"PAY HERE."
Acting, as a distinct profession, seems to have been known in England
at least as far back as the reign of Henry VI. There had been
theatrical exhibitions in abundance, however, at a much earlier
period. Stow, in his "Survey of London," in 1599, translates from the
"Life of Thomas à Becket," by Fitzstephen, who wrote about 1182,
mention of "the shews upon theatres and comical pastimes" of London,
"its holy playes, representations of miracles which holy confessors
have wrought, or representations of tormentes wherein the constancie
of martirs appeared." As Mr. Payne Collier observes, "no country in
Europe, since the revival of letters, has been able to produce any
notice of theatrical performances of so early a date as England." But
our primitive stage was a chapel-of-ease, as it were, to the Church.
The plays were founded upon the lives of the saints, or upon the
events of the Old and New Testaments, and were contrived and performed
by the clergy, who borrowed horses, harness, properties, and hallowed
vestments from the monasteries, and did not hesitate even to paint and
disguise their faces, in order to give due effect to their
exhibitions, which were presented not only in the cathedrals,
churches, and cemeteries, but also "on highways or greens," as might
be most convenient. In 1511, for instance, the miracle-play of "St.
George of Cappadocia" was acted in a croft, or field, at Basingborne,
one shilling being paid for the hire of the land. The clergy, however,
were by no means unanimous as to the propriety and policy of these
dramatic representations. They were bitterly attacked in an
Anglo-French poem, the "Manuel de Péché," written about the middle of
the thirteenth century, and ascribed to Robert Grossetête, who became
Bishop of Lincoln in 1235. Gradually the kind of histrionic monopoly
which the Church had long enjoyed was invaded. Education spread, and
many probably found themselves as competent to act as the clergy.
Still, the ecclesiastical performers for some time resisted all
attempts to interfere with what they viewed as their especial
privileges and vested interests. In 1378 the scholars or choristers of
St. Paul's petitioned Richard II. to prohibit certain ignorant and
inexperienced persons from acting the history of the Old Testament, to
the prejudice of the clergy of the Church, who had expended large sums
in preparing plays founded upon the same subject. But some few years
later the parish clerks of London, who had been incorporated by Henry
III., performed at Skinner's Well, near Smithfield, in the presence of
the king, queen, and nobles of the realm, a play which occupied three
days in representation. As Warton remarks, however, in his "History of
English Poetry," the parish clerks of that time might fairly be
regarded as a "literary society," if they did not precisely come under
the denomination of a religious fraternity.
The religious or miracle plays soon extended their boundaries, became
blended with "mummings," or "disguisings," and entertainments of
pageantry. Morals, interludes, and masques were gradually brought upon
the scene. Dancers, singers, jugglers, and minstrels became
indispensable to the performances. The Church and the Theatre drifted
apart; were viewed in time as wholly independent establishments. The
actor asserted his individuality; his profession was recognised as
distinct and complete in itself; companies of players began to stroll
through the provinces. The early moral-play of the "Castle of
Perseverance," which is certainly as old as the reign of Henry VI.,
was represented by itinerant actors, who travelled round the country
for that purpose, preceded by their standard-bearers and trumpeters,
to announce on what day, and at what hour, the performance would take
place. It would seem that the exhibition concluded at nine o'clock in
the morning, so that the playgoers of the period must probably have
assembled so early as six. In the reign of Edward IV. the actors first
obtained parliamentary recognition. The Act passed in 1464,
regulating the apparel to be worn by the different classes of society,
contains special exception in favour of henchmen, pursuivants,
sword-bearers to mayors, messengers, minstrels, and "players in their
interludes." The first royal personage who entertained a company of
players as his servants was probably Richard III. when Duke of
Gloucester, who seems, moreover, to have given great encouragement to
music and musicians. In the reign of Henry VII. dramatic
representations were frequent in all parts of England. The king
himself had two companies of players, the "gentlemen of the chapel,"
and his "players of interludes."
The early actors, whose performances took place in the open air or in
public places, doubtless obtained recompense for their labours much
after the manner of our modern street exhibitors: by that system of
"sending round the hat," which too many lookers-on nowadays consider
as an intimation to depart about their business, leaving their
entertainment unpaid for. The companies of players in the service of
any great personage were in the receipt of regular salaries, were
viewed as members of his household, and wore his livery. They probably
obtained, moreover, largess from the more liberally disposed
spectators of their exertions. But as the theatre became more and more
a source of public recreation, it was deemed necessary to establish
permanent stages, and a tariff of charges for admission to witness the
entertainments. For a long time the actors had been restricted to the
mansions of the nobility, and to the larger inn-yards of the city. In
1574, however, the Earl of Leicester, through his influence with Queen
Elizabeth, obtained for his company of players, among whom was
included James Burbadge, the father of the famous Shakespearean actor,
Richard Burbadge, a patent, under the Great Seal, empowering the
actors, "during the queen's pleasure, to use, exercise, and occupy the
art and faculty of playing tragedies, comedies, interludes, and stage
plays, as well for the recreation of the queen's subjects as for her
own solace and pleasure, within the city of London and its liberties,
and within any cities, towns, and boroughs throughout England." This
most important concession to the players was strenuously opposed by
the Lord Mayor and Corporation, who maintained that "the playing of
interludes and the resort to the same" were likely to provoke "the
infection of the plague," were "hurtfull in corruption of youth," were
"great wasting both of the time and thrift of many poor people," and
"great withdrawing of the people from publique prayer and from the
service of God." At last they proposed, as a compromise, that the
players of the queen, or of Lord Leicester--for these titles seem to
have been bestowed upon the actors indifferently--should be permitted
to perform within the city boundaries upon certain special conditions,
to the effect that their names and number should be notified to the
Lord Mayor and the Justices of Middlesex and Surrey, and that they
should not divide themselves into several companies; that they should
be content with playing in private houses, at weddings, &c., without
public assemblies, or "if more be thought good to be tolerated," that
they should not play openly till the whole deaths in London had been
for twenty days under fifty a week; that they should not play on the
Sabbath or on holy days until after evening prayer; and that no
playing should be in the dark, "nor continue any such time but as any
of the auditoire may returne to their dwellings in London before
sonne-set, or at least before it be dark." These severe restrictions
so far defeated the objects of the civic powers, that they led in
truth to the construction of three theatres beyond the Lord Mayor's
jurisdiction, but sufficiently near to its boundaries to occasion him
grave disquietude. About 1576 Burbadge built his theatre in the
Liberty of the Blackfriars--a precinct in which civic authority was at
any rate disputed. Within a year or so The Curtain and The Theatre,
both in Shoreditch, were also opened to the public. The Mayor and
Corporation persistently endeavoured to assert authority over these
establishments, but without much practical result. It may be added
that the Blackfriars Theatre was permanently closed in 1647, part of
the ground on which it stood, adjoining Apothecaries' Hall, still
bearing the name of Playhouse Yard; that The Theatre in Shoreditch was
abandoned about 1598 (it was probably a wooden erection, and in twenty
years might have become untenantable); and that The Curtain fell into
disuse at the beginning of the reign of Charles I.
The prices of admission to the theatres varied according to the
estimation in which they were held, and were raised on special
occasions. "Twopenny rooms," or galleries, were to be found at the
larger and more popular theatres. In Goffe's "Careless Shepherdess,"
1656, acted at the Salisbury Court Theatre, appear the lines:
I will hasten to the money-box
And take my shilling out again;
I'll go to the Bull or Fortune, and there see
A play for twopence and a jig to boot.
The money received was placed in a box, and there seems to have been
one person specially charged with this duty. Dekker, dedicating one of
his plays to his "friends and fellows," the queen's servants, wishes
them "a full audience and one honest doorkeeper." Even thus early the
absolute integrity of the attendants of the theatre would appear to
have been a subject of suspicion. "Penny galleries" are referred to by
some early writers, and from a passage in the "Gull's Horn Book,"
1609--"Your groundling and gallery commoner buys his sport for a
penny"--it is apparent that the charges for admission to the yard,
where the spectators stood, and to the galleries, where they sat on
benches, were the same. In Dekker's "Satiromastix," one of the
characters speaks scornfully of "penny bench theatres," where a
gentleman or an honest citizen "might sit with his squirrel by his
side cracking nuts." But according to the Induction to Ben Jonson's
"Bartholomew Fair," first acted in 1614, at the Hope, a small dirty
theatre on the Bankside, which had formerly been used for
bear-baiting, the prices there ranged from sixpence to half-a-crown.
"It shall be lawful for any man to judge his six pen'worth, his twelve
pen'worth, so to his eighteen pence, two shillings, half-a-crown, to
the value of his place; provided always his place get not above his
wit ... Marry, if he drop but sixpence at the door, and will censure a
crown's worth, it is thought there is no conscience or justice in
that." It is probable, however, that the dramatist was referring to
the prices charged at the first representation of his play. Sixpence
might then be the lowest admission; on other occasions, twopence, or
even one penny. The prologue to "Henry VIII." states:
Those that come to see
Only a show or two, and so agree,
The play may pass; if they be still and willing,
I'll undertake, may see away their shilling
Richly in two short hours.
And there is evidence that in Shakespeare's time one shilling was the
price of admission to the best rooms or boxes. Sir Thomas Overbury
writes in his "Characters," published in 1614: "If he have but twelve
pence in his purse he will give it for the best room in a playhouse."
And the "Gull's Horn Book," 1609, counsels, "At a new play you take up
the twelvepenny room next the stage, because the lords and you may
seem to be hail-fellow well met!"
But it is plain that the tariff of admission was subject to frequent
alterations, and that as money became more abundant, the managers
gradually increased their charges. In the "Scornful Lady" "eighteen
pence" is referred to as though it were the highest price of admission
to the Blackfriars Theatre. Sir John Suckling writes, about the middle
of the seventeenth century:
The sweat of learned Jonson's brain,
And gentle Shakespeare's easier strain,
A hackney-coach conveys you to,
In spite of all that rain can do,
And for your eighteenpence you sit,
The lord and judge of all fresh wit.
It must always be doubtful, however, as to the precise portion of the
theatre these writers intended to designate. As Mr. Collier suggests,
the discordances between the authorities on this question arise,
probably, from the fact that "different prices were charged at
different theatres at different periods."
In our early theatres, the arrangements for receiving the money of the
playgoers were rather of a confused kind. There would seem to have
been several doors, one within the other, at any of which visitors
might tender their admission money. It was understood that he who,
disapproving the performance, withdrew after the termination of the
first act of the play, was entitled to receive back the amount he had
paid for his entrance. This system led to much brawling and fraud. The
matter was deemed important enough to justify royal intervention. An
order was issued in 1665, reciting that complaints had been made by
"our servants, the actors in the Royal Theatre," of divers persons
refusing to pay at the first door of the said theatre, thereby
obliging the doorkeepers to send after, solicit, and importune them
for their entrance-money, and stating it to be the royal will and
pleasure, for the prevention of these disorders, and so that such as
are employed by the said actors might have no opportunity of deceiving
them, that all persons thenceforward coming to the said theatre should
at the first door pay their entrance-money, which was to be restored
to them again in case they returned the same way before the end of the
act. The guards attending the theatre, and all others whom it might
concern, were charged to see that this order was obeyed, and to return
to the Lord Chamberlain the names of such persons as offered "any
violence contrary to this our pleasure."
Apparently the royal decree was not very implicitly obeyed by the
playgoers. At any rate we find, under date January 7th, 1668, the
following entry in Mr. Pepys's "Diary" bearing upon the matter: "To
the Nursery, but the house did not act to-day; and so I to the other
two playhouses, into the pit to gaze up and down, and there did by
this means for nothing see an act in the 'School of Compliments,' at
the Duke of York's house, and 'Henry IV.' at the King's House; but not
liking either of the plays, I took my coach again and home." At the
trial of Lord Mohun, in 1692, for the murder of Mountford, the actor,
John Rogers, one of the doorkeepers of the theatre, deposes that he
applied to his lordship and to Captain Hill, his companion, "for the
overplus of money for coming in, because they came out of the pit upon
the stage. They would not give it. Lord Mohun said if I brought any of
our masters he would slit their noses." It was the fashion for patrons
of the stage at this time to treat its professors with great scorn,
and often to view them with a kind of vindictive jealousy, "I see the
gallants do begin to be tired with the vanity and pride of the theatre
actors, who are indeed grown very proud and rich," noted Pepys, in
1661. In the second year of her reign, Queen Anne issued a decree "for
the better regulation of the theatres," the drama being at this period
the frequent subject of royal interference, and strictly commanded
that "no person of what quality soever should presume to go behind the
scenes, or come upon the stage, either before or during the acting of
any play; that no woman should be allowed, or presume to wear, a
vizard mask in either of the theatres; and that no person should come
into either house without paying the price established for their
respective places."
As the stage advanced more and more in public favour, the actors
ceased to depend for existence upon private patronage and found it
unnecessary to be included among the retinue and servants of the
great. After the Restoration patents were granted to Killigrew and
Davenant, and their companions were described as the servants of the
king and of the Duke of York respectively; but individual noblemen no
longer maintained and protected "players of interludes" for their own
private amusement. And now the court began to come to the drama
instead of requiring that the drama should be carried to the court.
Charles II. was probably the first English monarch who habitually
joined with the general audience and occupied a box at a public
theatre. In addition, he followed the example of preceding sovereigns,
and had plays frequently represented before him at Whitehall and other
royal residences. These performances took place at night, and were
brilliantly lighted with wax candles. With the fall of the Stuart
dynasty the court theatricals ceased almost altogether. Indeed, in
Charles's time there had been much decline in the dignity and
exclusiveness of these entertainments; admission seems to have been
obtainable upon payment at the doors, as though at a public theatre.
Evelyn writes in 1675: "I saw the Italian Scaramuccio act before the
king at Whitehall, people giving money to come in, which was very
scandalous, and never so before at court diversions. Having seen him
act in Italy many years past, I was not averse from seeing the most
excellent of that kind of folly."
It is to be observed that in Pepys's time, and long afterwards, the
prices of admission to the theatres were: Boxes, four shillings; pit,
two shillings and sixpence; first gallery, one shilling and sixpence;
and upper gallery, one shilling. It became customary to raise the
prices whenever great expenses had been incurred by the manager in the
production of a new play or of a pantomime. As the patent theatres
were enlarged or rebuilt, however, the higher rate of charges became
permanently established. After the famous O.P. riots the scale agreed
upon was: Boxes, seven shillings; pit, three shillings; galleries, two
shillings and one shilling; with half-price at nine o'clock. In later
times these charges have been considerably reduced. Half price has
been generally abolished, however, and many rows of the pit have been
converted into stalls at seven or ten shillings each. Altogether, it
may perhaps be held that in Western London, although theatrical
entertainments have been considerably cheapened, they still tax the
pockets of playgoers more severely than need be.
Country managers would seen to have ruled their scale of charges in
strict accordance with the means of their patrons; to have been
content, indeed, with anything they could get from the provincial
playgoers. Mr. Bernard, the actor, in his "Retrospections," makes
mention of a strolling manager, once famous in the north of England
and in Ireland, and known popularly as Jemmy Whitely, who, in
impoverished districts, was indifferent as to whether he received the
public support in money or "in kind." It is related of him that he
would take meat, fowl, vegetables, &c., and pass in the owner and
friends for as many admissions as the food was worth. Thus very often
on a Saturday his treasury resembled a butcher's warehouse, rather
than a banker's. At a village on the coast the inhabitants brought him
nothing but fish; but as the company could not subsist without its
concomitants of bread, potatoes, and spirits, a general appeal was
made to his stomach and sympathies, and some alteration in the terms
of admission required. Jemmy, accordingly, after admitting nineteen
persons one evening for a shad apiece, stopped the twentieth, and
said, "I beg your pardon, my darling, I am extremely sorry to refuse
you; but if we eat any more fish, by the powers, we shall all be
turned into mermaids!"
A famous provincial manager, or "manageress," was one Mrs. Baker,
concerning whom curious particulars are related in the "Memoirs of
Thomas Dibdin," and in the "Life of Grimaldi, the Clown." The lady
owned theatres at Canterbury, Rochester, Maidstone, Tunbridge Wells,
Faversham, Deal, and other places, but was understood to have
commenced her professional career in connection with a puppet-show, or
even the homely entertainment of Punch and Judy. But her industry,
energy, and enterprise were of an indomitable kind. She generally
lived in her theatres, and rising early to accomplish her marketing
and other household duties, she proceeded to take up her position in
the box-office, with the box-book open before her, and resting upon it
"a massy silver inkstand, which, with a superb pair of silver
trumpets, several cups, tankards, and candlesticks of the same pure
metal, it was her honest pride to say she had paid for with her own
hard earnings." While awaiting the visits of those desirous to book
their places for the evening, she arranged the programme of the
entertainments. Her education was far from complete, however, for
although she could read she was but an indifferent scribe. By the help
of the scissors, needle, thread, and a bundle of old playbills, she
achieved her purpose. She cut a play from one bill, an interlude from
another, a farce from a third, and sewing the slips neatly together
avoided the use of pen and ink. When the name of a new performer had
to be introduced she left a blank to be filled up by the first of her
actors she happened to encounter, presuming him to be equal to the use
of a pen. She sometimes beat the drum, or tolled the bell behind the
scenes, when the representation needed such embellishments, and
occasionally fulfilled the duties of prompter. In this respect it was
unavoidable that she should be now and then rather overtasked. On one
special evening she held the book during the performance of the old
farce of "Who's the Dupe?" The part of Gradus was undertaken by her
leading actor, one Gardner, and in the scene of Gradus's attempt to
impose upon the gentleman of the story, by affecting to speak Greek,
the performer's memory unfortunately failed him. He glanced
appealingly towards the prompt-side of the stage. Mrs. Baker was mute,
examining the play-book with a puzzled air. "Give me the word, madam,"
whispered the actor. "It's a hard word, Jem," the lady replied. "Then
give me the next." "That's harder." The performer was at a
stand-still; the situation was becoming desperate. "The next!" cried
Gardner, furiously. "Harder still!" answered the prompter, and then,
perplexed beyond bearing, she flung the book on the stage, and
exclaimed aloud: "There, now you have them all; take your choice."
The lady's usual station was in front of the house, however She was
her own money-taker, and to this fact has been ascribed the great good
fortune she enjoyed as a manager. "Now then, pit or box, pit or
gallery, box or pit!" she cried incessantly. "Pit! Pit!" half-a-dozen
voices might cry. "Then pay two shillings. Pass on, Tom Fool!" for so
on busy nights she invariably addressed her patrons of all classes.
To a woman who had to quit the theatre, owing to the cries of the
child she bore in her arms disturbing the audience, Mrs. Baker
observed, as she returned the entrance-money, "Foolish woman! Foolish
woman! Don't come another night till half-price, and then give your
baby some Dalby's Carminative." "I remember," writes Dibdin, "one very
crowded night patronised by a royal duke at Tunbridge Wells, when Mrs.
Baker was taking money for three doors at once, her anxiety and very
proper tact led her, while receiving cash from one customer, to keep
an eye in perspective on the next, to save time, as thus: 'Little
girl! get your money ready, while this gentleman pays. My lord! I'm
sure your lordship has silver. Let that little boy go in while I give
his lordship change. Shan't count after your ladyship. Here comes the
duke! Make haste! His royal highness will please to get his ticket
ready while my lady--now, sir! Now your royal highness!' 'Oh dear,
Mrs. Baker, I've left my ticket in another coat-pocket!' 'To be sure
you have! Take your royal highness's word! Let his royal highness
pass! His royal highness has left his ticket in his _other_
coat-pocket.' Great laughter followed, and I believe the rank and
fashion of the evening found more entertainment in the lobby than on
the stage."
On the occasion of Grimaldi's engagement, "for one night only," it was
found necessary to open the doors of the Maidstone Theatre at a very
early hour, to relieve the thoroughfare of the dense crowd which had
assembled. The house being quite full, Mrs. Baker locked up the box in
which the receipts of the evening had been deposited, and, going round
to the stage, directed the performances to be commenced forthwith,
remarking, reasonably enough, "that the house could but be full, and
being full to the ceiling now, they might just as well begin at once,
and have business over so much the sooner." Greatly to the
satisfaction of the audience, the representation accordingly began
without delay, and terminated shortly after nine o'clock.
It should be added that Mrs. Baker had been a dancer in early life,
and was long famed for the grace of her carriage and the elegance of
her curtsey. Occasionally she ventured upon the stage dressed in the
bonnet and shawl she had worn while receiving money and issuing
tickets at the door, and in audible tones announced the performances
arranged for future evenings, the audience enthusiastically welcoming
her appearance. A measure of her manifold talents was shared by other
members of her family. Her sister, Miss Wakelin, was principal comic
dancer to the theatre, occasional actress, wardrobe keeper, and
professed cook, being, rewarded for her various services by board and
lodging, a salary of £1 11s. 6d. per week, and a benefit in every town
Mrs. Baker visited, with other emoluments by way of perquisites. Two
of Mrs. Baker's daughters were also members of her company, and
divided between them the heroines of tragedy and comedy. One Miss
Baker subsequently became the wife of Mr. Dowton, the actor.
A settled distrust of the Bank of England was one of Mrs. Baker's most
marked peculiarities. At the close of the performance she resigned the
position she had occupied for some five hours as money-taker for pit,
boxes, and gallery, and retired to her chamber, carrying the receipts
of the evening in a large front pocket. This money she added to a
store contained in half-a-dozen large china punch-bowls, ranged upon
the top shelf of an old bureau. For many years she carried her savings
about with her from town to town, sometimes retaining upon her person
gold in rouleaux to a large amount. She is even said to have kept in
her pocket for seven years a note for £200. At length her wealth
became a positive embarrassment to her. She deposited sums in country
banks and in the hands of respectable tradesmen, at three per cent.,
sometimes without receiving any interest whatever, but merely with a
view to the safer custody of her resources. It was with exceeding
difficulty that she was eventually persuaded to become a fundholder.
She handed over her store of gold to her stockbroker with
extraordinary trepidation. It is satisfactory to be assured that at
last she accorded perfect confidence to the Old Lady in Threadneedle
Street, increased her investments from time to time, and learned to
find pleasure in visiting London half-yearly to receive her dividends.
Altogether Mrs. Baker appears to have been a thoroughly estimable
woman, cordially regarded by the considerate members of the theatrical
profession with whom she had dealings. While recording her
eccentricities, and conceding that occasionally her language was more
forcible and idiomatic than tasteful or refined, Dibdin hastens to
add that "she owned an excellent heart, with much of the appearance
and manners of a gentlewoman." Grimaldi was not less prompt in
expressing his complete satisfaction in regard to his engagements with
"the manageress." Dibdin wrote the epitaph inscribed above her grave
in the cathedral yard of Rochester. A few lines may be extracted, but
it must be said that the composition is of inferior quality:
Alone, untaught,
And self-assisted (save by Heaven), she sought
To render each his own, and fairly save
What might help others when she found a grave;
By prudence taught life's troubled waves to stem,
In death her memory shines, a rich, unpolished gem.
It is conceivable--so much may perhaps be added by way of concluding
note--that Mrs. Baker unconsciously posed as a model, and lent a
feature or two, when the portrait came to be painted of even a more
distinguished "manageress," whose theatre was a caravan, however,
whose company consisted of waxen effigies, and who bore the name
of--Jarley.