MARGARET WOFFINGTON.
That good-tempered woman, who is looking with admiration at the
pretty and delicate child who is drawing water from the Liffey, is
Madame Violante. She is mistress of a booth for rope-dancing and
other exhibitions in Dame Street. As the young girl turns homeward,
with the bowl of water on her head, the lady follows, still admiring.
The object of her admiration is as bright and as steady as a sunbeam.
If she be ill-clad, she is exquisitely shaped, and she will live to
lend her dresses to the two Miss Gunnings, to enable them to attend
a drawing-room at the Castle; their first steps towards reaching the
coronets of countess and duchess that were in store for them.
This child, meanwhile, enters a shabby huckster's shop, kept by her
widowed mother, on Ormond Quay. The father was a working bricklayer,
and married the mother when she was as hard-working a laundress.
There is another child in this poor household, a sister of the
water-bearer, fair, but less fair than she. When Madame Violante
first saw Mary and Margaret Woffington, she little dreamed that the
latter would be the darling of London society, and the former the
bride of a son of one of the proudest of English earls.
Margaret Woffington, born in 1720,[69] was very young when Madame
Violante induced her mother to let her have the pretty child as a
pupil. The foreign lady was of good repute, and Margaret became an
apt pupil, performed little tricks while her mistress was on the
rope, learned French thoroughly, and acquired graces of person,
style, and carriage, by which she gained fortune, and reaped ruin.
As a child, she played Macheath,[70] in Madame's booth, when the
"Beggar's Opera" was acted there by children. From the age of
seventeen to twenty, she was on the more regular Dublin stage,
charming all eyes and hearts by her beauty, grace, and ability in a
range of characters from Ophelia to Sir Harry Wildair.[71] Rich at
once engaged her, at a moderate salary, and, in 1740, brought her
out, at Covent Garden, as Sylvia to Ryan's Plume and the younger
Cibber's Brazen. A successful _coup d'essai_ emboldened her to try
Sir Harry. She played it night after night for weeks, and Wilks was
forgotten. It is said she so enraptured one susceptible damsel, that
the young lady, believing Sir Harry to be a man, made him an offer of
marriage.
Walpole was among the last to be pleased. "There is much in vogue,
a Mrs. Woffington," he writes, in 1741; "a bad actress, but she has
life." Walpole's friend, Conway, confesses that "all the town was
in love with her;" but to Conway's eyes she was only "an impudent
Irish-faced girl." Even these fastidious gentlemen became converted,
and, at a later period, Walpole records her excellent acting in
Moore's "Foundling," with Garrick, Barry, and Mrs. Cibber.
Her Lothario was not so successful as her Sir Harry; but her
high-born ladies, her women of dash, spirit, and elegance, her
homely, humorous females, in all these she triumphed; and triumphed
in spite of a voice that was almost unmanageable for its harshness.
[Illustration: (Peg Woffington)]
Margaret and Garrick were very soon on very intimate terms. In
the summer of 1742, they were together in Dublin, and on their
return, according to a tradition of the stage, Garrick and Mrs.
Woffington, living together, alternately supplied the expenses
of the household, each being at the head of the latter during
a month. In Garrick's term the table is said to have been but
moderately furnished; whereas during the beautiful Margaret's month
there was a banquet and brilliant company daily; all the fashionable
men about town being delighted at an invitation from the Irish
actress. Johnson used to be among those visitors, and he noticed
the difference in the quality of the housekeeping, after his usual
fashion. "Is not this tea stronger than usual, madam? It's as red as
blood!"[72] It was Margaret's month, and the liberal lady smiled.
That Garrick ever entertained thoughts of marrying Margaret, I very
much doubt, despite the story, said to have been told by the lady to
Murphy, that he had gone so far as to buy the wedding-ring, and try
it on her finger. In the early part of the few years which elapsed
between Garrick's _début_ in London and his marriage with Eva Maria
Violetti, he lived in such affectionate intimacy with the charming
Irish actress, as to address to her the song beginning with
"Once more I'll tune the vocal shell,
To hills and dales my passion tell,
A flame which time can never quell,
Which burns for you, my Peggy!"[73]
Notwithstanding this homage, the lady's infidelities were so
numerous, that whatever may have been her wrath or disappointment,
she had no right to expect that of so inconstant a mistress of
_one_ home, Garrick was likely to make the wife of another. However
this may have been, it remains undeniable that Garrick preserved,
to his last days, a pair of silver buckles which once belonged to
that Peggy, who, from first to last, enthralled more hearts than
any actress since the days of Elizabeth Barry;--from those of young
fellows with the down just budding on their lips, to what was left of
those of old Owen Mac Swiney and older Colley Cibber, between which
two ancient danglers, people compared Margaret to Susanna between the
two Elders.
In good truth, her company was sought after "by men of the first rank
and distinction;" and "persons of the gravest character, and most
eminent for learning," felt honoured by her acquaintance, and were
charmed with her conversation. She founded her avowed preference of
the company of men to that of women, on the alleged fact that the
latter never talked but of satins and silks. She herself was endowed
with a good understanding, which was much improved by contact with
intellectual society, and by much reading. In short, it seems to
have been impossible to resist this clever, vivacious, affable, and
good-natured creature; one who laughed most unaffectedly at the joke
which touched her own character nearest; whose errors are forgotten
in her much-abounding and still-enduring charity, and who not only
faithfully kept that part of the decalogue which says, "Thou shalt
not covet thy neighbour's _wife_," but provided a home for her
neighbours' wives, through many generations, by building the asylum
for them, which still exists at Teddington. "Mes enfans, sauvez-vous
par la charité!"
Margaret Woffington was the most beautiful and the least vain of the
women of her day. Whatever character she had to play, she identified
herself therewith; and did it happen to be that of an old or ordinary
woman, she descended to the level of circumstances, and hid every
natural beauty beneath wrinkles and stolidity, according to the
exigencies of the part.
Her sister, Mary Woffington, whom many living persons remember well,
failed comparatively as an actress; but she achieved better fortune
as a woman than her more able and attractive sister. By marriage she
connected herself with Walpole's family, and Walpole, whose mother
was the daughter of a timber-dealer, was disgusted.
"I have been unfortunate in my own family," says Walpole to Mann,
in 1746; "my nephew, Captain Cholmondeley, has married a player's
sister." This last was Mrs. Woffington's sister, Mary. Captain,
subsequently the Reverend Robert Cholmondeley, was the second son of
the Earl Cholmondeley, who obtained Houghton, by marrying Walpole's
only legitimate sister, Mary. At the match between the captain and
the player's sister the earl was greatly incensed, and he went to
Mrs. Woffington to tell her as much. But Margaret so softened him by
her winning ways, and won him by her good sense, and subdued him to
her will, that he, at last, called her his "dear Mrs. Woffington,"
and declared that he was happy at his son's choice, in spite of
his having been "so very much offended previously." This aroused
Margaret's spirit a little. "Offended previously!" she exclaimed,
"I have most cause to be offended now." "Why, dear lady?" asked the
earl. "Because," replied the actress, "I had one beggar to support,
and now I shall have two!"
Of this marriage, Mrs. Woffington lived to see five of the nine
children born. One of these, married to Sir William Bellingham,
Bart., carried the Woffington blood back to one of the oldest
families in Ireland. Another of Margaret Woffington's nieces was Maid
of Honour to the Princess of Wales; who, when driving with her royal
mistress through Leatherhead, in 1806, was killed by the upsetting of
the carriage. Mary Woffington (the Hon. Mrs. Cholmondeley) survived
till 1811.
To see Margaret Woffington and Smith in Sylvia and Plume was an
ecstasy, _he_ being so graceful and vivacious, while _she_ charmed
her audiences in both the dresses worn by Sylvia, rendering, says the
_Dramatic Censor_, "even absurdities pleasing by the elegance of her
appearance and the vivacity of her expression." Mrs. Bellamy was so
overcome by her acting Jocasta in that awful drama of "OEdipus," that
she fainted on the stage when playing Eurydice to her. Some persons
set this down to affectation; but George Anne was not a lady likely
to affect a swoon for the sake of complimenting a rival actress.[74]
Mrs. Woffington was the only player who acted Sir Harry Wildair with
the spirit and elegance of the original--Wilks, to whom Garrick
and Woodward were, in this part, inferior. She was excellent in
Lady Plyant, and admirable in the representation of females in high
rank and of dignified elegance. Millamant, Lady Townley, Lady Betty
Modish, and Maria, in the "Nonjuror," were exhibited by her with
that happy ease and gaiety, and with such powerful attraction, that
the excesses of these characters appeared not only pardonable, but
agreeable.
Her Jane Shore did not admit of competition with Mrs. Oldfield's; but
that and Hermione were full of merit notwithstanding. In male attire
the elegance of her figure was most striking; but I cannot suppose
that her Lady Randolph, of which she was the original representative
in London, in any one point approached that of Mrs. Crawford (Barry),
or of Mrs. Siddons. Indeed her voice unfitted her for tragic parts.
She called it her "bad voice!"
Margaret Woffington's independence was one of the great traits in her
character. About six years before Mrs. Cibber left the stage[75] she
was often too indisposed to act; and at short notice Mrs. Woffington
was advertised to play some favourite part of her own instead. Once,
when thus advertised, she pleaded illness, and would not go to the
theatre. The next night, as Mrs. Woffington came on, as Lady Jane
Grey, she was greeted with a hurricane of hisses for having failed to
appear the evening before. They even called upon her to "beg pardon!"
_then_ her complexion glowed with angry beauty, her eyes flashed
lightning, and she walked off the stage magnificently scornful. It
was with great difficulty she was induced to return, and when she
_did_, the imperious fair one calmly faced her excited audience
with a "_now then!_" sort of look. She expressed her willingness to
perform her duty, but it was for them to decide; "On or off; it must
be as you please; to me it is a matter of perfect indifference!" The
audience petted this wayward creature, and the contending parties
were friends for ever after.
Margaret and Kitty Clive got on as ill together as the former and
Mrs. Cibber. The green-room was kept alive by their retorts, joyous
by their repartees, or uncomfortable by their dissensions. But there
were no two dramatic queens who hated each other so cordially within
the theatre as Margaret and George Anne Bellamy. In rivalry or
opposition on the stage, they entered into the full spirit of their
parts, felt all or more than they said, and not only handled their
daggers menacingly, but losing control of temper sometimes, used them
more vigorously than law or good manners would allow.
After a career in London of undiminished popularity, she passed over
to Dublin for three seasons, 1751-54, where she was equally the
popular idol, drew thousands of pounds, had a salary, first of £400,
then of £800 for the season, was enthroned at the Beef Steak Club by
Sheridan, addressed verses, free enough to be what they were not--her
own, to the Lord Lieutenant, and altogether ruled "the court, the
camp, and the grove." Victor extols all her tragic parts, save Jane
Shore; and Mrs. Delaney confirms his account of her Lady Townley, as
being better than any the town had seen since Mrs. Oldfield's time;
adding, that she pronounced well, and spoke sensibly; but that her
voice was not agreeable, and that her arms were ungainly. Of her
Maria ("Nonjuror"), Mrs. Delaney says that the effect in Dublin was
marred by the immoderate size of Mrs. Woffington's hoops!
It was at this time she took a step which was sharply
canvassed,--that of forsaking the church in which she was born, and
putting her arm, as it were, under that of Protestantism. She went
a long way, and in strange companionship too, in order to take this
step. She and Sheridan made a pleasant excursion, on the occasion,
through Mullingar to Longford and Carrick on Shannon, and on, by
Lough Allen and Drumshamboe, till they stood on the verge of the Pot
of the Shannon.
Murphy fancies that as Roman Catholics could not then legally wear a
sword, she renounced her old faith that she might carry one, in male
characters, without offending the law! This is sheer nonsense.[76]
But whatever took her to the little village on the mountain side,
it is impossible to conceive a more striking contrast than the one
between this magnificent district, where occasionally an eagle may be
seen sweeping between Quilca and Sliev na Eirin, with Covent Garden
or Smock Alley! I do not know if at that period, as till lately,
the Primate of Ireland had a little shooting-box on a platform of
the mountain, but to the modest residence still existing of the
Protestant pastor, Sheridan and Margaret took their way; and there
the brilliant lady enrolled herself as a member of the church by
law established. The influences which moved her to this were simply
that _she_ would not lose her chance of an estate for the sake of
the old religion in which she had been baptized. Her ex-admirer, Mac
Swiney, had left her heiress to his estate of £200 a year; and that
the bequest might be legal, and the succession uncontested, the frail
Margaret qualified for prospective fortune by declaring herself a
Protestant, in the presence of competent witnesses.
She returned to the "Garden" in the season 1754-55, going through
all her best characters in that, and the two succeeding, and her
final seasons. The last male part she acted was Lothario; the last
original part she created was Lady Randolph (which, however, had
been previously played in Edinburgh by Mrs. Ward), and in Rosalind,
paralysis put an end to her professional career. Just previously, her
Lothario had not been highly esteemed; and Barry, in the memorable
suit of white puckered satin, had produced all the effect in
"Douglas." This affected her spirits. Then she was annoyed at young
Tate Wilkinson, whom Foote had just brought on the stage, and who had
audaciously imitated the worst parts of Margaret's voice. Almost the
only unkind act that can be laid to Mrs. Woffington's charge, was her
consequent attempt to induce Rich not to enter into an engagement
with Wilkinson. Her scorn drove the unfortunate young gentleman,
for his story was a sad one, from the green-room, despite the
interference of Shuter. One night, as she was playing Clarissa in the
"Confederacy," she saw Wilkinson in a stage-box with Captain Forbes,
and unable to control her rage, she came close to the box, and
absolutely made him shrink back by the sneering sarcasm with which
she flung at him one of her speeches. A rude woman in the box above
mimicked her peculiar voice so well, as Clarissa turned away, that
Mrs. Woffington thought it came from Wilkinson. That night she swept
through the green-room, a beautiful fury, and the next day, at Rich's
levee, she assailed Tate with terrible eloquence, prophesied evil to
him, wished the evil she prophesied, and altogether manifested little
of the kindly nature which was, in truth, her own.
Soon followed thereon the fatal 3d of May 1757. The play was "As
You Like It," in which she acted Rosalind. Young Tate Wilkinson
was standing at the wing as she passed on to the stage, and on her
way she complimented him, ironically, on his recent success as a
debutant. Wilkinson watched and studied her throughout the piece,
till she came off early in the fifth act, and suddenly complained of
being ill. Wilkinson offered his arm, leaning on which she retired
to the green-room, rallied, went on, changed her dress, again trod
the stage, defiantly of fate, and again yielded to the coming blow;
but only for a moment. Once more she recovered, her self-will being
so great, and she began the lines of the epilogue. She had just
uttered, with fearful gaiety, the words:--"If I were among you, I'd
kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me----," when that
once saucy tongue became paralysed. A last flash of courage impelled
her to an attempt to proceed; but it was vain, and at the sense that
she was stricken, she flung up her hands, uttered a wild shriek in
abject terror, and staggering towards the stage door, fell into the
arms stretched to receive her; and amid indescribable confusion of
cheering and commiserating cries, Margaret Woffington disappeared
from the stage, for ever.
In November of that year, a fine gentleman asked, "What has become of
Mrs. Woffington?" "She has been taken off by Colonel Cæsar," answered
another fine gentleman. "Reduced to _aut Cæsar aut nullus_," said
the smart Lord Tyrawley. "She is gone to be married," said Kitty
Clive; "Colonel Cæsar bought the license at the same time Colonel
Mostyn bought his." At this time, poor Margaret, in the meridian of
her beauty, somewhat weary of her calling, ashamed, it is said, of
her life, was slowly dying at "Teddington, in Twickenhamshire," as
Walpole loved to call it. So slowly, that the end did not come till
1760.
In the interval, Margaret Woffington is said to have lived to good
purpose. Unreasonably exalted as her character has been, it is
impossible to contemplate it at its close without respect. Charity,
good works, sorrow for the past, hope,--all the Magdalen was there
in that beautiful wreck. In a playful time she and Colonel Cæsar
had agreed that the survivor of the two should be the heir of the
other; but Margaret would not let a jest do injury to her family and
to the poor. Of her few thousands, she left the greater part to her
sister; her mother she had pensioned and protected; to the poor of
Teddington, among whom she reposes, she left well-endowed almshouses.
The poor, at least, may bless the memory of that once bright young
creature, whom Madame Violante saw drawing water from the Liffey.
Those almshouses form a better relic of Margaret Woffington than the
poor stage-jewels which her dresser, Mrs. Barrington, a respectable
actress, hoped to inherit. These were claimed by, and surrendered
to, the Hon. Mrs. Cholmondeley, and were carried to Ireland by that
lady's daughter, on her marriage with Sir William Bellingham.
Such is the story of one, of whom an anonymous contemporary has
written,--"Mrs. Woffington is a downright cheat, a triumphant
plagiary. She first steals your heart, and then laughs at you as
secure of your applause. There is such a prepossession arises from
her form; such a witchcraft in her beauty, and to those who are
personally acquainted with her, such an absolute command, from the
sweetness of her disposition, that it is almost impossible to
criticise upon her." With this criticism, I leave Margaret Woffington
to the tender judgment of all gentle readers.
But while Margaret Woffington is slowly dying, here is a funeral
passing through Berkeley Square. "Mr. Colley Cibber" is the name
often pronounced in the crowd. It is one of which we have, for some
time, lost sight; let us return to it, before we pass on to that of
other conspicuous men.
[Illustration: Mr. Powell as Lovewell.]
FOOTNOTES:
[69] She was probably born some years earlier. Wilkinson says she was
about forty-four when she gave up the stage--that is, in 1757.
[70] This is a popular error. Miss Betty Barnes (afterwards Mrs.
Workman) was the Macheath; Woffington played Polly.
[71] She made her first appearance in a speaking part on 12th
February 1737, but she had been engaged as a dancer for some years
previously.
[72] The correct form of the story is that Garrick grumbled at the
strength of the tea, remarking that it was as red as blood.
[73] These verses were really written by Sir Charles Hanbury Williams.
[74] This is very fanciful. Mrs. Bellamy does not hint that Mrs.
Woffington had anything to do with her faint. In fact she sneers at
her playing of Jocasta.
[75] This incident occurred in January 1751, about fifteen years
before Mrs. Cibber left the stage.
[76] Murphy's statement is not made seriously; it is simply a joke.
[Illustration: THEOPHILUS CIBBER.
(Hogarth.)]