THE LAST YEARS OF GARRICK AND BARRY.
During the remainder of the period that Garrick and Barry continued
at the same house, the stage seemed to languish as their career drew
to a close. Barry's energies slackened, and Garrick studied no new
part. Within the same period old Havard died, after a service of
utilities and some authorship, which extended to nearly threescore
years.[96] If power may be judged by effects, Havard was a powerful
writer, for his "Charles I.," when acted at York, excited such
painful emotions in a young lady named Terrot that she died of it.
Kitty Clive now retired, and Holland died, it is said, of small-pox;
but he was more affected by Powell's death. After this event he
was standing in the green-room, talking mournfully of his comrade.
"The first time we played together in private," he said, "I acted
Iachimo to his Posthumus. When I first appeared in public, we
performed the same characters; and they were the last we ever played
together!" "And you are dressed for Iachimo, as you tell it," added
a listener. Holland smiled sadly; and soon after he slept with his
old play-fellow, Posthumus; dying at the age of forty. Love, in
Falstaff only inferior to Quin, died also about this time. Under that
pseudonym he saved his father, the City Architect, it was supposed,
the disgrace that might attach to him, if his son called himself
by his proper name (Dance) on the stage. Covent Garden, in losing
Powell, lost one who was as ignorant as Mrs. Pritchard, but he had
fine stage inspirations. Of the acquisitions made at this time, the
most notable was that of Lewis, who first appeared at Covent Garden
in the season of 1773-74 as Belcour, and in light tragic parts.
Playgoers felt that the old school of actors was breaking up, and
the poets did little to render the finale illustrious. It was the
dramatic era of Kelly and Goldsmith, both of them needy Irishmen,
and hard-working literary men, having many things in common, except
talent, but being especially antagonistic as the upholders--Kelly
of sentimental, Goldsmith of natural comedy. Kelly was the victor
at first, for his "False Delicacy," of which few now know anything,
brought him a little fortune, while Goldsmith's "Good-natured Man"
would have made shipwreck but for Shuter's energy and humour. As I
look over the records of this time, I cannot but remark how many of
the dramatic poets toiled in vain. Taking, for instance, the tragic
writers--Hoole, the watchmaker's son, is still an honoured name as
a translator of the Italian poets, but his "Cyrus" and "Timanthes"
are wrapped in oblivion. Some among us may still read the story of
_Hindostan_ written by one whose own story was as strange as that
of _Gil Blas_, and who, driven upon the world as an adventurer, in
consequence of a duel, in which he was a principal, rose from the
condition of a common sailor to be Secretary to the Governor of
Bencoolen, and a Lieutenant-Colonel. I allude to the Scotchman, Dow,
at whose "Zingis" the public laughed, more than they shuddered,[97]
and whose "Sethona" even the two Barrys could not render endurable,
despite magnificent acting.[98]
Home fared as badly as Dow. There was a strong prejudice at this
season against Scotchmen, and Home was obnoxious as a client of Lord
Bute's. His "Fatal Discovery," an Ossianic subject, was mounted with
Roman costumes and Greek scenery, and the audience threatened to burn
the house down if the piece was not withdrawn![99] The silver tongue
of Barry could not charm them into patience. Equally unsuccessful
was Home's "Alonzo,"[100] the hero of which does not appear till
the play is half over. Home sat by Barry's bed-side as the tragedy
was being acted, and Mrs. Barry sent every half hour to say how she
was, hoping the best and doing her utmost. But what could even that
great actress do for a piece of which the story, as Walpole remarks,
is that of David and Goliath, worse told than it would have been if
Sternhold and Hopkins had put it into metre? His criticism is made
in his happiest vein: "A gentlewoman embraces her maid, when she
expects her husband. He goes mad with jealousy, without discovering
what he ails, and runs away to Persia, where the post comes in from
Spain, with news of a duel that is to be fought, the Lord knows when.
As Persian princes love single combat as well as if they had been
bred in Lucas's coffee-house, nobody is surprised that the Prince of
Persia should arrive to fight a duel, that was probably over before
he set out. The wife discovers the Prince to be her own husband, and
the lad her own son, and so, to prevent mischief, stabs herself, and
then tells the whole story, which it was rather more natural to do
first. The language is as poor as the plot. Somebody asked me what
prose Home had ever written. I said I knew none but his poetry."
Then, to a version of Voltaire's "Orestes," Mrs. Yates, as Electra,
could not give life; and when Craddock gave to her all the profits
he derived from his tragedy of "Zobeide," he showed his sense of that
lady's value. Kelly could give her nothing, for he gained nothing
by his "Clementina," at which the audience yawned more than they
hissed.[101] Managers seemed to understand little of the requirements
of the public taste; and Colman still kept the Fool from "King Lear,"
as being "such a character in tragedy as would not be endured on
the modern stage." In our own time, however, it has been not only
endured, but enjoyed. One of the pleasantest of stage memories is
connected with the Fool, as acted by Miss P. Horton, now Mrs. German
Reed.
Garrick taxed all Barry's powers, for he imposed on him the part of
Tancred, in perhaps the most insufferable of the tragedies of this
time, the "Almida" of Mallett's daughter, Madame Celisia, which
Garrick brought out only because her husband had been hospitable
to him in Italy! Cumberland laid as heavy a charge on him in his
emendation of "Timon," in which there was more of Cumberland and
less of Shakspeare than the public could welcome. Walpole lets
pass Murphy's imbroglio of "Alzuma," and his over-rated "Grecian
Daughter," the success of which was due to the Barrys alone, as
Evander and Euphrasia; but he records his impression of Mason's
"Elfrida," which may joyously close the tragic register of this
period. "It is wretchedly acted," he writes to the author (Mason),
in February 1773,[102] "and worse set to music. The virgins were so
inarticulate, that I should have understood them as well if they had
sung choruses of Sophocles. Orgar (Clarke) had a broad Irish accent.
I thought the first virgin, who is a lusty virago, called Miss
Miller, would have knocked him down; and I hoped she would. Edgar
(Bensley) stared at his own crown, and seemed to fear it would tumble
off." Miss Catley looked so impudent, and so _manifestly_ unlike
the British virgin whom she was supposed to represent, "you would
have imagined she had been singing the 'Black Joke,' only that she
would then have been more intelligible. Smith did not play Athelwold
ill. Mrs. Hartley is made for the part (Elfrida), if beauty and
figure would suffice for what you write; but she has no one symptom
of genius. Still, it is very affecting, and does admirably for the
stage, under all these disadvantages. The tears came into my eyes,
and streamed down the Duchess of Richmond's lovely cheeks." Those
great folk must have been easily moved, or Mrs. Hartley must have had
more talent than Walpole will acknowledge.
Of her beauty there is no doubt, nor of its effects. In Hull's poor
tragedy, "Henry II.," she played Rosamond to the Henry of Smith;
and this handsome couple went on making love to one another, on
the stage, till they believed in it, and fairly ran away together.
When Smith, in his older and wiser days, was living in well-endowed
retirement, at Bury St. Edmunds, a remark made by him, affirming the
fidelity of his married life, caused his excellent wife to look up at
him. He blushed; murmured something of having forgotten "_one_ slip,"
and never boasted again. He had the grace of repentance.
Of comedies, and operas, and farces that have been forgotten, I will
say nothing. Mrs. Lennox showed more dramatic power in her novels,
and Mrs. Griffiths more good purpose in her hints to young ladies,
than they did in their plays. O'Brien found his pieces condemned,
through his adoption of the suggestions of his aristocratic friends.
Bickerstaffe, ex-page to Lord Chesterfield, in Dublin, and an
ex-officer of marines, not yet compelled to fly the country in
dishonour, gained less renown by "Lionel and Clarissa" (Mattocks and
Miss Macklin), of the entire originality of which he boasted, than
he did by the "Padlock" (Mungo, by Dibdin), which he borrowed from
the Spanish; or by the "Hypocrite" (Cantwell, by King), which was
a refitting of Cibber's "Nonjuror," with the addition of Maw-worm.
Kelly's sentimental comedies were only tolerated by the Wilks party,
whom he had offended by his political writings, when they were
brought forward under an assumed name, but they had not merit enough
of their own to live. Even Cumberland's "West Indian" (Belcour,
King; Major O'Flaherty, Moody), and his "Fashionable Lover" (Lord
Abberville, Dodd; Aubrey, and Augusta Aubrey, by the Barrys), have
departed from the scene, with his "Brothers." All Cumberland's
_dénouements_ may be conjectured before the curtain falls on his
second acts. Of the "Brothers," George Montagu writes to Walpole: "I
am glad it succeeds, as he has a tribe of children, and is almost as
extravagant as his uncle, and a much better man." Cumberland lacks
that most at which he most aims, facility to delineate character. He
has less power of style than purity of sentiment. Of his fifty-four
pieces, one alone, the "Wheel of Fortune," survives. In all, he
exhibits more regard for modesty than he furnishes matter for
amusement.
But the one comedy of this period, which has gloriously survived
all the rest, and which is being acted as I write, is Goldsmith's
"She Stoops to Conquer." There is nothing in it of the mawkishness
of Kelly nor of the pompous affectation of Cumberland. It was so
_natural_, that those who did not despair, doubted of it; and the
author himself had not the courage to believe in its success, though
Johnson and a faithful few alone augured triumph. After a world of
difficulty, the night of performance arrived at last,--the 15th of
March 1773. From the Shakspeare tavern, Johnson led a band of friends
to Covent Garden, where he sat in the front of a side box; and as
he laughed, the applause increased. But the friendly approvers were
occasionally indiscreet, despite the instructions of Cumberland, who
very kindly asserts, that the success of the comedy was owing to the
exertions of those _claqueurs_,--predetermined to secure a triumph!
It came, that triumph,--and to a rare son of genius; one, who showed
that drollery was compatible with decency, and that high comedy
could exist without scoundrelly fine gentlemen to support it. It gave
good opportunities, also, to rising actors, who, on the refusal of
Smith to play Young Marlow, and of Woodward to play Tony Lumpkin,
were cast for those parts,--namely, Lee Lewes and little Quick.
Goldsmith did not venture to go down to Covent Garden till the fifth
act was on, and then he heard the one solitary hiss, which was the
exception to the universal applause, and which has been variously
ascribed as issuing from the envious lips of Kelly or of Kenrick.
Sentimental comedy, ridiculed by Foote at the Haymarket, in his
"Handsome House Maid, or Piety in Pattens," was dethroned, for a
period, by Goldsmith's comedy. It was time. Sentiment had been
carried to its utmost limits a month or two before, in a little piece
called "Rose." In this operatic drama, we find Lord Gainlove (Vernon)
celebrating his twenty-first birthday, by inviting every marriageable
lady within five miles. Each of them is to bring a rose; and my lord
is to marry her who brings one that cannot decay. The roses are
brought by all, save Serina (Mrs. Smith), who, on being questioned,
remarks, that the only rose which never decays is virtue; and that
_she_ brings the imperishable flower! She is raised to the rank of
Lady Gainlove, forthwith!
To a similar school belongs the "Maid of Kent," of Francis Godolphin
Waldron. The piece has more of talk than of action in it. Waldron was
a respectable actor, a worthy bookseller, and an honest treasurer of
the Theatrical Fund. A simple man--he once announced, in the country,
that he would play Richard in humble imitation of the inimitable Mr.
Garrick! Waldron was a Roman Catholic, and on publishing an appendix
to his edition of Ben Jonson's "Sad Shepherd," he had the courage to
recall public attention to the poems of Father Southwell, the martyr,
of which he gave some specimens. Through him, and later editors,
Southwell has become as one of those true and familiar friends who
are cherished for their virtues, and are not questioned on account of
their creeds.
Perhaps one of the most important improvements in stage arrangements
was made at Covent Garden, on the 23d of October 1773, when Macklin
first appeared as Macbeth. The taste of the nation, according to
Whitehead, depended on Garrick; but Garrick, like his predecessors,
had been accustomed to dress the Thane in the uniform of a modern
military officer. Shakspeare, in his mind's eye, saw the persons
of this drama all in native costume, for Malcolm recognises Rosse,
at a distance, for his countryman, by his dress. Macklin, bearing
this in mind, dressed all the characters in Scottish suits; but
unfortunately, he himself is said to have looked more like a rough
old Scotch bagpiper, than the Thane of Cawdor, and King of Scotland.
He hoped to snatch a triumph from Garrick, from Barry, and from
Smith; and, indeed, in his scene with the witches, his interview with
his wife, his hypocrisy after the king's death, his bearing with the
murderers, and in contrasts of rage and despondency, he gained great
applause. In the other scenes he failed. On the first two nights
there was occasionally a little sibilation, which Macklin attributed
to Reddish and Sparks, whose friends headed a riot, which was ended
by Macklin, on his third appearance in the character,[103] being
driven from the stage, with much attending insult.
A few nights later he was announced for Shylock and Sir Archy Mac
Sarcasm; but he could not obtain a hearing. Bensley, Woodward, and
Colman treated with the enraged audience, in obedience to whose
commands Mr. Macklin was declared to be discharged from the theatre.
Against five of the rioters Macklin entered an action, and Lord
Mansfield intimated that a jury would give heavy damages against
men who had gone to the theatre with a preconceived resolution, not
of judging of the merits, but of ruining an actor. Lord Mansfield
ordered the case to be referred to a Master, with directions that
liberal satisfaction be made; but Macklin interposed, offering to
stop all further proceedings, if the defendants would pay the costs,
spend £100 in tickets for his daughter's benefit, the same sum for
his own, and a third for the advantage of the manager. And this was
agreed to. "You have met with great applause to-day, Mr. Macklin,"
said Lord Mansfield; "you never acted better."
[Illustration: (Mr. Macklin)]
Let us now follow Garrick and Barry to the close of their
professional courses, in 1776 and 1777, and make record of the
principal productions which were brought forward during the last
brilliant years of the first, and the majestic decline of the latter.
At Drury Lane, came first Burgoyne's "Maid of the Oaks," as "fine
as scenes could make it, and as dull as the author could not help
making it," says Walpole. This was followed by Cumberland's "Choleric
Man," the author of which, when accused of stealing a portion of
it from Shadwell's "Squire of Alsatia," protested he had never
seen that play! Dr. Franklin was as reluctant to acknowledge how
much his "Matilda" owed to Voltaire's "Duc de Foix." All Walpole's
affirmations that a better tragedy than Jephson's "Braganza" had not
been seen for fifty years, could not give life to a heavy tragedy, by
a man of such a comic turn of mind, that he was called "the mortal
Momus." These pieces, with others of less note, were brought forward
at Drury Lane, where Garrick appeared for the last time as Don Felix,
in the "Wonder," on the 10th of June 1776.
He had been accustomed to take his share in the country dance with
which this comedy used to end, with unabated vigour, down to the
latest period; and he delighted in thus proving that his strength and
spirits were unimpaired. On this final night the dance was omitted,
and Garrick stepped forward, in front of a splendid and sympathising
audience, to take his one and final farewell. For the first time in
his life he was troubled, and at this emotion, the house was moved
too, rather to tears than to applause. He could pen farewell verses
for others, but he could neither write nor deliver them for himself.
In a few phrases, which were perhaps not so unpremeditated as they
appeared to be, he bade his old world adieu! They were rendered in
simple and honest prose. "The jingle of rhyme, and the language of
fiction, would but ill suit my present feelings," he said; and his
good taste was duly appreciated.
Of this season at Drury Lane, I will only notice here a link which
connects this old time with the present, in the fact, that in the
course of it the name of _Kean_ (Moses Kean, the uncle of Edmund)
appears to Glumdalca, and Mrs. Siddons made her first appearance in
London, as Portia, to King's Shylock.
Meantime, at Covent Garden, the town damned, condoned, and finally
crowned the "Rivals" of Sheridan; who showed that a young fellow
of twenty-three could write a comedy, remarkable for wit, good
arrangement of plot, and knowledge of men and manners. Hoole's dull
"Cleonice," and Hull's as dull adaptation of Thomson's "Edward
and Eleonora," were followed by the gayest and most popular of
operas--Sheridan's "Duenna," which was acted seventy-five times in
one season, eclipsing the glory even of the "Beggar's Opera." But the
audiences were dulled again by Mason's "Caractacus," the acting of
which Walpole styles "a barbarous exhibition." The chief part (given
to Clarke), he cruelly says, "will not suffer in not being sputtered
by Barry, who has lost all his teeth."
In Garrick's last season, he _looked_ youthful parts as well as
ever he did. It was the reverse with Barry, who gave up Douglas
for Old Norval, and who was so ill, while dressing for Jaffier,
that acting it seemed impossible; and yet the great player, at
whom Walpole sneers, entered on the stage only to be inspired; he
was warmed by the interest of the scene, and, brightening with
the glow of love and tenderness, communicated his feelings to all
around--but he fell almost into insensibility on reaching the
green-room. He played Evander to Mrs. Barry's Euphrasia, on the 28th
of December 1776[104]--the last time on which his name appeared in
the bills. Death took him, and Shuter, and Woodward, close upon one
another; but Garrick and Kitty Clive retired to enjoy a season of
luxurious rest--Garrick at Hampton, and Mrs. Clive, between Margaret
Woffington's grave, and Horace Walpole's mansion at Teddington.
The great actor, in his retirement, used to smile when his friends
told him he had surpassed Betterton. Whether the smile showed he
accepted the flattery or differed from the opinion, I do not know;
but Garrick would remark, that Booth, in "Cato," had never been
excelled; and yet, when Quin first played the part, the pit rang with
"_Booth outdone!_" and _encored_ the famous soliloquy,--an honour
never enjoyed by either Betterton or Garrick. Let us now accompany
the latter to Hampton, and, sojourning with him there, look back over
his past career.
FOOTNOTES:
[96] I think Dr. Doran must mean twoscore years. Havard made his
first appearance in 1730; his last in 1769.
[97] "Zingis" was played eleven or twelve times, an indubitable proof
of success.
[98] Played nine times.
[99] Yet it was played ten times!
[100] "Alonzo" was a fairly successful play, being acted eleven times.
[101] This conveys a very wrong impression, and is founded upon a
reported speech of one particular person, who, when asked whether he
had hissed, said, "How could I? A man can't hiss and yawn at the same
time." The piece ran for nine nights, so Kelly must have made some
money by it, and he got £200 from the booksellers for the copyright.
[102] The letter is dated 19th November 1773.
[103] Should be his fourth appearance.
[104] It should be 28th November 1776.
[Illustration: GARRICK BETWEEN TRAGEDY AND COMEDY.]