There, Mr. Garrick!’ exclaimed Ives, ‘there’s a head! and yet they -say my master can’t paint a portrait.’ Garrick thought Hogarth had not -succeeded in painting the player’s, whereupon the limner dashed a brush -across the face and turned it against the wall. It never left Leicester -Square till widow Hogarth gave it to widow Garrick.</p> - -<p>It was towards the close of Hogarth’s career that James Barry, from -Cork—destined to make his mark in art—caught sight of a bustling, -active, stout little man, dressed in a sky-blue coat, in Cranbourne -Alley, and recognising in him the Hogarth whom he almost worshipped, -followed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> him down the east side of the square towards Hogarth’s house. -The latter, however, the owner did not enter, for a fight between two -boys was going on at the corner of Castle Street, and Hogarth, who, -like the statesman Windham, loved to see such encounters, whether the -combatants were boys or men, had joined in the fray. When Barry came up -Hogarth was acting ‘second’ to one of the young pugilists, patting him -on the back, and giving such questionable aid in heightening the fray -as he could furnish in such a phrase as, ‘Damn him if I would take it -of him! At him again!’ There is another version, which says that it was -Nollekens who pointed out to Northcote the little man in the sky-blue -coat, with the remark, ‘Look! that’s Hogarth?’</p> - -<p>Hogarth seems to have been one of the first to set his face against -the fashion of giving vails to servants by forbidding his own to take -them from guests. In those days, not only guests but those who came -to a house to spend money, were expected to help to pay the wages of -the servants for the performance of a duty which they owed to their -master. It was otherwise with Hogarth in Leicester Square. ‘When I sat -to Hogarth’ (Cole’s MSS. collections, quoted in Cunningham’s ‘London’) -‘the custom of giving vails to servants was not discontinued. On -taking leave of the painter at the door I offered the servant a small -gratuity, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> the man very politely refused it, telling me it would -be as much as the loss of his place if his master knew it. This was so -uncommon, and so liberal in a man of Hogarth’s profession at that time -of day, that it much struck me, as nothing of the kind had happened to -me before.’</p> - -<p>Leicester Square will ever be connected with Hogarth at the <i>Golden -Head</i>. It was not, at his going there, in a flourishing condition, -but it improved. In the year 1735, in Seymour’s ‘Survey,’ Leicester -Fields are described as ‘a very handsome open square, railed about -and gravelled within. The buildings are very good and well inhabited, -and frequented by the gentry. The north and west rows of buildings, -which are in St. Anne’s parish, are the best (and may be said to be so -still), especially the north, where is Leicester House, the seat of the -Earl of Leicester; being a large building with a fair court before it -for the reception of coaches, and a fine garden behind it; the south -and east sides being in the parish of St. Martin’s.’</p> - -<p>Next to this house is another large house, built by Portman Seymour, -Esq., which ‘being laid into Leicester House, was inhabited by their -present Majesties’ (George II. and Queen Caroline) ‘when Prince and -Princess of Wales.’ It was then that it was called ‘the pouting place -of princes.’ Lisle Street is then described as coming out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> Prince’s -Street, and runs up to Leicester Garden wall. Both Lisle and Leicester -Streets are ‘large and well-built, and inhabited by gentry.’</p> - -<p>In 1737 the ‘Country Journal, or Craftsman,’ for April 16, contained -the following acceptable announcement: ‘Leicester Fields is going to be -fitted up in a very elegant manner, a new wall and rails to be erected -all round, and a basin in the middle, after the manner of Lincoln’s Inn -Fields, and to be done by a voluntary subscription of the inhabitants.’</p> - -<p>It was to Hogarth’s house Walpole went, in 1761, to see Hogarth’s -picture of Fox. Hogarth said he had promised Fox, if he would only sit -as the painter liked, ‘to make as good a picture as Vandyck or Rubens -could.’ Walpole was silent. ‘Why, now,’ said the painter, ‘you think -this very vain. Why should not a man tell the truth?’ Walpole thought -him mad, but Hogarth was sincere. When, after ridiculing the opinions -of Freke, the anatomist, some one said, ‘But Freke holds you for as -good a portrait-painter as Vandyck,’ ‘There he’s right!’ cried Hogarth. -‘And so, by G——, I am—give me my time, and let me choose my subject.’</p> - -<p>If one great object of art be to afford pleasure, Hogarth has attained -it, for he has pleased successive generations. If one great end of art -be to afford instruction, Hogarth has shown himself well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> qualified, -for he has reached that end; he taught his contemporaries, and he -continues teaching, and will continue to teach, through his works. But -is the instruction worth having? Is the pleasure legitimate, wholesome, -healthy pleasure? Without disparagement to a genius for all that was -great in him and his productions, the reply to these questions may -sometimes be in the negative. The impulses of the painter were not -invariably of noble origin. It is said that the first undoubted sign -he gave of having a master-hand arose from his poor landlady asking -him for a miserable sum which he owed her for rent. In his wrath he -drew her portrait <i>in caricatura</i>. Men saw that it was clever, but -vindictive.</p> - -<p>There is no foundation for the story which asserts of George II. -that he professed no love for poetry or painting. This king has been -pilloried and pelted, so to speak, with the public contempt for having -an independent, and not unjustifiable, opinion of the celebrated -picture, the ‘March to Finchley.’ Hogarth had the impertinence to ask -permission that he might dedicate the work to the King, and the latter -observed, with some reason, that the fellow deserved to be picketed -for his insolence. When this picture was presented as worthy of royal -patronage, rebellion was afoot and active in the north (1745). The -Guards were sent thither, and Hogarth’s work describes them setting -out on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> their first stage to Finchley. The whole description or -representation is a gross caricature of the brave men (though they -may have sworn as terribly then as they did in Flanders) whose task -was to save the kingdom from a great impending calamity. All that is -noble is kept out of sight, all that is degrading to the subject, -with some slight exceptions, is forced on the view and memory of the -spectator. It has been urged by way of apology for this clever but -censurable work, that it was not painted at the moment of great popular -excitement, but subsequently. This is nothing to the purpose. What -is to the purpose is, that Hogarth represented British soldiers as a -drunken, skulking, thieving, cowardly horde of ruffians, who must be, -to employ an oft-used phrase, more terrible to their friends than their -enemies. The painter may have been as good a Whig as the King himself, -but he manifested bad taste in asking George II. to show favour to such -a subject; and he exhibited worse taste still in dedicating it to the -king of Prussia, as a patron of the arts. Hogarth was not disloyal, -perhaps, as Wilkes charged him with being, for issuing the print of -this picture, but it is a work that, however far removed from the -political element now, could not have afforded much gratification to -the loyal when it was first exhibited.</p> - -<p>Hogarth died in Leicester Square in 1764, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> was buried at Chiswick. -There was an artist on the opposite side of the square who saw the -funeral from his window, and who had higher views of art than Hogarth.</p> - -<p>Towards the close of Hogarth’s career Joshua Reynolds took possession -of a house on the west side of Leicester Square. In the year in which -George III. ascended the throne (1760) Reynolds set up his famous chair -of state for his patrons in this historical square.</p> - -<p>It has been said that Reynolds, in the days of his progressive triumphs -in Leicester Square, thought continually of the glory of his being one -day placed by the side of Vandyck and Rubens, and that he entertained -no envious idea of being better than Hogarth, Gainsborough, and his old -master, Hudson. Reynolds, nevertheless, served all three in much the -same way that Dryden served Shakespeare; namely, he disparaged quite as -extensively as he praised them. Hogarth, on the east side of Leicester -Square, felt no local accession of honour when Reynolds set up his -easel on the western side. The new comer was social; the old settler -‘kept himself to himself,’ as the wise saw has it. ‘Study the works of -the great masters for ever,’ was, we are told, the utterance of Sir -Oracle on the west side. From the east came Hogarth’s utterance, in the -assertion, ‘There is only one school, and Nature is the mistress of -it.’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> For Reynolds’s judgment Hogarth had a certain contempt. ‘The most -ignorant people about painting,’ he said to Walpole, ‘are the painters -themselves. There’s Reynolds, who certainly has genius; why, but -t’other day, he offered a hundred pounds for a picture that I would not -hang in my cellar.’ Hogarth undoubtedly qualified his sense with some -nonsense: ‘Talk of sense, and study, and all that; why, it is owing to -the good sense of the English that they have not painted better.’</p> - -<p>It was at one of Reynolds’s suppers in the square that an incident took -place which aroused the wit-power of Johnson. The rather plain sister -of the artist had been called upon by the company, after supper, as -the custom was, to give a toast. She hesitated, and was accordingly -required, again according to custom, to give the ugliest man she knew. -In a moment the name of Oliver Goldsmith dropped from her lips, and -immediately a sympathising lady on the opposite side of the table rose -and shook hands with Miss Reynolds across the table. Johnson had heard -the expression, and had also marked the pantomimic performance of -sympathy, and he capped both by a remark which set the table in a roar, -and which was to an effect which cut smartly in three ways. ‘Thus,’ -said he, ‘the ancients, on the commencements of their friendships, -used to sacrifice a beast betwixt them.’ The affair ends prettily. A -few days after the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> ‘Traveller’ was published Johnson read it aloud -from beginning to end to delighted hearers, of whom Miss Reynolds was -one. As Johnson closed the book she emphatically remarked, ‘Well, I -never more shall think Dr. Goldsmith ugly.’ Miss Reynolds, however, -did not get over her idea. Her brother painted the portrait of the -new poet, in the Octagon Room in the Square; the mezzotinto engraving -of it was speedily all over the town. Miss Reynolds (who, it has been -said, used herself to paint portraits with such exact imitation of her -brother’s defects and avoidance of his beauties, that everybody but -himself laughed at them) thought it marvellous that so much dignity -could have been given to the poet’s face and yet so strong a likeness -be conveyed; for ‘Dr. Goldsmith’s cast of countenance,’ she proceeds to -inform us, ‘and indeed his whole figure from head to foot, impressed -every one at first sight with the idea of his being a low mechanic; -particularly, I believe, a journeyman tailor.’ This belief was -founded on what Goldsmith had himself once said. Coming ruffled into -Reynolds’s drawing-room, Goldsmith angrily referred to an insult which -his sensitive nature fancied had been put upon him at a neighbouring -coffee-house, by ‘a fellow who,’ said Goldsmith, ‘took me, I believe, -for a tailor.’ The company laughed more or less demonstratively, and -rather confirmed than dispelled the supposition. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> - -<p>Poor Goldsmith’s weaknesses were a good deal played upon by that not -too polite company. One afternoon, Burke and a young Irish officer, -O’Moore, were crossing the square to Reynolds’s house to dinner. They -passed a group who were gaping at, and making admiring remarks upon, -some samples of beautiful foreign husseydom, who were looking out of -the windows of one of the hotels. Goldsmith was at the skirt of the -group, looking on. Burke said to O’Moore, as they passed him unseen, -‘Look at Goldsmith; by-and-by, at Reynolds’s you will see what I make -of this.’ At the dinner, Burke treated Goldsmith with such coolness, -that Oliver at last asked for an explanation. Burke readily replied -that his manner was owing to the monstrous indiscretion on Goldsmith’s -part, in the square, of which Burke and Mr. O’Moore had been the -witnesses. Poor Goldsmith asked in what way he had been so indiscreet?</p> - -<p>‘Why,’ answered Burke, ‘did you not exclaim, on looking up at those -women, what stupid beasts the crowd must be for staring with such -admiration at those <i>painted Jezebels</i>, while a man of your talent -passed by unnoticed?’—‘Surely, my dear friend,’ cried Goldsmith, -horror-struck, ‘I did not say so!’—‘If you had not said so,’ retorted -Burke, ‘how should I have known it?’—‘That’s true,’ answered -Goldsmith, with great humility; ‘I am very sorry; it was very foolish! -I do recollect that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> something of the kind passed through my mind, but -I did not think I had uttered it.’</p> - -<p>It is a pity that Sir Joshua never records the names of his own guests; -but his parties were so much swelled by invitations given on the spur -of the moment, that it would have been impossible for him to set down -beforehand more than the nucleus of his scrambling and unceremonious, -but most enjoyable, dinners. Whether the famous Leicester Square -dinners deserved to be called enjoyable, is a question which anyone -may decide for himself, after reading the accounts given of them at -a period when the supervision of Reynolds’s sister, Frances, could -no longer be given to them. The table, made to hold seven or eight, -was often made to hold twice the number. When the guests were at last -packed, the deficiency of knives, forks, plates, and glasses made -itself felt. Everyone called, as he wanted, for bread, wine, or beer, -and lustily, or there was little chance of being served.</p> - -<p>There had once, Courtenay says, been sets of decanters and glasses -provided to furnish the table and enable the guests to help themselves. -These had gone the way of all glass, and had not been replaced; but -though the dinner might be careless and inelegant, and the servants -awkward and too few, Courtenay admits that their shortcomings only -enhanced the singular pleasure of the entertainment. The wine, cookery, -and dishes were but little <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>attended to; nor was the fish or venison -ever talked of or recommended. Amidst the convivial, animated bustle -of his guests, Sir Joshua sat perfectly composed; protected partly by -his deafness, partly by his equanimity; always attentive, by help of -his trumpet, to what was said, never minding what was eaten or drunk, -but leaving everyone to scramble for himself. Peers, temporal and -spiritual, statesmen, physicians, lawyers, actors, men of letters, -painters, musicians, made up the motley group, ‘and played their -parts,’ says Courtenay, ‘without dissonance or discord.’ Dinner was -served precisely at five, whether all the company had arrived or -not. Sir Joshua never kept many guests waiting for one, whatever -his rank or consequence. ‘His friends and intimate acquaintance,’ -concludes Courtenay, ‘will ever love his memory, and will ever regret -those social hours and the cheerfulness of that irregular, convivial -table, which no one has attempted to revive or imitate, or was indeed -qualified to supply.’</p> - -<p>Reynolds had a room in which his copyists, his pupils, and his -drapery-men worked. Among them was one of the cleverest and most -unfortunate of artists. Seldom is the name of Peter Toms now heard, but -he once sat in Hudson’s studio with young Reynolds, and in the studio -of Sir Joshua, as the better artist’s obedient humble servant; that -is to say, he painted his employer’s draperies, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> probably a good -deal more, for Toms was a very fair portrait-painter. Peter worked -too for various other great artists, and a purchaser of any picture -of that time cannot be certain whether much of it is not from Toms’s -imitative hand. Peter’s lack of original power did not keep him out of -the Royal Academy, though in his day he was but a second-class artist. -He belonged, too, to the Herald’s Office, as the painters of the Tudor -period often did, and after filling in the canvasses of his masters in -England, he went to Ireland on his own account and in reliance on the -patronage of the Lord-Lieutenant, the Duke of Northumberland. Toms, -however, found that the Irish refused to submit their physiognomies to -his limning, and he waited for them to change their opinion of him in -vain. Finally, he lost heart and hope. His vocation was gone; but in -the London garret within which he took refuge he seems to have given -himself a chance for life or death. Pencil in one hand and razor in -the other, he made an effort to paint a picture, and apparently failed -in accomplishing it, for he swept the razor across his throat, and was -found the next morning stark dead by the side of the work which seems -to have smitten him with despair.</p> - -<p>Reynolds saw the ceremony of proclaiming George III. king in front of -Savile House, where the monarch had resided while he was Prince of -Wales. Into his own house came and went, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> years, all the lofty -virtues, vices, and rich nothingnesses of Reynolds’s time, to be -painted. From his window he looked with pride on his gaudy carriage -(the Seasons, limned on the panels, were by his own drapery man, -Catton), in which he used to send his sister out for a daily drive. -From the same window he saw Savile House gutted by the ‘No Popery’ -rioters of 1780; fire has since swept all that was left of Page’s -house on the north side of the Square; and in 1787 Reynolds looked -on a newcomer to the Fields, Lawrence, afterwards Sir Thomas, who -set up his easel against Sir Joshua’s, but who was not then strong -enough to make such pretence. Some of the most characteristic groups -of those days were to be seen clustered round the itinerant quack -doctors—fellows who lied with a power that Orton, Luie, and even the -‘coachers’ of Luie, might envy. Leicester Square, in Reynolds’s days -alone, would furnish matter for two or three volumes. We have only -space to say further of Sir Joshua, that he died here in 1792, lay in -state in Somerset House, and that as the funeral procession was on its -way to St. Paul’s (with its first part in the Cathedral before the last -part was clear of Somerset House) one of the occupants in one of the -many mourning coaches said to a companion, ‘There is now, sir, a fine -opening for a portrait-painter.’</p> - -<p>While Reynolds was ‘glorifying’ the Fields,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> that is to say, about -the year 1783, John Hunter, the great anatomist, enthroned science in -Leicester Square. His house, nearly opposite Reynolds’s, was next door -to that once occupied by Hogarth, on the east side, but north of the -painter’s dwelling. Hunter was then fifty-five years old. Like his -eminent brother, William, John Hunter had a very respectable amount of -self-appreciation, quite justifiably.</p> - -<p>The governing body of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital had failed, through -ignorance or favouritism, to recognise his ability and to reward his -assiduity. But John Hunter was of too noble a spirit to be daunted or -even depressed; and St. George’s Hospital honoured itself by bestowing -on him the modest office of house-surgeon. It was thirty years after -this that John Hunter settled himself in Leicester Square. There he -spent three thousand pounds in the erection of a building in the -rear of his house for the reception of a collection in comparative -anatomy. Before this was completed he spent upon it many thousands -of pounds,—it is said ninety thousand guineas! With him to work was -to live. Dr. Garthshore entered the museum in the Square early one -morning, and found Hunter already busily occupied. ‘Why, John,’ said -the physician, ‘you are always at work!’ ‘I am,’ replied the surgeon; -‘and when I am dead you will not meet very soon with another John -Hunter!’ He accused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> his great brother William of claiming the merit of -surgical discoveries which John had made; and when a friend, talking -to him, at his door in the Square, on his ‘Treatise on the Teeth,’ -remarked that it would be answered by medical men simply to make their -names known, Hunter rather unhandsomely observed: ‘Aye, we have all -of us vermin that live upon us.’ Lavater took correct measure of the -famous surgeon when he remarked, on seeing the portrait of Hunter: -‘That is the portrait of a man who thinks for himself!’</p> - -<p>After John Hunter’s death his collection was purchased by Government -for fifteen thousand pounds. It was removed from Leicester Square -to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, to the College of Surgeons, where it still -forms a chief portion of the anatomical and pathological museum in -that institution. The site of the Hunterian Museum in Leicester Square -has been swallowed up by the Alhambra, where less profitable study of -comparative anatomy may now be made by all who are interested in such -pursuit. A similar destiny followed the other Hunterian Museum—that -established by William Hunter, in Great Windmill Street, at the top -of the Haymarket, where he built an amphitheatre and museum, with -a spacious dwelling-house attached. In the dwelling-house Joanna -Baillie passed some of her holiday and early days in London. She came -from her native<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> Scottish heath, and the only open moor like unto it -where she could snatch a semblance of fresh air was the neighbouring -inclosure of Leicester Square! William Hunter left his gigantic and -valuable collection to his nephew, Dr. Baillie, for thirty years, to -pass then to the University of Glasgow, where William himself had -studied divinity, before the results of freedom of thought (both the -Hunters <i>would</i> think for themselves) induced him to turn to the study -of medicine. The Hunterian Museum in Windmill Street, after serving -various purposes, became known as the Argyll Rooms, where human anatomy -(it is believed) was liberally exhibited under magisterial license and -the supervision of a severely moral police.</p> - -<p>Leicester Square has been remarkable for its exhibitions. Richardson, -the fire-eater, exhibited privately at Leicester House in 1672. A -century later there was a public exhibition on that spot of quite -another quality. The proprietor was Sir Ashton Lever, a Lancashire -gentleman, educated at Oxford. As a country squire he formed and -possessed the most extensive and beautiful aviary in the kingdom. -Therewith, Sir Ashton collected animals and curiosities from -all quarters of the world. This was the nucleus of the ‘museum’ -subsequently brought to Leicester Fields. Among the curiosities was a -striking likeness of George III. ‘cut in cannel coal;’ also Indian-ink -drawings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> and portraits; baskets of flowers cut in paper, and wonderful -for their accuracy; costumes of all ages and nations, and a collection -of warlike weapons which disgusted a timid beholder, who describes them -in the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine’ (May 1773) as ‘desperate, diabolical -instruments of destruction, invented, no doubt, by the devil himself.’ -Soon after this, this wonderful collection was exhibited in Leicester -House. There was a burst of wonder, as Pennant calls it, for a little -while after the opening; but the ill-cultivated world soon grew -indifferent to being instructed; and Sir Ashton got permission, with -some difficulty, from Parliament, to dispose of the whole collection by -lottery. Sir William Hamilton, Baron Dimsdale, and Mr. Pennant stated -to the Committee of the House of Commons that they had never seen a -collection of such inestimable value. ‘Sir Ashton Lever’s lottery -tickets,’ says an advertisement of January 28, 1785, ‘are now on sale -at Leicester House every day (Sundays excepted), from Nine in the -morning till Six in the evening, at One Guinea each; and as each ticket -will admit four persons, either together or separately, to view the -Museum, no one will hereafter be admitted but by the Lottery Tickets, -excepting those who have already annual admission.’ It is added that -the whole was to be disposed of owing ‘to the very large sum expended -in making it, and not from the deficiency<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> of the daily receipts (as is -generally imagined), which have annually increased; the average amount -for the last three years being 1833<i>l.</i> per annum.’ It sounds odd that -a ‘concern’ is got rid of because it was yearly growing more profitable!</p> - -<p>Thirty-six thousand guinea-tickets were offered for sale. Only eight -thousand were sold. Of these Mr. Parkinson purchased two, and with -one of those two acquired the whole collection, against the other -purchasers and the twenty-two thousand chances held by Sir Ashton. -Mr. Parkinson built an edifice for his valuable prize in Blackfriars -Road, and for years, one of the things to be done was ‘to go to the -Rotunda.’ In 1806, the famous museum was dispersed by auction. The -Surrey Institution next occupied the premises, which subsequently -became public drinking-rooms and meeting place for tippling patriots, -who would fain destroy the Constitution of England as well as their own.</p> - -<p>But ‘man or woman, good my lord,’ let whosoever may be named in -connection with Leicester Square, there is one who must not be omitted, -namely, Miss Linwood. Penelope worked at her needle to no valuable -purpose. Miss Linwood was more like Arachne in her work, and something -better in her fortune. The dyer’s daughter of Colophon chose for her -subjects the various loves of Jupiter with various ladies whom poets -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> painters have immortalised; and grew so proud of her work that, -for challenging Minerva to do better, the goddess changed her into a -spider. The Birmingham lady plied her needle from the time she could -hold one till the time her ancient hand lost its cunning. At thirteen -she worked pictures in worsted better than some artists could paint -them. No needlework, ancient or modern, ever equalled (if experts -may be trusted) the work of this lady, who found time to do as much -as if she had not to fulfil, as she did faithfully, the duties of a -boarding-school mistress. King, Queen, Court, and ‘Quality’ generally -visited Savile House, Leicester Fields, where Miss Linwood’s works were -exhibited, and were profitable to the exhibitor to the very last. They -were, for the most part, copies of great pictures by great masters, -modern as well as ancient. Among them was a Carlo Dolci, valued at -three thousand guineas. Miss Linwood, in her later days, retired -to Leicester, but she used to come up annually to look at her own -Exhibition. It had been open about half a century when the lady, in her -ninetieth year, caught cold on her journey, and died of it at Leicester -in 1844. She left her Carlo Dolci to Queen Victoria. Her other works, -sold by auction, barely realised a thousand pounds; but the art of -selling art by auction was not then discovered.</p> - -<p>In 1788, a middle-aged Irishman from county<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> Meath, named Robert -Barker, got admission to Reynolds, to show him a half-circle view -from the Calton Hill, near Edinburgh, which Barker had painted in -water-colours on the spot. The poor but accomplished artist had been -unsuccessful as a portrait-painter in Dublin and Edinburgh. But he -had studied perspective closely, an idea had struck him, and he came -with it to Reynolds. The latter admired, but thought it impracticable. -The Irishman thought otherwise. Barker exhibited circular views -from nature, in London and also in the provinces, with indifferent -success. At last, in 1793, on part of the old site of Leicester House, -a building arose which was called the Panorama, and in which was -exhibited a view of the Russian fleet at Spithead. The spectator was -on board a ship in the midst of the scene and the view was all around -him. King George and Queen Charlotte led the fashionable world to -this most original exhibition. For many years there was a succession -of magnificent views of foreign capitals, tracts of country, ancient -cities, polar regions, battles, &c., exhibited; and ‘Have you been to -the new panorama?’ was as naturally a spring question as ‘Have you been -to the Academy?’ or the Opera? The exhibition of the ‘Stern Realities -of Waterloo’ alone realised a little fortune, and ‘Pandemonium,’ -painted by Mr. Henry Selous, was one of the latest of the great -successes. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> - -<p>At the north-east corner of Leicester Square, the Barkers, father and -son, achieved what is called ‘a handsome competency.’ At the death of -the latter, Robert Burford succeeded him, and, for a time, did well; -but ‘Fashion’ wanted a new sensation. The panoramas in Leicester Square -and the Strand, admirable as they were, ceased to draw the public; -and courteous, lady-like, little Miss Burford, the proprietress, was -compelled to withdraw, utterly shipwrecked. She used to receive her -visitors like a true lady welcoming thorough ladies and gentlemen. The -end was sad indeed, for the last heard of this aged gentlewoman was -that she was enduring life by needle-work, rarely got and scantily -paid, in a lodging, the modest rent of which, duly paid, kept her short -of necessary food. An attempt was made to obtain her election to the -‘United Kingdom Beneficent Association,’ but with what result we are -unable to record.</p> - -<p>Shadows of old Leicester Square figures come up in crowds, demanding -recognition. They must be allowed to pass—to make a ‘march past,’ as -it were; as they glide by we take note of Mirabeau and Marat, Holcroft, -Opie, Edmund Kean, and Mulready, with countless others, to indite the -roll of whose names only would alone require a volume.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> - -<h2><i>A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.</i></h2> - -<p>Perusing records that are a century old is something better than -listening to a centenarian, even if his memory could go back so far. -The records are as fresh as first impressions, and they bring before us -men and things as they were, not as after-historians supposed them to -be.</p> - -<p>The story which 1773 has left of itself is full of variety and of -interest. Fashion fluttered the propriety of Scotland when the old -Dowager Countess of Fife gave the first masquerade that ever took place -in that country, at Duff House. In England, people and papers could -talk or write of nothing so frequently as masquerades. ‘One hears so -much of them,’ remarked that lively old lady, Mrs. Delany, ‘that I -suppose the only method not to be tired of them is to frequent them.’ -Old-fashioned loyalty in England was still more shocked when the Lord -Mayor of London declined to go to St. Paul’s on the 30th of January to -profess himself sad and sorry at the martyrdom of Charles I. In the -minds of certain religious people there was satisfaction felt at the -course taken by the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>University of Oxford, which refused to modify -the Thirty-nine Articles, as more liberal Cambridge had done. Indeed, -such Liberalism as that of the latter, prepared ultra-serious people -for awful consequences; and when they heard that Moelfammo, an extinct -volcano in Flintshire, had resumed business, and was beginning to pelt -the air with red-hot stones, they naturally thought that the end of -a wicked world was at hand. They took courage again when the Commons -refused to dispense with subscription to the Thirty-nine Articles, by -a vote of 150 to 64. But no sooner was joy descending on the one hand -than terror advanced on the other. Quid-nuncs asked whither the world -was driving, when the London livery proclaimed the reasonableness of -annual parliaments. Common-sense people also were perplexed at the -famous parliamentary resolution that Lord Clive had wrongfully taken to -himself above a quarter of a million of money, and had rendered signal -services to his country!</p> - -<p>Again, a hundred years ago our ancestors were as glad to hear that -Bruce had got safely back into Egypt from his attempt to reach the Nile -sources, as we were to know that Livingstone was alive and well and in -search of those still undiscovered head-waters. A century ago, too, -crowds of well-wishers bade God speed to the gallant Captain Phipps, -as he sailed from the Nore on his way to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> that North-west Passage -which he did not find, and which, at the close of a hundred years, is -as impracticable as ever. And, though history may or may not repeat -itself, events of to-day at least remind us of those a hundred years -old. The Protestant Emperor William, in politely squeezing the Jesuits -out of his dominions, only modestly follows the example of Pope Clement -XIV., who, in 1773, let loose a bull for the entire suppression of -the order in every part of the world. Let us not forget too, that if -orthodox ruffians burnt Priestley’s house over his head, and would have -smashed all power of thought out of that head itself, the Royal Society -conferred on the great philosopher who was the brutally treated pioneer -of modern science, the Copley Medal, for his admirable treatise on -different kinds of air.</p> - -<p>But there was a little incident of the year 1773, which has had more -stupendous consequences than any other with which England has been -connected. England, through some of her statesmen, asserted her right -to tax her colonists, without asking their consent or allowing them to -be represented in the home legislature. In illustration of such right -and her determination to maintain it, England sent out certain ships -with cargoes of tea, on which a small duty was imposed, to be paid by -the colonists. The latter declined to have the wholesome herb at such -terms, but England forced it upon them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> Three ships, so freighted, -entered Boston Harbour. They were boarded by a mob disguised as Mohawk -Indians, who tossed the tea into the river and then quietly dispersed. -A similar cargo was safely landed at New York, but it was under the -guns of a convoying man-of-war. When landed it could not be disposed -of, except by keeping it under lock-and-key, with a strong guard over -it, to preserve it from the patriots who scorned the cups that cheer, -if they were unduly taxed for the luxury. That was the little seed out -of which has grown that Union whose President now is more absolute -and despotic than poor George III. ever was or cared to be; little -seed, which is losing its first wholesomeness, and, if we may trust -transatlantic papers, is grown to a baleful tree, corrupt to the core -and corrupting all around it. Such at least is the American view—the -view of good and patriotic Americans, who would fain work sound reform -in this condition of things at the end of an eventful century, when -John Bull is made to feel, by Geneva and San Juan, that he will never -have any chance of having the best argument in an arbitration case, -where he is opposed by a system which looks on sharpness as a virtue, -and holds that nothing succeeds like success.</p> - -<p>Let us get back from this subject to the English court of a century -since. A new year’s day at court was in the last century a gala day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> -which made London tradesmen rejoice. There were some extraordinary -figures at that of 1773, at St. James’s, but no one looked so much -out of ordinary fashion as Lord Villiers. His coat was of pale purple -velvet turned up with lemon colour, ‘and embroidered all over’ (says -Mrs. Delany) ‘with SSes of pearl as big as peas, and in all the spaces -little medallions in beaten gold—<i>real solid</i>! in various figures of -Cupids <i>and the like</i>!’</p> - -<p>The court troubles of the year were not insignificant; but the good -people below stairs had their share of them. If the King continued to -be vexed at the marriages of his brothers Gloucester and Cumberland -with English ladies, the King’s servants had sorrows of their own. -The newspapers stated that ‘the wages of his Majesty’s servants were -miserably in arrear; that their families were consequently distressed, -and that there was great clamour for payment.’ The court was never more -bitterly satirised than in some lines put in circulation (as Colley -Cibber’s) soon after Lord Chesterfield’s death, to whom they were -generally ascribed. They were written before the decease of Frederick, -Prince of Wales. The laureate was made to say—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>Colley Cibber, right or wrong,</div> -<div class="i1">Must celebrate this day,</div> -<div>And tune once more his tuneless song</div> -<div class="i1">And strum the venal lay.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>Heav’n spread through all the family</div> -<div class="i1">That broad, illustrious glare,</div> -<div>That shines so flat in every eye</div> -<div class="i1">And makes them all so stare!</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div>Heav’n send the Prince of royal race</div> -<div class="i1">A little coach and horse,</div> -<div>A little meaning in his face,</div> -<div class="i1">And money in his purse.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<div>And, as I have a son like yours,</div> -<div class="i1">May he Parnassus rule.</div> -<div>So shall the crown and laurel too</div> -<div class="i1">Descend from fool to fool.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Satire was, indeed, quite as rough in prose as it was sharp in song. -One of the boldest paragraphs ever penned by paragraph writers of the -time appeared in the ‘Public Advertiser’ in the summer of 1773. A -statue of the King had been erected in Berkeley Square. The discovery -was soon made that the King himself had paid for it. Accordingly, the -‘Public Advertiser’ audaciously informed him that he had paid for his -statue, because he well knew that none would ever be spontaneously -erected in his honour by posterity. The ‘Advertiser’ further advised -George III. to build his own mausoleum for the same reason.</p> - -<p>And what were ‘the quality’ about in 1773? There was Lord Hertford -exclaiming, ‘By Jove!’ because he objected to swearing. Ladies -were dancing ‘Cossack’ dances, and gentlemen figured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> at balls in -black coats, red waistcoats, and red sashes, or quadrilled with -nymphs in white satin—themselves radiant in brown silk coat, with -cherry-coloured waistcoat and breeches. Beaux who could not dance took -to cards, and the Duke of Northumberland lost two thousand pounds at -quince before half a dancing night had come to an end. There was Sir -John Dalrymple winning money more disastrously than the duke lost it. -He was a man who inveighed against corruption, and who took bribes from -brewers. Costume balls were in favour at court, Chesterfield was making -jokes to the very door of his coffin; and he was not the only patron -of the arts who bought a Claude Lorraine painted within the preceding -half-year. The macaronies, having left off gaming—they had lost all -their money—astonished the town by their new dresses and the size -of their nosegays. Poor George III. could not look admiringly at the -beautiful Miss Linley at an oratorio, without being accused of ogling -her. It was at one of the King’s balls that Mrs. Hobart figured, ‘all -gauze and spangles, like a spangle pudding.’ This was the expensive -year when noblemen are said to have made romances instead of giving -balls. The interiors of their mansions were transformed, walls were -cast down, new rooms were built, the decorations were superb (three -hundred pounds was the sum asked only for the loan of mirrors for a -single<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> night), and not only were the dancers in the most gorgeous of -historical or fancy costumes, but the musicians wore scarlet robes, -and looked like Venetian senators on the stage. It was at one of these -balls that Harry Conway was so astonished at the agility of Mrs. -Hobart’s bulk that he said he was sure she must be hollow.</p> - -<p>She would not have been more effeminate than some of our young -legislators in the Commons, who, one night in May, ‘because the House -was very hot, and the young members thought it would melt their rouge -and wither their nosegays,’ as Walpole says, all of a sudden voted -against their own previously formed opinions. India and Lord Clive were -the subjects, and the letter-writer remarks that the Commons ‘being so -fickle, Lord Clive has reason to hope that after they have voted his -head off they will vote it on again the day after he has lost it.’</p> - -<p>When there were members in the Commons who rouged like pert girls or -old women, and carried nosegays as huge as a lady mayoress’s at a City -ball, we are not surprised to hear of macaronies in Kensington Gardens. -There they ran races on every Sunday evening, ‘to the high amusement -and contempt of the mob,’ says Walpole. The mob had to look at the -runners from outside the gardens. ‘They will be ambitious of being -fashionable, and will run races too.’ Neither mob nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> macaronies had -the swiftness of foot or the lasting powers of some of the running -footmen attached to noble houses. Dukes would run matches of their -footmen from London to York, and a fellow has been known to die rather -than that ‘his grace’ who owned him should lose the match. Talking of -‘graces,’ an incident is told by Walpole of the cost of a bed for a -night’s sleep for a duchess, which may well excite a little wonder now. -The king and court were at Portsmouth to review the fleet. The town -held so many more visitors than it could accommodate that the richest -of course secured the accommodation. ‘The Duchess of Northumberland -gives forty guineas for a bed, and must take her chambermaid into -it.’ Walpole, who is writing to the Countess of Ossory, adds: ‘I did -not think she would pay so dear for <i>such</i> company.’ The people who -were unable to pay ran recklessly into debt, and no more thought of -the sufferings of those to whom they owed the money than that modern -rascalry in clean linen, who compound with their creditors and scarcely -think of paying their ‘composition.’ A great deal of nonsense has been -talked about the virtues of Charles James Fox, who had none but such as -may be found in easy temper and self-indulgence. He was now in debt to -the tune of a hundred thousand pounds. But so once was Julius Cæsar, -with whom Walpole satirically compared him. He let his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> securities, his -bondsmen, pay the money which they had warranted would be forthcoming -from him, ‘while he, as like Brutus as Cæsar, is indifferent about such -paltry counters.’ When one sees the vulgar people who by some means or -other, and generally by any means, accumulate fortunes the sum total -of which would once have seemed fabulous, and when we see fortunes -of old aristocratic families squandered away among the villains of -the most villainous ‘turf,’ there is nothing strange in what we read -in a letter of a hundred years ago, namely: ‘What is England now? A -sink of Indian wealth! filled by nabobs and emptied by macaronies; a -country over-run by horse-races.’ So London at the end of July now is -not unlike to London of 1773; but we could not match the latter with -such a street picture as the following: ‘There is scarce a soul in -London but macaronies lolling out of windows at Almack’s, like carpets -to be dusted.’ With the more modern parts of material London Walpole -was ill satisfied. <i>We</i> look upon Adam’s work with some complacency, -but Walpole exclaims, ‘What are the Adelphi buildings?’ and he -replies, ‘Warehouses laced down the seams, like a soldier’s trull in a -regimental old coat!’ Mason could not bear the building brothers. ‘Was -there ever such a brace,’ he asks, ‘of self-puffing Scotch coxcombs?’ -The coxcombical vein was, nevertheless,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> rather the fashionable one. -Fancy a nobleman’s postillions in white jackets trimmed with muslin, -and clean ones every other day! In such guise were Lord Egmont’s -postillions to be seen.</p> - -<p>The chronicle of fashion is dazzling with the record of the doings of -the celebrated Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu. At her house in Hill Street, -Berkeley Square, were held the assemblies which were scornfully called -‘blue-stocking’ by those who were not invited, or who affected not to -care for them if they <i>were</i>. Mrs. Delany, who certainly had a great -regard for this ‘lady of the last century,’ has a sly hit at Mrs. -Montagu in a letter of May 1773. ‘If,’ she writes, ‘I had paper and -time, I could entertain you with Mrs. Montagu’s room of Cupidons, which -was opened with an assembly for all the foreigners, the literati, and -the macaronies of the present age. Many and sly are the observations -how such a <i>genius</i>, at her age and so circumstanced, could think -of painting the walls of her dressing-room with bowers of roses and -jessamine, entirely inhabited by little Cupids in all their little -wanton ways. It is astonishing, unless she looks upon herself as the -wife of old Vulcan, and mother to all those little Loves!’ This is a -sister woman’s testimony of a friend! The <i>genius</i> of Mrs. Montagu was -of a higher class than that of dull but good Mrs. Delany. The <i>age</i> of -the same lady was a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> over fifty, when she might fittingly queen -it, as she did, in her splendid mansion in Hill Street, the scene of -the glories of her best days. The ‘circumstances’ and the ‘Vulcan’ were -allusions to her being the wife of a noble owner of collieries and a -celebrated mathematician, who suffered from continued ill-health, and -who considerately went to bed at <i>five</i> o’clock <span class="smaller">P.M.</span> daily!</p> - -<p>The great subject of the year, after all, was the duping of Charles -Fox, by the impostor who called herself the Hon. Mrs. Grieve. She -had been transported, and after her return had set up as ‘a sensible -woman,’ giving advice to fools, ‘for a consideration.’ A silly Quaker -brought her before Justice Fielding for having defrauded him. He -had paid her money, for which she had undertaken to get him a place -under government; but she had kept the money, and had not procured -for him the coveted place. Her impudent defence was that the Quaker’s -immorality stood in the way of otherwise certain success. The -Honourable lady’s dupes believed in her, because they saw the style -in which she lived, and often beheld her descend from her chariot -and enter the houses of ministers and other great personages; but it -came out that she only spoke to the porters or to other servants, who -entertained her idle questions, for a gratuity, while Mrs. Grieve’s -carriage, and various dupes, waited for her in the street. When these -dupes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> however, saw Charles Fox’s chariot at Mrs. Grieve’s door, -and that gentleman himself entering the house—not issuing therefrom -till a considerable period had elapsed—they were confirmed in their -credulity. But the clever hussey was deluding the popular tribune in -the house, and keeping his chariot at her door, to further delude the -idiots who were taken in by it. The patriot was in a rather common -condition of patriots; he was over head and ears in debt. The lady -had undertaken to procure for him the hand of a West Indian heiress, -a Miss Phipps, with 80,000<i>l.</i>, a sum that might soften the hearts of -his creditors for a while. The young lady (whom ‘the Hon.’ never saw) -was described as a little capricious. She could not abide dark men, and -the swart democratic leader powdered his eyebrows that he might look -fairer in the eyes of the lady of his hopes. An interview between them -was always on the point of happening, but was always being deferred. -Miss Phipps was ill, was coy, was not ‘i’ the vein’; finally she had -the smallpox, which was as imaginary as the other grounds of excuse. -Meanwhile Mrs. Grieve lent the impecunious legislator money, 300<i>l.</i> -or thereabouts. She was well paid, not by Fox, of course, but by the -more vulgar dupes who came to false conclusions when they beheld his -carriage, day after day, at the Hon. Mrs. Grieve’s door. The late -Lord Holland expressed his belief<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> that the loan from Mrs. Grieve was -a foolish and improbable story. ‘I have heard Fox say,’ Lord Holland -remarks in the ‘Memorials and Correspondence of Fox,’ edited by Lord -John (afterwards Earl) Russell, ‘she never got or asked any money from -him.’ She probably knew very well that Fox had none to lend. That he -should have accepted any from such a woman is disgraceful enough: but -there may be exaggeration in the matter.</p> - -<p>Fox—it is due to him to note the fact here—had yet hardly begun -seriously and earnestly his career as a public man. At the close of -1773 he was sowing his wild oats. He ended the year with the study of -two widely different dramatic parts, which he was to act on a private -stage. Those parts were Lothario, in ‘The Fair Penitent,’ and Sir -Harry’s servant, in ‘High Life below Stairs.’ The stage on which the -two pieces were acted, by men scarcely inferior to Fox himself in rank -and ability, was at Winterslow House, near Salisbury, the seat of the -Hon. Stephen Fox. The night of representation closed the Christmas -holidays of 1773-4. It was Saturday, January 8, 1774. Fox played the -gallant gay Lothario brilliantly; the livery servant in the kitchen, -aping his master’s manners, was acted with abundant low humour, free -from vulgarity. But, whether there was incautious management during the -piece, or incautious revelry after it, the fine old house was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> burned -to the ground before the morning. It was then that Fox turned more than -before to public business; but without giving up any of his private -enjoyments, except those he did not care for.</p> - -<p>The duels of this year which gave rise to the most gossip were, first, -that between Lord Bellamont and Lord Townshend, and next the one -between Messrs. Temple and Whately. The two lords fought (after some -shifting on Townshend’s side) on a quarrel arising from a refusal of -Lord Townshend, in Dublin, to receive Bellamont. The offended lord was -badly shot in the stomach, and a wit (so called) penned this epigram on -the luckier adversary:—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>Says Bell’mont to Townshend, ‘You turned on your heel,</div> -<div class="i1">And that gave your honour a check.’</div> -<div>‘’Tis my way,’ replied Townshend. ‘To the world I appeal,</div> -<div class="i1">If I didn’t the same at Quebec.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Townshend, at Quebec, had succeeded to the command after Monckton was -wounded, and he declined to renew the conflict with De Bougainville. -The duel between Temple and Whately arose out of extraordinary -circumstances. There were in the British Foreign Office letters from -English and also from American officials in the transatlantic colony, -which advised coercion on the part of our government as the proper -course to be pursued for the successful administration of that colony. -Benjamin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> Franklin was then in England, and hearing of these letters, -had a strong desire to procure them, in order to publish them in -America, to the confusion of the writers. The papers were the property -of the British Government, from whom it is hardly too much to say that -they must have been stolen. At all events, an agent of Franklin’s, -named Hugh Williamson, is described as having got them for Franklin -‘by an ingenious device,’ which seems to be a very euphemistic phrase. -The letters had been originally addressed to Whately, secretary to -the Treasury, who, in 1773, was dead. The ingenious device by which -they were abstracted was reported to have been made with the knowledge -of Temple, who had been lieutenant-governor of New Hampshire. The -excitement caused by their publication led to a duel between Temple -and a brother of Whately, in whose hands the letters had never been, -and poor Whately was dangerously wounded, to save the honour of the -ex-lieutenant-governor. The publication of these letters was as -unjustifiable as the ingenious device by which they were conveyed from -their rightful owners. It caused as painful a sensation as any one of -the many painful incidents in the Geneva Arbitration affair, namely, -when—it being a point of honour that neither party should publish a -statement of their case till a judgment had been pronounced—the case -made out by the United States counsel was to be bought,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> before the -tribunal was opened, as easily as if it had been a ‘last dying speech -and confession!’</p> - -<p>In literature Andrew Stewart’s promised ‘Letters to Lord Mansfield’ -excited universal curiosity. In that work Stewart treated the chief -justice as those Chinese executioners do their patients whose skin they -politely and tenderly brush away with wire brushes till nothing is left -of the victim but a skeleton. It was a luxury to Walpole to see a Scot -dissect a Scot. ‘They know each other’s sore places better than we -do.’ The work, however, was not published. Referring to Macpherson’s -‘Ossian,’ Walpole remarked, ‘The Scotch seem to be proving that they -are really descended from the Irish.’ On the other hand, the ‘Heroic -Epistle to Sir William Chambers’ was being relished by satirical minds, -and men were attributing it to Anstey and Soame Jenyns, and to Temple, -Luttrell, and Horace Walpole, and pronouncing it wittier than the -‘Dunciad,’ and did not know that it was Mason’s, and that it would not -outlive Pope. Sir William Chambers found consolation in the fact that -the satire, instead of damaging the volume it condemned, increased the -sale of the book by full three hundred volumes. Walpole, of course, -knew from the first that Mason was the author; he worked hard in -promoting its circulation, and gloried in its success. ‘Whenever I was -asked,’ he writes, ‘have you read “Sir John<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> Dalrymple?” I replied, -“Have <i>you</i> read the ‘Heroic Epistle’?” The <i>Elephant</i> and <i>Ass</i> have -become constellations, and ‘<i>He has stolen the Earl of Denbigh’s -handkerchief</i>,’ is the proverb in fashion. It is something surprising -to find, at a time when authors are supposed to have been ill paid, -Dr. Hawkesworth receiving, for putting together the narrative of Mr. -Banks’s voyage, one thousand pounds in advance from the traveller, -and six thousand from the publishers, Strahan & Co. It really seems -incredible, but this is stated to have been the fact.</p> - -<p>Then, the drama of 1773! There was Home’s ‘Alonzo,’ which, said -Walpole, ‘seems to be the story of David and Goliath, worse told than -it would have been if Sternhold and Hopkins had put it to music!’ -But the town really awoke to a new sensation when Goldsmith’s ‘She -Stoops to Conquer’ was produced on the stage, beginning a course in -which it runs as freshly now as ever. Yet the hyper-fine people of a -hundred years ago thought it rather vulgar. This was as absurd as the -then existing prejudice in France, that it was vulgar and altogether -wrong for a nobleman to write a book, or rather, to publish one! -There is nothing more curious than Walpole’s drawing-room criticism -of this exquisite and natural comedy. He calls it ‘the lowest of all -farces.’ He condemns the execution of the subject, rather than the -‘very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> vulgar’ subject itself. He could see in it neither moral nor -edification. He allows that the situations are well managed, and make -one laugh, in spite of the alleged grossness of the dialogue, the -forced witticisms, and improbability of the whole plan and conduct. -But, he adds, ‘what disgusts one most is, that though the characters -are very low, and aim at low humour, not one of them says a sentence -that is natural, or that marks any character at all. It is set up in -opposition to sentimental comedy, and is as bad as the worst of them.’ -Walpole’s supercilious censure reminds one of the company and of the -dancing bear, alluded to in the scene over which Tony Lumpkin presides -at the village alehouse. ‘I loves to hear the squire’ (Lumpkin) ‘sing,’ -says one fellow, ‘bekase he never gives us anything that’s low!’ To -which expression of good taste, an equally <i>nice</i> fellow responds; -‘Oh, damn anything that’s low! I can’t bear it!’ Whereupon, the -philosophical Mister Muggins very truly remarks: ‘The genteel thing -is the genteel thing at any time, if so be that a gentleman bees in a -concatenation accordingly.’ The humour culminates in the rejoinder of -the bear-ward: ‘I like the maxim of it, Master Muggins. What though I’m -obligated to dance a bear? A man may be a gentleman for all that. May -this be my poison if my bear ever dances but to the very genteelest of -tunes—“Water parted,” or the minuet in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> “Ariadne”.’ All this is low, -in one sense, but it is far more full of humour than of vulgarity. The -comedy of nature killed the sentimental comedies, which, for the most -part, were as good (or as bad) as sermons. They strutted or staggered -with sentiments on stilts, and were duller than tables of uninteresting -statistics.</p> - -<p>Garrick, who would have nothing to do with Goldsmith’s comedy except -giving it a prologue, was ‘in shadow’ this year. He improved ‘Hamlet,’ -by leaving out the gravediggers; and he swamped the theatre with the -‘Portsmouth Review.’ He went so far as to rewrite ‘The Fair Quaker of -Deal,’ to the tune of ‘Portsmouth and King George for ever!’ not to -mention a preface, in which the Earl of Sandwich, by name, is preferred -to Drake, Blake, and all the admirals that ever existed! If Walpole’s -criticisms are not always just, they are occasionally admirable for -terseness and correctness alike. London, in 1773, was in raptures with -the singing of Cecilia Davies. Walpole quaintly said that he did not -love the perfection of what anybody can do, and he wished ‘she had -less top to her voice and more bottom.’ How good too is his sketch of -a male singer, who ‘sprains his mouth with smiling on himself!’ But to -return to Garrick, and an illustration of social manners a century ago, -we must not omit to mention that, at a private party—at Beauclerk’s, -Garrick played the ‘short-armed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> orator’ with Goldsmith! The latter -sat in Garrick’s lap, concealing him, but with Garrick’s arms advanced -under Goldsmith’s shoulders; the arms of the latter being held behind -his back. Goldsmith then spoke a speech from ‘Cato,’ while Garrick’s -shortened arms supplied the action. The effect, of course, was -ridiculous enough to excite laughter, as the action was often in absurd -diversity from the utterance.</p> - -<p>In the present newspaper record of births a man’s wife is no longer -called his ‘lady;’ a hundred years ago there was plentiful variety -of epithet. ‘The Princess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, spouse to the -Prince of that name, of a Princess,’ is one form. ‘Earl Tyrconnel’s -lady of a child,’ is another. ‘Wife’ was seldom used. One birth is -announced in the following words: ‘The Duchess of Chartres, at Paris, -of a Prince who has the title of Duke of Valois.’ Duke of Valois? ay, -and subsequently Duke of Chartres, Duke of Orléans, finally, Louis -Philippe, King of the French!</p> - -<p>The chronicle of the marriages of the year seems to have been loosely -kept, unless indeed parties announced themselves by being married twice -over. There is, for example, a double chronicling of the marriage -of the following personages: ‘July 31st. The Right Hon. the Lady -Amelia D’Arcy, daughter of the Earl of Holdernesse, to the Marquis of -Carmarthen, son of his Grace the Duke of Leeds.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> Lady Amelia having -thus married my Lord in July, we find, four months later, my Lord -marrying Lady Amelia. ‘Nov. 29th. The Marquis of Carmarthen to Lady -Amelia D’Arcy, daughter of the Earl of Holdernesse.’ This union, with -its double chronology, was one of several which was followed by great -scandal, and dissolved under circumstances of great disgrace. But the -utmost scandal and disgrace attended the breaking up of the married -life of Lord and Lady Carmarthen. This dismal domestic romance is told -in contemporary pamphlets with a dramatic completeness of detail which -is absolutely startling. Those who are fond of such details may consult -these liberal authorities: we will only add that the above Lady Amelia -D’Arcy, Marchioness of Carmarthen, became the wife of Captain Byron; -the daughter of that marriage was Augusta, now better known to us as -Mrs. Leigh. Captain Byron’s second wife was Miss Gordon, of Gight, -and the son of that marriage was the poet Byron. How the names of the -half-brother and half-sister have been cruelly conjoined, there is here -no necessity of narrating. Let us turn to smaller people. Thus, we -read of a curious way of endowing a bride, in the following marriage -announcement: ‘April 13th. Rev. Mr. Morgan, Rector of Alphamstow, York, -to Miss Tindall, daughter of Mr. Tindall, late rector, who resigned in -favour of his son-in-law.’ In the same month, we meet with a better -known couple<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>—‘Mr. Sheridan, of the Temple, to the celebrated Miss -Linley, of Bath.’</p> - -<p>The deaths of the year included, of course, men of very opposite -qualities. The man of finest quality who went the inevitable way was he -whom some call the <i>good</i>, and some the <i>great</i> Lord Lyttelton. When a -man’s designation rests on two such distinctions, we may take it for -granted that he was not a common-place man. And yet how little remains -of him in the public memory. His literary works are fossils; but, like -fossils, they are not without considerable value. Good as he was, there -are not a few people who jumble together his and his son’s identity. -The latter was unworthy of his sire. He was a disreputable person -altogether.</p> - -<p>Lord Chesterfield was another of the individuals of note whose glass -ran out during this year. He was always protesting that he cared -nothing for death. Such persistence of protest generally arises from -a feeling contrary to that which is made the subject of protest. This -lord (as we have said) jested to the very door of his tomb. That must -have reminded his friends during those Tyburn days, how convicts on -their way up Holborn Hill to the gallows used to veil their terror -by cutting jokes with the crowd. It was the very Chesterfield of -highwaymen, who, going up the Hill in the fatal cart, and observing -the mob to be hastening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> onwards, cried out, ‘It’s no use your being -in such a hurry; there’ll be no fun till I get there!’ This was the -Chesterfield style, and its spirit also. But behind it all was the -feeling and conviction of Marmontel’s philosopher, who having railed -through a long holiday excursion, till he was thoroughly tired, was of -opinion, as he tucked himself up in a featherbed at night, that life -and luxury were, after all, rather pretty things.</p> - -<p>Chesterfield was, nevertheless, much more of a man than his fellow -peer who crossed the Stygian ferry in the same year, namely, the -Duke of Kingston. The duke had been one of the handsomest men of his -time, and, like a good many handsome men, was a considerable fool. He -allowed himself, at all events, to be made the fool, and to become -the slave, of the famous Miss Chudleigh—as audacious as she was -beautiful. The lady, whom the law took it into its head to look upon -as <i>not</i> the duke’s duchess—that is, not his wife—was resigned to -her great loss by the feeling of her great gain. She was familiar -with her lord’s last will and testament, and went into hysterics to -conceal her satisfaction. She saw his grace out of the world with -infinite ceremony. To be sure, it was nothing else. The physicians whom -she called together in consultation <i>consulted</i>, no doubt, and then -whispered to their lady friends, while holding their delicate pulses, -‘Mere <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>ceremony, upon my honour!’ The widow kept the display of grief -up to the last. When she brought the ducal corpse up from Bath to -London, she rested often by the way. If she could have carried out her -caprices, she would have had as many crosses to mark the ducal stations -of death as were erected to commemorate the passing of Queen Eleanor. -As this could not be, the widow took to screaming at every turn of -the road, and at night was carried into her inn kicking her heels and -screaming at the top of her voice.</p> - -<p>Among the other deaths of the year 1773, the following are noteworthy. -At Vienna, of a broken heart, from the miseries of his country, the -brave Prince Poniatowski, brother to the King of Poland, and a general -in the Austrian service, in which he had been greatly distinguished -during the last war. The partition of Poland was then only a year old, -and the echoes of the assertions of the lying Czar, Emperor, and King, -that they never intended to lay a finger on that ancient kingdom, -had hardly died out of the hearing of the astounded world. England -is always trusting the words of Czars and their Khiva protestations, -always learning and never coming to the knowledge of the truth. A name -less known than Poniatowski may be cited for the singularity attached -to it. ‘Hale Hartson, Esq., the author of the “Countess of Salisbury” -and other ingenious pieces—a young gentleman of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> fine parts, and -who, though very young, had made the tour of Europe three times.’ An -indication of what a fashionable quarter Soho, with its neighbourhood, -was in 1773, is furnished by the following announcement: ‘Suddenly, -at her house in Lisle Street, Leicester Fields, Lady Sophia Thomas, -sister of the late Earl of Albemarle, and aunt of the present.’ Foreign -ambassadors then dwelt in Lisle Street. Even dukes had their houses -in the same district; and baronets lived and died in Red Lion Square -and in Cornhill. Among those baronets an eccentric individual turned -up now and then. In the obituary is the name of Sir Robert Price, of -whom it is added that ‘he left his fortune to seven old bachelors in -indigent circumstances.’ The death of one individual is very curtly -recorded; all the virtues under heaven would have been assigned to her, -had she not belonged to a vanquished party. In that case she would have -been a high and mighty princess; as it was, we only read, ‘Lately, -Lady Annabella Stuart, a relation of the late royal family, aged -ninety-one years, at St.-Omer.’ A few of us are better acquainted with -the poet, John Cunningham, whose decease is thus quaintly chronicled: -‘At Newcastle, the ingenious Mr. John Cunningham. A man little known, -but that will be always much admired for his plaintive, tender, and -natural pastoral poetry.’ Some of the departed personages<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> seem to have -held strange appointments. Thus we find Alexander, Earl of Galloway, -described as ‘one of the lords of police;’ and Willes, Bishop of Bath -and Wells, who died in Hill Street when Mrs. Montague and her blue -stockings were in their greatest brilliancy, is described as ‘joint -Decypherer (with his son, Edward Willes, Esq.) to the king.’ We -believe that the duty of decypherer consisted in reading letters that -were opened, on suspicion, in their passage through the post-office. -Occasionally a little page of family history is opened to us in a few -words, as, for instance, in the account of Sir Robert Ladbroke, a rich -City knight, whose name is attached to streets, roads, groves, and -terraces in Notting Hill. After narrating his disposal of his wealth -among his children and charities, the chronicler states that ‘To his -son George, who sailed a short time since to the West Indies, he has -bequeathed three guineas a week during life, to be paid only to his own -receipt.’ One would like to know if this all but disinherited young -fellow took heart of grace, and, after all, made his way creditably in -the world. Such sons often succeed in life better than their brothers. -Look around you <i>now</i>. See the sons born to inherit the colossal -fortune which their father has built up. What brainless asses the most -of them become! Had they been born to little instead of to over-much, -their wits would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> perhaps have been equal to their wants, and they -would have been as good men as their fathers.</p> - -<p>It was a son of misfortune, who, on a July night of 1773, entered the -<i>King’s Head</i> at Enfield, weary, hungry, penniless, and wearing the -garb of a clergyman. He was taken in, poor guest as he was, and in -the hospitable inn he died within a few days. It was then discovered -that he was the Rev. Samuel Bickley. In his pockets were found three -manuscript sermons, and an extraordinary petition to the Archbishop of -Canterbury, dated the previous February. The prayer of the petition -was to this effect: ‘Your petitioner, therefore, most humbly prays, -that if an audience from your Grace should be deemed too great a -favour, you will at least grant him some relief, though it be only a -temporary one, in our deplorable necessity and distress; and,’ said the -petitioner with a simplicity or an impudence which may have accounted -for his condition, ‘let your Grace’s charity cover the multitude of -his sins.’ He then continues: ‘There never yet was anyone in England -doomed to starve; but I am nearly, if not altogether so; denied to -exercise the sacred functions wherein I was educated, driven from the -doors of the rich laymen to the clergy for relief; by the clergy, -denied; so that I may justly take up the speech of the Gospel Prodigal, -and say: ‘How many hired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> servants of my father have bread enough and -to spare, while I perish with hunger!’ Here was, possibly, an heir of -great expectations, who, scholar as he was, had come to grief, while, -only a little while before him, there died a fortunate impostor, as -appears from this record: ‘Mr. Colvill, in Old Street, aged 83. He was -much resorted to as a fortune-teller, by which he acquired upwards of -4,000<i>l.</i>;’ at the same time, a man in London was quintupling that sum -by the invention and sale of peppermint lozenges.</p> - -<p>Let us look into the newspapers for January 1773, that our readers may -compare the events of that month with January 1873, a hundred years -later. We find the laureate Whitehead’s official New Year Ode sung at -court to Boyce’s music, while king, queen, courtiers and guests yawned -at the vocal dulness, and were glad when it was all over. We enter a -church and listen to a clergyman preaching a sermon; on the following -day we see the reverend gentleman drilling with other recruits -belonging to a regiment of the Guards, into which he had enlisted. -The vice of gambling was ruining hundreds in London, the suburbs of -which were infested by highwaymen, who made a very pretty living of -it—staking only their lives. We go to the fashionable noon-day walk in -the Temple Gardens, and encounter an eccentric promenader who is thus -described: ‘He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> wore an old black waistcoat which was quite threadbare, -breeches of the same colour and complexion; a black stocking on one -leg, a whitish one on the other; a little hat with a large gold button -and loop, and a tail, or rather club, as thick as a lusty man’s arm, -powdered almost an inch thick, and under the club a quantity of hair -resembling a horse’s tail. In this dress he walked and mixed with -the company there for a considerable time, and occasioned no little -diversion.’ The style of head-decoration then patronised by the ladies -was quite as nasty and offensive as that which was in vogue about -ten years ago. It was ridiculed in the popular pantomime ‘Harlequin -Sorcerer.’ Columbine was to be seen in her dressing-room attended by -her lover, a macaroni, and a hairdresser. On her head was a very high -tower of hair, to get at which was impossible for the <i>friseur</i> till -Harlequin’s wand caused a ladder to rise, on the top rung of which -the <i>coiffeur</i> was raised to the top surface of Columbine’s chignon; -having dressed which they all set off for the Pantheon. While pantomime -was thus triumphant at Covent Garden there was something like cavalry -battles close to London; that is to say, engagements between mounted -smugglers and troops of Scots Greys. The village Tooting in this -month was a scene of a fight, in which both parties shot and cut down -antagonists with as much alacrity as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> if they were foreign invaders, -where blood, and a good deal of it, was lavishly spilt. Sussex was a -favourite battle-field; a vast quantity of tea and brandy, and other -contraband, was drunk in Middlesex and neighbouring counties where -there was sympathy for smugglers, who set their lives on a venture and -enabled people to purchase articles duty free.</p> - -<p>At this time the union of Ireland with the other portions of the -British kingdom was being actively agitated. The project was that each -of the thirty-two Irish counties should send one representative to the -British Parliament. Forty-eight Irish Peers were to be transferred to -the English Upper House. One very remarkable feature in the supposed -government project was, that Ireland should retain the shadow of a -parliament, to be called ‘The Great Council of the Nation.’ The Great -Council was to consist of members sent by the Irish boroughs, each -borough to send one representative, ‘their power not to apply further -than the interior policy of the kingdom.’ The courts of law were to -remain undisturbed. It will be remembered that something like the above -council is now asked for by those who advocate Home Rule; but as some -of those advocates only wish to have the council as the means to a -further end, the Irish professional patriot now, as ever, stands in the -way to the real<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> improvement and the permanent prosperity of that part -of the kingdom.</p> - -<p>In many other respects the incidents of to-day are like the echoes of -the events a hundred years old. We find human nature much the same, but -a trifle coarser in expression. The struggle to live, then as now, took -the guise of the struggle of a beaten army, retreating over a narrow -and dangerous bridge, where each thought only of himself, and the -stronger trampled down the weaker or pushed him over into the raging -flood. With all this, blessed charity was not altogether wanting. Then, -as in the present day, charity appeared on the track of the struggle, -and helped many a fainting heart to achieve a success, the idea of -which they had given up in despair.</p> - -<p class="center space-above">END OF VOL. I.</p> - -<p class="center space-above">LONDON: PRINTED BY<br />SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., KEW-STREET SQUARE<br />AND PARLIAMENT STREET</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/ad1.jpg" alt="LITERARY ANNOUNCEMENTS FOR THE AUTUMN" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/ad2.jpg" alt="LITERARY ANNOUNCEMENTS FOR THE AUTUMN 2" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/ad3.jpg" alt="NEW WORKS OF FICTION" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/ad4.jpg" alt="NEW ADDITIONS" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/backcover.jpg" alt="back cover" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN AND ABOUT DRURY LANE AND OTHER PAPERS VOL. 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