[Illustration: Ad Lalauze, sc apres Peter Van Bleeck]
_The Theatrical Characters of the Principal Actors in the Year
1690, continu'd._
_A few Words to Critical Auditors._
Tho', as I have before observ'd, Women were not admitted to the Stage
'till the Return of King _Charles_, yet it could not be so suddenly
supply'd with them but that there was still a Necessity, for some time,
to put the handsomest young Men into Petticoats;[128] which _Kynaston_
was then said to have worn with Success; particularly in the Part of
_Evadne_ in the _Maid's Tragedy_, which I have heard him speak of, and
which calls to my Mind a ridiculous Distress that arose from these sort
of Shifts which the Stage was then put to.----The King coming a little
before his usual time to a Tragedy, found the Actors not ready to begin,
when his Majesty, not chusing to have as much Patience as his good
Subjects, sent to them to know the Meaning of it; upon which the Master
of the Company came to the Box, and rightly judging that the best Excuse
for their Default would be the true one, fairly told his Majesty that
the Queen was not _shav'd_ yet: The King, whose good Humour lov'd to
laugh at a Jest as well as to make one, accepted the Excuse, which
serv'd to divert him till the male Queen cou'd be effeminated. In a
word, _Kynaston_ at that time was so beautiful a Youth that the Ladies
of Quality prided themselves in taking him with them in their Coaches
to _Hyde-Park_ in his Theatrical Habit, after the Play; which in those
Days they might have sufficient time to do, because Plays then were us'd
to begin at four a-Clock: The Hour that People of the same Rank are now
going to Dinner.----Of this Truth I had the Curiosity to enquire, and
had it confirm'd from his own Mouth in his advanc'd Age: And indeed, to
the last of him, his Handsomeness was very little abated; even at past
Sixty his Teeth were all sound, white, and even, as one would wish to
see in a reigning Toast of Twenty. He had something of a formal Gravity
in his Mien, which was attributed to the stately Step he had been so
early confin'd to, in a female Decency. But even that in Characters of
Superiority had its proper Graces; it misbecame him not in the Part of
_Leon_, in _Fletcher's Rule a Wife, &c._ which he executed with a
determin'd Manliness and honest Authority well worth the best Actor's
Imitation. He had a piercing Eye, and in Characters of heroick Life a
quick imperious Vivacity in his Tone of Voice that painted the Tyrant
truly terrible. There were two Plays of _Dryden_ in which he shone with
uncommon Lustre; in _Aurenge-Zebe_ he play'd _Morat_, and in _Don
Sebastian, Muley Moloch_; in both these Parts he had a fierce, Lion-like
Majesty in his Port and Utterance that gave the Spectator a kind of
trembling Admiration!
Here I cannot help observing upon a modest Mistake which I thought the
late Mr. _Booth_ committed in his acting the Part of _Morat_. There are
in this fierce Character so many Sentiments of avow'd Barbarity,
Insolence, and Vain-glory, that they blaze even to a ludicrous Lustre,
and doubtless the Poet intended those to make his Spectators laugh while
they admir'd them; but _Booth_ thought it depreciated the Dignity of
Tragedy to raise a Smile in any part of it, and therefore cover'd these
kind of Sentiments with a scrupulous Coldness and unmov'd Delivery, as
if he had fear'd the Audience might take too familiar a notice of
them.[129] In Mr. _Addison's Cato, Syphax_[130] has some Sentiments of
near the same nature, which I ventur'd to speak as I imagin'd
_Kynaston_ would have done had he been then living to have stood in the
same Character. Mr. _Addison_, who had something of Mr. _Booth_'s
Diffidence at the Rehearsal of his Play, after it was acted came into my
Opinion, and own'd that even Tragedy on such particular Occasions might
admit of a _Laugh_ of _Approbation_.[131] In _Shakespear_ Instances of
them are frequent, as in _Mackbeth_, _Hotspur_, _Richard the Third_, and
_Harry the Eighth_,[132] all which Characters, tho' of a tragical Cast,
have sometimes familiar Strokes in them so highly natural to each
particular Disposition, that it is impossible not to be transported into
an honest Laughter at them: And these are those happy Liberties which,
tho' few Authors are qualify'd to take, yet, when justly taken, may
challenge a Place among their greatest Beauties. Now, whether _Dryden_,
in his _Morat, feliciter Audet_,[133]----or may be allow'd the Happiness
of having hit this Mark, seems not necessary to be determin'd by the
Actor, whose Business, sure, is to make the best of his Author's
Intention, as in this Part _Kynaston_ did, doubtless not without
_Dryden_'s Approbation. For these Reasons then, I thought my good
Friend, Mr. _Booth_ (who certainly had many Excellencies) carry'd his
Reverence for the Buskin too far, in not following the bold Flights of
the Author with that Wantonness of Spirit which the Nature of those
Sentiments demanded: For Example! _Morat_ having a criminal Passion for
_Indamora_, promises, at her Request, for one Day to spare the Life of
her Lover _Aurenge-Zebe_: But not chusing to make known the real Motive
of his Mercy, when _Nourmahal_ says to him,
_'Twill not be safe to let him live an Hour!_
_Morat_ silences her with this heroical _Rhodomontade_,
_I'll do't, to shew my Arbitrary Power_.[134]
_Risum teneatis?_ It was impossible not to laugh and reasonably too,
when this Line came out of the Mouth of _Kynaston_,[135] with the stern
and haughty Look that attended it. But above this tyrannical, tumid
Superiority of Character there is a grave and rational Majesty in
_Shakespear's Harry the Fourth_, which, tho' not so glaring to the
vulgar Eye, requires thrice the Skill and Grace to become and support.
Of this real Majesty _Kynaston_ was entirely Master; here every
Sentiment came from him as if it had been his own, as if he had himself
that instant conceiv'd it, as if he had lost the Player and were the
real King he personated! a Perfection so rarely found, that very often,
in Actors of good Repute, a certain Vacancy of Look, Inanity of Voice,
or superfluous Gesture, shall unmask the Man to the judicious Spectator,
who, from the least of those Errors, plainly sees the whole but a Lesson
given him to be got by Heart from some great Author whose Sense is
deeper than the Repeater's Understanding. This true Majesty _Kynaston_
had so entire a Command of, that when he whisper'd the following plain
Line to _Hotspur_,
_Send us your Prisoners, or you'll hear of it_![136]
He convey'd a more terrible Menace in it than the loudest Intemperance
of Voice could swell to. But let the bold Imitator beware, for without
the Look and just Elocution that waited on it an Attempt of the same
nature may fall to nothing.
[Illustration: KYNASTON.]
But the Dignity of this Character appear'd in _Kynaston_ still more
shining in the private Scene between the King and Prince his Son: There
you saw Majesty in that sort of Grief which only Majesty could feel!
there the paternal Concern for the Errors of the Son made the Monarch
more rever'd and dreaded: His Reproaches so just, yet so unmix'd with
Anger (and therefore the more piercing) opening as it were the Arms of
Nature with a secret Wish, that filial Duty and Penitence awak'd, might
fall into them with Grace and Honour. In this affecting Scene I thought
_Kynaston_ shew'd his most masterly Strokes of Nature; expressing all
the various Motions of the Heart with the same Force, Dignity and
Feeling, they are written; adding to the whole that peculiar and
becoming Grace which the best Writer cannot inspire into any Actor that
is not born with it. What made the Merit of this Actor and that of
_Betterton_ more surprizing, was that though they both observ'd the
Rules of Truth and Nature, they were each as different in their manner
of acting as in their personal Form and Features. But _Kynaston_ staid
too long upon the Stage, till his Memory and Spirit began to fail him. I
shall not therefore say any thing of his Imperfections, which, at that
time, were visibly not his own, but the Effects of decaying Nature.[137]
_Monfort_,[138] a younger Man by twenty Years, and at this time in his
highest Reputation, was an Actor of a very different Style: Of Person he
was tall, well made, fair, and of an agreeable Aspect: His Voice clear,
full, and melodious: In Tragedy he was the most affecting Lover within
my Memory. His Addresses had a resistless Recommendation from the very
Tone of his Voice, which gave his Words such Softness that, as _Dryden_
says,
----_Like Flakes of feather'd Snow,
They melted as they fell_![139]
All this he particularly verify'd in that Scene of _Alexander_, where
the Heroe throws himself at the Feet of _Statira_ for Pardon of his past
Infidelities. There we saw the Great, the Tender, the Penitent, the
Despairing, the Transported, and the Amiable, in the highest Perfection.
In Comedy he gave the truest Life to what we call the _Fine Gentleman_;
his Spirit shone the brighter for being polish'd with Decency: In Scenes
of Gaiety he never broke into the Regard that was due to the Presence of
equal or superior Characters, tho' inferior Actors play'd them; he
fill'd the Stage, not by elbowing and crossing it before others, or
disconcerting their Action, but by surpassing them in true masterly
Touches of Nature. He never laugh'd at his own Jest, unless the Point
of his Raillery upon another requir'd it.--He had a particular Talent in
giving Life to _bons Mots_ and _Repartees_: The Wit of the Poet seem'd
always to come from him _extempore_, and sharpen'd into more Wit from
his brilliant manner of delivering it; he had himself a good Share of
it, or what is equal to it, so lively a Pleasantness of Humour, that
when either of these fell into his Hands upon the Stage, he wantoned
with them to the highest Delight of his Auditors. The _agreeable_ was so
natural to him, that even in that dissolute Character of the
_Rover_[140] he seem'd to wash off the Guilt from Vice, and gave it
Charms and Merit. For tho' it may be a Reproach to the Poet to draw such
Characters not only unpunish'd but rewarded, the Actor may still be
allow'd his due Praise in his excellent Performance. And this is a
Distinction which, when this Comedy was acted at _Whitehall_, King
_William_'s Queen _Mary_ was pleas'd to make in favour of _Monfort_,
notwithstanding her Disapprobation of the Play.
He had, besides all this, a Variety in his Genius which few capital
Actors have shewn, or perhaps have thought it any Addition to their
Merit to arrive at; he could entirely change himself; could at once
throw off the Man of Sense for the brisk, vain, rude, and lively
Coxcomb, the false, flashy Pretender to Wit, and the Dupe of his own
Sufficiency: Of this he gave a delightful Instance in the Character of
_Sparkish_ in _Wycherly's Country Wife_. In that of Sir _Courtly
Nice_[141] his Excellence was still greater: There his whole Man, Voice,
Mien, and Gesture was no longer _Monfort_, but another Person. There,
the insipid, soft Civility, the elegant and formal Mien, the drawling
Delicacy of Voice, the stately Flatness of his Address, and the empty
Eminence of his Attitudes were so nicely observ'd and guarded by him,
that he had not been an entire Master of Nature had he not kept his
Judgment, as it were, a Centinel upon himself, not to admit the least
Likeness of what he us'd to be to enter into any Part of his
Performance, he could not possibly have so completely finish'd it. If,
some Years after the Death of _Monfort_, I my self had any Success in
either of these Characters, I must pay the Debt I owe to his Memory, in
confessing the Advantages I receiv'd from the just Idea and strong
Impression he had given me from his acting them. Had he been remember'd
when I first attempted them my Defects would have been more easily
discover'd, and consequently my favourable Reception in them must have
been very much and justly abated. If it could be remembred how much he
had the Advantage of me in Voice and Person, I could not here be
suspected of an affected Modesty or of over-valuing his Excellence: For
he sung a clear Counter-tenour, and had a melodious, warbling Throat,
which could not but set off the last Scene of Sir _Courtly_ with an
uncommon Happiness; which I, alas! could only struggle thro' with the
faint Excuses and real Confidence of a fine Singer under the
Imperfection of a feign'd and screaming Trebble, which at best could
only shew you what I would have done had Nature been more favourable to
me.
This excellent Actor was cut off by a tragical Death in the 33d Year of
his Age, generally lamented by his Friends and all Lovers of the
Theatre. The particular Accidents that attended his Fall are to be found
at large in the Trial of the Lord _Mohun_, printed among those of the
State, in _Folio_.[142]
_Sandford_ might properly be term'd the _Spagnolet_ of the Theatre, an
excellent Actor in disagreeable Characters: For as the chief Pieces of
that famous Painter were of Human Nature in Pain and Agony, so
_Sandford_ upon the Stage was generally as flagitious as a _Creon_, a
_Maligni_, an _Iago_, or a _Machiavil_[143] could make him. The Painter,
'tis true, from the Fire of his Genius might think the quiet Objects of
Nature too tame for his Pencil, and therefore chose to indulge it in its
full Power upon those of Violence and Horror: But poor _Sandford_ was
not the Stage-Villain by Choice, but from Necessity; for having a low
and crooked Person, such bodily Defects were too strong to be admitted
into great or amiable Characters; so that whenever in any new or revived
Play there was a hateful or mischievous Person, _Sandford_ was sure to
have no Competitor for it: Nor indeed (as we are not to suppose a
Villain or Traitor can be shewn for our Imitation, or not for our
Abhorrence) can it be doubted but the less comely the Actor's Person the
fitter he may be to perform them. The Spectator too, by not being misled
by a tempting Form, may be less inclin'd to excuse the wicked or immoral
Views or Sentiments of them. And though the hard Fate of an _Oedipus_
might naturally give the Humanity of an Audience thrice the Pleasure
that could arise from the wilful Wickedness of the best acted _Creon,_
yet who could say that _Sandford_ in such a Part was not Master of as
true and just Action as the best Tragedian could be whose happier
Person had recommended him to the virtuous Heroe, or any other more
pleasing Favourite of the Imagination? In this disadvantageous Light,
then, stood _Sandford_ as an Actor; admir'd by the Judicious, while the
Crowd only prais'd him by their Prejudice.[144] And so unusual had it
been to see _Sandford_ an innocent Man in a Play, that whenever he was
so, the Spectators would hardly give him credit in so gross an
Improbability. Let me give you an odd Instance of it, which I heard
_Monfort_ say was a real Fact. A new Play (the Name of it I have forgot)
was brought upon the Stage, wherein _Sandford_ happen'd to perform the
Part of an honest Statesman: The Pit, after they had sate three or four
Acts in a quiet Expectation that the well-dissembled Honesty of
_Sandford_ (for such of course they concluded it) would soon be
discover'd, or at least, from its Security, involve the Actors in the
Play in some surprizing Distress or Confusion, which might raise and
animate the Scenes to come; when, at last, finding no such matter, but
that the Catastrophe had taken quite another Turn, and that _Sandford_
was really an honest Man to the end of the Play, they fairly damn'd it,
as if the Author had impos'd upon them the most frontless or incredible
Absurdity.[145]
It is not improbable but that from _Sandford_'s so masterly personating
Characters of Guilt, the inferior Actors might think his Success chiefly
owing to the Defects of his Person; and from thence might take occasion,
whenever they appear'd as Bravo's or Murtherers, to make themselves as
frightful and as inhuman Figures as possible. In King _Charles_'s time,
this low Skill was carry'd to such an Extravagance, that the King
himself, who was black-brow'd and of a swarthy Complexion, pass'd a
pleasant Remark upon his observing the grim Looks of the Murtherers in
_Mackbeth_; when, turning to his People in the Box about him, _Pray,
what is the Meaning_, said he, _that we never see a Rogue in a Play,
but, Godsfish! they always clap him on a black Perriwig? when it is well
known one of the greatest Rogues in_ England _always wears a fair one_?
Now, whether or no Dr. _Oates_ at that time wore his own Hair I cannot
be positive: Or, if his Majesty pointed at some greater Man then out of
Power, I leave those to guess at him who may yet remember the changing
Complexion of his Ministers.[146] This Story I had from _Betterton_, who
was a Man of Veracity: And I confess I should have thought the King's
Observation a very just one, though he himself had been fair as
_Adonis_. Nor can I in this Question help voting with the Court; for
were it not too gross a Weakness to employ in wicked Purposes Men whose
very suspected Looks might be enough to betray them? Or are we to
suppose it unnatural that a Murther should be thoroughly committed out
of an old red Coat and a black Perriwig?
For my own part, I profess myself to have been an Admirer of _Sandford_,
and have often lamented that his masterly Performance could not be
rewarded with that Applause which I saw much inferior Actors met with,
merely because they stood in more laudable Characters. For, tho' it may
be a Merit in an Audience to applaud Sentiments of Virtue and Honour;
yet there seems to be an equal Justice that no Distinction should be
made as to the Excellence of an Actor, whether in a good or evil
Character; since neither the Vice nor the Virtue of it is his own, but
given him by the Poet: Therefore, why is not the Actor who shines in
either equally commendable?--No, Sir; this may be Reason, but that is
not always a Rule with us; the Spectator will tell you, that when
Virtue is applauded he gives part of it to himself; because his Applause
at the same time lets others about him see that he himself admires it.
But when a wicked Action is going forward; when an _Iago_ is meditating
Revenge and Mischief; tho' Art and Nature may be equally strong in the
Actor, the Spectator is shy of his Applause, lest he should in some sort
be look'd upon as an Aider or an Abettor of the Wickedness in view; and
therefore rather chuses to rob the Actor of the Praise he may merit,
than give it him in a Character which he would have you see his Silence
modestly discourages. From the same fond Principle many Actors have made
it a Point to be seen in Parts sometimes even flatly written, only
because they stood in the favourable Light of Honour and Virtue.[147]
I have formerly known an Actress carry this Theatrical Prudery to such a
height, that she was very near keeping herself chaste by it: Her
Fondness for Virtue on the Stage she began to think might perswade the
World that it had made an Impression on her private Life; and the
Appearances of it actually went so far that, in an Epilogue to an
obscure Play, the Profits of which were given to her, and wherein she
acted a Part of impregnable Chastity, she bespoke the Favour of the
Ladies by a Protestation that in Honour of their Goodness and Virtue she
would dedicate her unblemish'd Life to their Example. Part of this
Vestal Vow, I remember, was contain'd in the following Verse:
_Study to live the Character I play_.[148]
But alas! how weak are the strongest Works of Art when Nature besieges it?
for though this good Creature so far held out her Distaste to Mankind that
they could never reduce her to marry any one of 'em; yet we must own she
grew, like _Cæsar_, greater by her Fall! Her first heroick Motive to a
Surrender was to save the Life of a Lover who in his Despair had vow'd to
destroy himself, with which Act of Mercy (in a jealous Dispute once in my
Hearing) she was provoked to reproach him in these very Words: _Villain!
did not I save your Life?_ The generous Lover, in return to that first
tender Obligation, gave Life to her First-born,[149] and that pious
Offspring has since raised to her Memory several innocent Grandchildren.
So that, as we see, it is not the Hood that makes the Monk, nor the Veil
the Vestal; I am apt to think that if the personal Morals of an Actor
were to be weighed by his Appearance on the Stage, the Advantage and
Favour (if any were due to either side) might rather incline to the
Traitor than the Heroe, to the _Sempronius_ than the _Cato_, or to the
_Syphax_ than the _Juba_: Because no Man can naturally desire to cover
his Honesty with a wicked Appearance; but an ill Man might possibly
incline to cover his Guilt with the Appearance of Virtue, which was the
Case of the frail Fair One now mentioned. But be this Question decided
as it may, _Sandford_ always appear'd to me the honester Man in
proportion to the Spirit wherewith he exposed the wicked and immoral
Characters he acted: For had his Heart been unsound, or tainted with the
least Guilt of them, his Conscience must, in spite of him, in any too
near a Resemblance of himself, have been a Check upon the Vivacity of
his Action. _Sandford_ therefore might be said to have contributed his
equal Share with the foremost Actors to the true and laudable Use of the
Stage: And in this Light too, of being so frequently the Object of
common Distaste, we may honestly stile him a Theatrical Martyr to
Poetical Justice: For in making Vice odious or Virtue amiable, where
does the Merit differ? To hate the one or love the other are but leading
Steps to the same Temple of Fame, tho' at different Portals.[150]
This Actor, in his manner of Speaking, varied very much from those I
have already mentioned. His Voice had an acute and piercing Tone, which
struck every Syllable of his Words distinctly upon the Ear. He had
likewise a peculiar Skill in his Look of marking out to an Audience
whatever he judg'd worth their more than ordinary Notice. When he
deliver'd a Command, he would sometimes give it more Force by seeming to
slight the Ornament of Harmony. In _Dryden_'s Plays of Rhime, he as
little as possible glutted the Ear with the Jingle of it, rather
chusing, when the Sense would permit him, to lose it, than to value it.
Had _Sandford_ liv'd in _Shakespear_'s Time, I am confident his Judgment
must have chose him above all other Actors to have play'd his _Richard
the Third_: I leave his Person out of the Question, which, tho'
naturally made for it, yet that would have been the least Part of his
Recommendation; _Sandford_ had stronger Claims to it; he had sometimes
an uncouth Stateliness in his Motion, a harsh and sullen Pride of
Speech, a meditating Brow, a stern Aspect, occasionally changing into an
almost ludicrous Triumph over all Goodness and Virtue: From thence
falling into the most asswasive Gentleness and soothing Candour of a
designing Heart. These, I say, must have preferr'd him to it; these
would have been Colours so essentially shining in that Character, that
it will be no Dispraise to that great Author to say, _Sandford_ must
have shewn as many masterly Strokes in it (had he ever acted it) as are
visible in the Writing it.[151]
When I first brought _Richard the Third_[152] (with such Alterations
as I thought not improper) to the Stage, _Sandford_ was engaged
in the Company then acting under King _William_'s Licence in
_Lincoln's-Inn-Fields_; otherwise you cannot but suppose my Interest
must have offer'd him that Part. What encouraged me, therefore, to
attempt it myself at the _Theatre-Royal_, was that I imagined I knew how
_Sandford_ would have spoken every Line of it: If, therefore, in any
Part of it I succeeded, let the Merit be given to him: And how far I
succeeded in that Light, those only can be Judges who remember him. In
order, therefore, to give you a nearer Idea of _Sandford_, you must give
me leave (compell'd as I am to be vain) to tell you that the late Sir
_John Vanbrugh_, who was an Admirer of _Sandford_, after he had seen me
act it, assur'd me That he never knew any one Actor so particularly
profit by another as I had done by _Sandford_ in _Richard the Third_:
_You have_, said he, _his very Look, Gesture, Gait, Speech, and every
Motion of him, and have borrow'd them all only to serve you in that
Character_. If, therefore, Sir _John Vanbrugh_'s Observation was just,
they who remember me in _Richard the Third_ may have a nearer Conception
of _Sandford_ than from all the critical Account I can give of him.[153]
I come now to those other Men Actors, who at this time were equally
famous in the lower Life of Comedy. But I find myself more at a loss to
give you them in their true and proper Light, than those I have already
set before you. Why the Tragedian warms us into Joy or Admiration, or
sets our Eyes on flow with Pity, we can easily explain to another's
Apprehension: But it may sometimes puzzle the gravest Spectator to
account for that familiar Violence of Laughter that shall seize him at
some particular Strokes of a true Comedian. How then shall I describe
what a better Judge might not be able to express? The Rules to please
the Fancy cannot so easily be laid down as those that ought to govern
the Judgment. The Decency, too, that must be observed in Tragedy,
reduces, by the manner of speaking it, one Actor to be much more like
another than they can or need be supposed to be in Comedy: There the
Laws of Action give them such free and almost unlimited Liberties to
play and wanton with Nature, that the Voice, Look, and Gesture of a
Comedian may be as various as the Manners and Faces of the whole Mankind
are different from one another. These are the Difficulties I lie under.
Where I want Words, therefore, to describe what I may commend, I can
only hope you will give credit to my Opinion: And this Credit I shall
most stand in need of, when I tell you, that:
_Nokes_[154] was an Actor of a quite different Genius from any I have
ever read, heard of, or seen, since or before his Time; and yet his
general Excellence may be comprehended in one Article, _viz._ a plain
and palpable Simplicity of Nature, which was so utterly his own, that he
was often as unaccountably diverting in his common Speech as on the
Stage. I saw him once giving an Account of some Table-talk to another
Actor behind the Scenes, which a Man of Quality accidentally listening
to, was so deceived by his Manner, that he ask'd him if that was a new
Play he was rehearsing? It seems almost amazing that this Simplicity, so
easy to _Nokes_, should never be caught by any one of his Successors.
_Leigh_ and _Underhil_ have been well copied, tho' not equall'd by
others. But not all the mimical Skill of _Estcourt_ (fam'd as he was for
it) tho' he had often seen _Nokes_, could scarce give us an Idea of him.
After this perhaps it will be saying less of him, when I own, that
though I have still the Sound of every Line he spoke in my Ear, (which
us'd not to be thought a bad one) yet I have often try'd by myself, but
in vain, to reach the least distant Likeness of the _Vis Comica_ of
_Nokes_. Though this may seem little to his Praise, it may be negatively
saying a good deal to it, because I have never seen any one Actor,
except himself, whom I could not at least so far imitate as to give you
a more than tolerable Notion of his manner. But _Nokes_ was so singular
a Species, and was so form'd by Nature for the Stage, that I question if
(beyond the trouble of getting Words by Heart) it ever cost him an
Hour's Labour to arrive at that high Reputation he had, and deserved.
The Characters he particularly shone in, were Sir _Martin Marr-all_,
_Gomez_ in the _Spanish Friar_, Sir _Nicolas Cully_ in _Love in a
Tub_,[155] _Barnaby Brittle_ in the _Wanton Wife_, Sir _Davy Dunce_ in
the _Soldier's Fortune_, _Sosia_ in _Amphytrion_,[156] &c. &c. &c. To
tell you how he acted them is beyond the reach of Criticism: But to tell
you what Effect his Action had upon the Spectator is not impossible:
This then is all you will expect from me, and from hence I must leave
you to guess at him.
He scarce ever made his first Entrance in a Play but he was received
with an involuntary Applause, not of Hands only, for those may be, and
have often been partially prostituted and bespoken, but by a General
Laughter which the very Sight of him provoked and Nature cou'd not
resist; yet the louder the Laugh the graver was his Look upon it; and
sure, the ridiculous Solemnity of his Features were enough to have set a
whole Bench of Bishops into a Titter, cou'd he have been honour'd (may
it be no Offence to suppose it) with such grave and right reverend
Auditors. In the ludicrous Distresses which, by the Laws of Comedy,
Folly is often involv'd in, he sunk into such a mixture of piteous
Pusillanimity and a Consternation so ruefully ridiculous and
inconsolable, that when he had shook you to a Fatigue of Laughter it
became a moot point whether you ought not to have pity'd him. When he
debated any matter by himself, he would shut up his Mouth with a dumb
studious Powt, and roll his full Eye into such a vacant Amazement, such
a palpable Ignorance of what to think of it, that his silent Perplexity
(which would sometimes hold him several Minutes) gave your Imagination
as full Content as the most absurd thing he could say upon it. In the
Character of Sir _Martin Marr-all_, who is always committing Blunders to
the Prejudice of his own Interest, when he had brought himself to a
Dilemma in his Affairs by vainly proceeding upon his own Head, and was
afterwards afraid to look his governing Servant and Counsellor in the
Face, what a copious and distressful Harangue have I seen him make with
his Looks (while the House has been in one continued Roar for several
Minutes) before he could prevail with his Courage to speak a Word to
him! Then might you have at once read in his Face _Vexation_--that his
own Measures, which he had piqued himself upon, had fail'd. _Envy_--of
his Servant's superior Wit--_Distress_--to retrieve the Occasion he had
lost. _Shame_--to confess his Folly; and yet a sullen Desire to be
reconciled and better advised for the future! What Tragedy ever shew'd
us such a Tumult of Passions rising at once in one Bosom! or what
buskin'd Heroe standing under the Load of them could have more
effectually mov'd his Spectators by the most pathetick Speech, than poor
miserable _Nokes_ did by this silent Eloquence and piteous Plight of his
Features?
His Person was of the middle size, his Voice clear and audible; his
natural Countenance grave and sober; but the Moment he spoke the settled
Seriousness of his Features was utterly discharg'd, and a dry, drolling,
or laughing Levity took such full Possession of him that I can only
refer the Idea of him to your Imagination. In some of his low
Characters, that became it, he had a shuffling Shamble in his Gait, with
so contented an Ignorance in his Aspect and an aukward Absurdity in his
Gesture, that had you not known him, you could not have believ'd that
naturally he could have had a Grain of common Sense. In a Word, I am
tempted to sum up the Character of _Nokes_, as a Comedian, in a Parodie
of what _Shakespear_'s _Mark Antony_ says of _Brutus_ as a Hero.
_His Life was Laughter, and the_ Ludicrous
_So mixt in him, that Nature might stand up
And say to all the World--This was an_ Actor.[157]
_Leigh_ was of the mercurial kind, and though not so strict an Observer of
Nature, yet never so wanton in his Performance as to be wholly out of her
Sight. In Humour he lov'd to take a full Career, but was careful enough to
stop short when just upon the Precipice: He had great Variety in his
manner, and was famous in very different Characters: In the canting, grave
Hypocrisy of the _Spanish_ Friar he stretcht the Veil of Piety so thinly
over him, that in every Look, Word, and Motion you saw a palpable, wicked
Slyness shine through it--Here he kept his Vivacity demurely confin'd till
the pretended Duty of his Function demanded it, and then he exerted it
with a cholerick sacerdotal Insolence. But the Friar is a Character of
such glaring Vice and so strongly drawn, that a very indifferent Actor
cannot but hit upon the broad Jests that are remarkable in every Scene of
it. Though I have never yet seen any one that has fill'd them with half
the Truth and Spirit of _Leigh_----_Leigh_ rais'd the Character as much
above the Poet's Imagination as the Character has sometimes rais'd other
Actors above themselves! and I do not doubt but the Poet's Knowledge of
_Leigh_'s Genius help'd him to many a pleasant Stroke of Nature, which
without that Knowledge never might have enter'd into his Conception.
_Leigh_ was so eminent in this Character that the late Earl of _Dorset_
(who was equally an Admirer and a Judge of Theatrical Merit) had a whole
Length of him, in the Friar's Habit, drawn by _Kneller_: The whole
Portrait is highly painted, and extremely like him. But no wonder _Leigh_
arriv'd to such Fame in what was so compleatly written for him, when
Characters that would make the Reader yawn in the Closet, have, by the
Strength of his Action, been lifted into the lowdest Laughter on the
Stage. Of this kind was the Scrivener's great boobily Son in the
_Villain_;[158] _Ralph_, a stupid, staring Under-servant, in Sir
_Solomon Single_.[159] Quite opposite to those were Sir _Jolly Jumble_ in
the _Soldier's Fortune_,[160] and his old _Belfond_ in the _Squire of
Alsatia_.[161] In Sir _Jolly_ he was all Life and laughing Humour, and
when _Nokes_ acted with him in the same Play, they returned the Ball so
dexterously upon one another, that every Scene between them seem'd but one
continued Rest[162] of Excellence----But alas! when those Actors were
gone, that Comedy and many others, for the same Reason, were rarely known
to stand upon their own Legs; by seeing no more of _Leigh_ or _Nokes_ in
them, the Characters were quite sunk and alter'd. In his Sir _William
Belfond_, _Leigh_ shew'd a more spirited Variety than ever I saw any
Actor, in any one Character, come up to: The Poet, 'tis true, had here
exactly chalked for him the Out-lines of Nature; but the high Colouring,
the strong Lights and Shades of Humour that enliven'd the whole and struck
our Admiration with Surprize and Delight, were wholly owing to the Actor.
The easy Reader might, perhaps, have been pleased with the Author without
discomposing a Feature, but the Spectator must have heartily held his
Sides, or the Actor would have heartily made them ach for it.
[Illustration: ANTHONY LEIGH.]
Now, though I observ'd before that _Nokes_ never was tolerably touch'd
by any of his Successors, yet in this Character I must own I have
seen _Leigh_ extremely well imitated by my late facetious Friend
_Penkethman_, who, tho' far short of what was inimitable in the
Original, yet, as to the general Resemblance, was a very valuable Copy
of him: And, as I know _Penkethman_ cannot yet be out of your Memory, I
have chosen to mention him here, to give you the nearest Idea I can of
the Excellence of _Leigh_ in that particular Light: For _Leigh_ had many
masterly Variations which the other cou'd not, nor ever pretended to
reach, particularly in the Dotage and Follies of extreme old Age, in the
Characters of _Fumble_ in the _Fond Husband_,[163] and the Toothless
Lawyer[164] in the _City Politicks_, both which Plays liv'd only by the
extraordinary Performance of _Nokes_ and _Leigh_.
There were two other Characters of the farcical kind, _Geta_ in the
_Prophetess_, and _Crack_ in Sir _Courtly Nice_, which, as they are less
confin'd to Nature, the Imitation of them was less difficult to
_Penkethman_,[165] who, to say the Truth, delighted more in the
whimsical than the natural; therefore, when I say he sometimes resembled
_Leigh_, I reserve this Distinction on his Master's side, that the
pleasant Extravagancies of _Leigh_ were all the Flowers of his own
Fancy, while the less fertile Brain of my Friend was contented to make
use of the Stock his Predecessor had left him. What I have said,
therefore, is not to detract from honest _Pinky_'s Merit, but to do
Justice to his Predecessor----And though, 'tis true, we as seldom see a
good Actor as a great Poet arise from the bare _Imitation_ of another's
Genius, yet if this be a general Rule, _Penkethman_ was the nearest to
an Exception from it; for with those who never knew _Leigh_ he might
very well have pass'd for a more than common Original. Yet again, as
my Partiality for _Penkethman_ ought not to lead me from Truth, I must
beg leave (though out of its Place) to tell you fairly what was the
best of him, that the superiority of _Leigh_ may stand in its due
Light----_Penkethman_ had certainly from Nature a great deal of comic
Power about him, but his Judgment was by no means equal to it; for he
would make frequent Deviations into the Whimsies of an _Harlequin_. By
the way, (let me digress a little farther) whatever Allowances are made
for the Licence of that Character, I mean of an _Harlequin_, whatever
Pretences may be urged, from the Practice of the ancient Comedy, for its
being play'd in a Mask, resembling no part of the human Species, I am
apt to think the best Excuse a modern Actor can plead for his continuing
it, is that the low, senseless, and monstrous things he says and does in
it no theatrical Assurance could get through with a bare Face: Let me
give you an Instance of even _Penkethman_'s being out of Countenance for
want of it: When he first play'd _Harlequin_ in the _Emperor_ of the
_Moon_,[166] several Gentlemen (who inadvertently judg'd by the Rules of
Nature) fancied that a great deal of the Drollery and Spirit of his
Grimace was lost by his wearing that useless, unmeaning Masque of a
black Cat, and therefore insisted that the next time of his acting that
Part he should play without it: Their Desire was accordingly comply'd
with----but, alas! in vain--_Penkethman_ could not take to himself the
Shame of the Character without being concealed--he was no more
_Harlequin_--his Humour was quite disconcerted! his Conscience could not
with the same _Effronterie_ declare against Nature without the cover of
that unchanging Face, which he was sure would never blush for it! no!
it was quite another Case! without that Armour his Courage could not
come up to the bold Strokes that were necessary to get the better of
common Sense. Now if this Circumstance will justify the Modesty of
_Penkethman_, it cannot but throw a wholesome Contempt on the low Merit
of an _Harlequin_. But how farther necessary the Masque is to that
Fool's Coat, we have lately had a stronger Proof in the Favour that the
_Harlequin Sauvage_ met with at _Paris_, and the ill Fate that followed
the same _Sauvage_ when he pull'd off his Masque in _London_.[167] So
that it seems what was Wit from an _Harlequin_ was something too
extravagant from a human Creature. If, therefore, _Penkethman_ in
Characters drawn from Nature might sometimes launch out into a few
gamesome Liberties which would not have been excused from a more correct
Comedian, yet, in his manner of taking them, he always seem'd to me in a
kind of Consciousness of the Hazard he was running, as if he fairly
confess'd that what he did was only as well as he _could_ do----That he
was willing to take his Chance for Success, but if he did not meet with
it a Rebuke should break no Squares; he would mend it another time, and
would take whatever pleas'd his Judges to think of him in good part; and
I have often thought that a good deal of the Favour he met with was
owing to this seeming humble way of waving all Pretences to Merit but
what the Town would please to allow him. What confirms me in this
Opinion is, that when it has been his ill Fortune to meet with a
_Disgraccia_, I have known him say apart to himself, yet loud enough to
be heard----_Odso!_ I believe I _am a little wrong here_! which once was
so well receiv'd by the Audience that they turn'd their Reproof into
Applause.[168]
Now, the Judgment of _Leigh_ always guarded the happier Sallies of his
Fancy from the least Hazard of Disapprobation: he seem'd not to court,
but to attack your Applause, and always came off victorious; nor did
his highest Assurance amount to any more than that just Confidence
without which the commendable Spirit of every good Actor must be abated;
and of this Spirit _Leigh_ was a most perfect Master. He was much
admir'd by King _Charles_, who us'd to distinguish him when spoke of by
the Title of _his Actor_: Which however makes me imagine that in his
Exile that Prince might have receiv'd his first Impression of good
Actors from the _French_ Stage; for _Leigh_ had more of that farcical
Vivacity than _Nokes_; but _Nokes_ was never languid by his more strict
Adherence to Nature, and as far as my Judgment is worth taking, if their
intrinsick Merit could be justly weigh'd, _Nokes_ must have had the
better in the Balance. Upon the unfortunate Death of _Monfort_, _Leigh_
fell ill of a Fever, and dy'd in a Week after him, in _December
1692_.[169]
_Underhil_ was a correct and natural Comedian, his particular Excellence
was in Characters that may be called Still-life, I mean the Stiff, the
Heavy, and the Stupid; to these he gave the exactest and most expressive
Colours, and in some of them look'd as if it were not in the Power of
human Passions to alter a Feature of him. In the solemn Formality of
_Obadiah_ in the _Committee_, and in the boobily Heaviness of _Lolpoop_
in the _Squire of Alsatia_, he seem'd the immoveable Log he stood for! a
Countenance of Wood could not be more fixt than his, when the Blockhead
of a Character required it: His Face was full and long; from his Crown
to the end of his Nose was the shorter half of it, so that the
Disproportion of his lower Features, when soberly compos'd, with an
unwandering Eye hanging over them, threw him into the most lumpish,
moping Mortal that ever made Beholders merry! not but at other times he
could be wakened into Spirit equally ridiculous----In the course,
rustick Humour of Justice _Clodpate_, in _Epsome Wells_,[170] he was a
delightful Brute! and in the blunt Vivacity of Sir _Sampson_, in _Love
for Love_, he shew'd all that true perverse Spirit that is commonly seen
in much Wit and Ill-nature. This Character is one of those few so well
written, with so much Wit and Humour, that an Actor must be the grossest
Dunce that does not appear with an unusual Life in it: But it will still
shew as great a Proportion of Skill to come near _Underhil_ in the
acting it, which (not to undervalue those who soon came after him) I
have not yet seen. He was particularly admir'd too for the Gravedigger
in _Hamlet_. The Author of the _Tatler_ recommends him to the Favour of
the Town upon that Play's being acted for his Benefit, wherein, after
his Age had some Years oblig'd him to leave the Stage, he came on again,
for that Day, to perform his old Part;[171] but, alas! so worn and
disabled, as if himself was to have lain in the Grave he was digging;
when he could no more excite Laughter, his Infirmities were dismiss'd
with Pity: He dy'd soon after, a superannuated Pensioner in the List of
those who were supported by the joint Sharers under the first Patent
granted to Sir _Richard Steele_.
The deep Impressions of these excellent Actors which I receiv'd in my
Youth, I am afraid may have drawn me into the common Foible of us old
Fellows; which is a Fondness, and perhaps a tedious Partiality, for the
Pleasures we have formerly tasted, and think are now fallen off because
we can no longer enjoy them. If therefore I lie under that Suspicion,
tho' I have related nothing incredible or out of the reach of a good
Judge's Conception, I must appeal to those Few who are about my own Age
for the Truth and Likeness of these Theatrical Portraits.
There were at this time several others in some degree of Favour with the
Publick, _Powel_,[172] _Verbruggen_,[173] _Williams_,[174] &c. But as I
cannot think their best Improvements made them in any wise equal to
those I have spoke of, I ought not to range them in the same Class.
Neither were _Wilks_ or _Dogget_ yet come to the Stage; nor was _Booth_
initiated till about six Years after them; or Mrs. _Oldfield_ known till
the Year 1700. I must therefore reserve the four last for their proper
Period, and proceed to the Actresses that were famous with _Betterton_
at the latter end of the last Century.
Mrs. _Barry_ was then in possession of almost all the chief Parts in
Tragedy: With what Skill she gave Life to them you will judge from the
Words of _Dryden_ in his Preface to _Cleomenes_,[175] where he says,
_Mrs._ Barry, _always excellent, has in this Tragedy excell'd
herself, and gain'd a Reputation beyond any Woman I have ever
seen on the Theatre_.
I very perfectly remember her acting that Part; and however unnecessary
it may seem to give my Judgment after _Dryden_'s, I cannot help saying I
do not only close with his Opinion, but will venture to add that (tho'
_Dryden_ has been dead these Thirty Eight Years) the same Compliment to
this Hour may be due to her Excellence. And tho' she was then not a
little past her Youth, she was not till that time fully arriv'd to her
maturity of Power and Judgment: From whence I would observe, That the
short Life of Beauty is not long enough to form a complete Actress. In
Men the Delicacy of Person is not so absolutely necessary, nor the
Decline of it so soon taken notice of. The Fame Mrs. _Barry_ arriv'd to
is a particular Proof of the Difficulty there is in judging with
Certainty, from their first Trials, whether young People will ever make
any great Figure on a Theatre. There was, it seems, so little Hope of
Mrs. _Barry_ at her first setting out, that she was at the end of the
first Year discharg'd the Company, among others that were thought to be
a useless Expence to it. I take it for granted that the Objection to
Mrs. _Barry_ at that time must have been a defective Ear, or some
unskilful Dissonance in her manner of pronouncing: But where there is a
proper Voice and Person, with the Addition of a good Understanding,
Experience tells us that such Defect is not always invincible; of which
not only Mrs. _Barry_, but the late Mrs. _Oldfield_ are eminent
Instances. Mrs. _Oldfield_ had been a Year in the Theatre-Royal before
she was observ'd to give any tolerable Hope of her being an Actress; so
unlike to all manner of Propriety was her Speaking![176] How
unaccountably, then, does a Genius for the Stage make its way towards
Perfection? For, notwithstanding these equal Disadvantages, both these
Actresses, tho' of different Excellence, made themselves complete
Mistresses of their Art by the Prevalence of their Understanding. If
this Observation may be of any use to the Masters of future Theatres, I
shall not then have made it to no purpose.[177]
Mrs. _Barry_, in Characters of Greatness, had a Presence of elevated
Dignity, her Mien and Motion superb and gracefully majestick; her Voice
full, clear, and strong, so that no Violence of Passion could be too
much for her: And when Distress or Tenderness possess'd her, she
subsided into the most affecting Melody and Softness. In the Art of
exciting Pity she had a Power beyond all the Actresses I have yet seen,
or what your Imagination can conceive. Of the former of these two great
Excellencies she gave the most delightful Proofs in almost all the
Heroic Plays of _Dryden_ and _Lee_; and of the latter, in the softer
Passions of _Otway's Monimia_ and _Belvidera_.[178] In Scenes of Anger,
Defiance, or Resentment, while she was impetuous and terrible, she
pour'd out the Sentiment with an enchanting Harmony; and it was this
particular Excellence for which _Dryden_ made her the above-recited
Compliment upon her acting _Cassandra_ in his _Cleomenes_. But here I am
apt to think his Partiality for that Character may have tempted his
Judgment to let it pass for her Master-piece, when he could not but know
there were several other Characters in which her Action might have given
her a fairer Pretence to the Praise he has bestow'd on her for
_Cassandra_; for in no Part of that is there the least ground for
Compassion, as in _Monimia_, nor equal cause for Admiration, as in
the nobler Love of _Cleopatra_, or the tempestuous Jealousy of
_Roxana_.[179] 'Twas in these Lights I thought Mrs. _Barry_ shone with a
much brighter Excellence than in _Cassandra_. She was the first Person
whose Merit was distinguish'd by the Indulgence of having an annual
Benefit-Play, which was granted to her alone, if I mistake not, first in
King _James_'s time,[180] and which became not common to others 'till
the Division of this Company after the Death of King _William_'s Queen
_Mary_. This great Actress dy'd of a Fever towards the latter end of
Queen _Anne_; the Year I have forgot; but perhaps you will recollect it
by an Expression that fell from her in blank Verse, in her last Hours,
when she was delirious, _viz_.
_Ha, ha! and so they make us Lords, by Dozens!_[181]
Mrs. _Betterton_, tho' far advanc'd in Years, was so great a Mistress
of Nature that even Mrs. _Barry_, who acted the Lady _Macbeth_ after
her, could not in that Part, with all her superior Strength and Melody
of Voice, throw out those quick and careless Strokes of Terror from the
Disorder of a guilty Mind, which the other gave us with a Facility in
her Manner that render'd them at once tremendous and delightful. Time
could not impair her Skill, tho' he had brought her Person to decay. She
was, to the last, the Admiration of all true Judges of Nature and Lovers
of _Shakespear_, in whose Plays she chiefly excell'd, and without a
Rival. When she quitted the Stage several good Actresses were the better
for her Instruction. She was a Woman of an unblemish'd and sober life,
and had the Honour to teach Queen _Anne_, when Princess, the Part of
_Semandra_ in _Mithridates_, which she acted at Court in King
_Charles_'s time. After the Death of Mr. _Betterton_, her Husband, that
Princess, when Queen, order'd her a Pension for Life, but she liv'd not
to receive more than the first half Year of it.[182]
[Illustration: ELIZABETH BARRY.]
Mrs. _Leigh_, the Wife of _Leigh_ already mention'd, had a very droll
way of dressing the pretty Foibles of superannuated Beauties. She had in
her self a good deal of Humour, and knew how to infuse it into the
affected Mothers, Aunts, and modest stale Maids that had miss'd their
Market; of this sort were the Modish Mother in the _Chances_, affecting
to be politely commode for her own Daughter; the Coquette Prude of an
Aunt in Sir _Courtly Nice_, who prides herself in being chaste and cruel
at Fifty; and the languishing Lady _Wishfort_ in _The Way of the World_:
In all these, with many others, she was extremely entertaining, and
painted in a lively manner the blind Side of Nature.[183]
Mrs. _Butler_, who had her Christian Name of _Charlotte_ given her by
King _Charles_, was the Daughter of a decay'd Knight, and had the Honour
of that Prince's Recommendation to the Theatre; a provident Restitution,
giving to the Stage in kind what he had sometimes taken from it: The
Publick at least was oblig'd by it; for she prov'd not only a good
Actress, but was allow'd in those Days to sing and dance to great
Perfection. In the Dramatick Operas of _Dioclesian_ and that of _King
Arthur_, she was a capital and admired Performer. In speaking, too, she
had a sweet-ton'd Voice, which, with her naturally genteel Air and
sensible Pronunciation, render'd her wholly Mistress of the Amiable in
many serious Characters. In Parts of Humour, too, she had a manner of
blending her assuasive Softness even with the Gay, the Lively, and the
Alluring. Of this she gave an agreeable Instance in her Action of the
(_Villiers_) Duke of _Buckingham_'s second _Constantia_ in the
_Chances_. In which, if I should say I have never seen her exceeded, I
might still do no wrong to the late Mrs. _Oldfield_'s lively Performance
of the same Character. Mrs. _Oldfield_'s Fame may spare Mrs. _Butler_'s
Action this Compliment, without the least Diminution or Dispute of her
Superiority in Characters of more moment.[184]
Here I cannot help observing, when there was but one Theatre in
_London_, at what unequal Sallaries, compar'd to those of later Days,
the hired Actors were then held by the absolute Authority of their
frugal Masters the Patentees; for Mrs. _Butler_ had then but Forty
Shillings a Week, and could she have obtain'd an Addition of Ten
Shillings more (which was refus'd her) would never have left their
Service; but being offer'd her own Conditions to go with Mr.
_Ashbury_[185] to _Dublin_ (who was then raising a Company of Actors for
that Theatre, where there had been none since the Revolution) her
Discontent here prevail'd with her to accept of his Offer, and he found
his Account in her Value. Were not those Patentees most sagacious
Oeconomists that could lay hold on so notable an Expedient to lessen
their Charge? How gladly, in my time of being a Sharer, would we have
given four times her Income to an Actress of equal Merit?
Mrs. _Monfort_, whose second Marriage gave her the Name of _Verbruggen_,
was Mistress of more variety of Humour than I ever knew in any one Woman
Actress. This variety, too, was attended with an equal Vivacity, which
made her excellent in Characters extremely different. As she was
naturally a pleasant Mimick, she had the Skill to make that Talent
useful on the Stage, a Talent which may be surprising in a Conversation
and yet be lost when brought to the Theatre, which was the Case of
_Estcourt_ already mention'd: But where the Elocution is round,
distinct, voluble, and various, as Mrs. _Monfort_'s was, the Mimick
there is a great Assistant to the Actor. Nothing, tho' ever so barren,
if within the Bounds of Nature, could be flat in her Hands. She gave
many heightening Touches to Characters but coldly written, and often
made an Author vain of his Work that in it self had but little Merit.
She was so fond of Humour, in what low Part soever to be found, that she
would make no scruple of defacing her fair Form to come heartily into
it;[186] for when she was eminent in several desirable Characters of Wit
and Humour in higher Life, she would be in as much Fancy when descending
into the antiquated _Abigail_[187] of _Fletcher_, as when triumphing in
all the Airs and vain Graces of a fine Lady; a Merit that few Actresses
care for. In a Play of _D'urfey's_, now forgotten, call'd _The Western
Lass_,[188] which Part she acted, she transform'd her whole Being, Body,
Shape, Voice, Language, Look, and Features, into almost another Animal,
with a strong _Devonshire_ Dialect, a broad laughing Voice, a poking
Head, round Shoulders, an unconceiving Eye, and the most bediz'ning,
dowdy Dress that ever cover'd the untrain'd Limbs of a _Joan Trot_. To
have seen her here you would have thought it impossible the same
Creature could ever have been recover'd to what was as easy to her, the
Gay, the Lively, and the Desirable. Nor was her Humour limited to her
Sex; for, while her Shape permitted, she was a more adroit pretty Fellow
than is usually seen upon the Stage: Her easy Air, Action, Mien, and
Gesture quite chang'd from the Quoif to the cock'd Hat and Cavalier in
fashion.[189] People were so fond of seeing her a Man, that when the
Part of _Bays_ in the _Rehearsal_ had for some time lain dormant, she
was desired to take it up, which I have seen her act with all the true
coxcombly Spirit and Humour that the Sufficiency of the Character
required.
But what found most Employment for her whole various Excellence at once,
was the Part of _Melantha_ in _Marriage-Alamode_.[190] _Melantha_ is as
finish'd an Impertinent as ever flutter'd in a Drawing-Room, and seems
to contain the most compleat System of Female Foppery that could
possibly be crowded into the tortured Form of a Fine Lady. Her
Language, Dress, Motion, Manners, Soul, and Body, are in a continual
Hurry to be something more than is necessary or commendable. And though
I doubt it will be a vain Labour to offer you a just Likeness of Mrs.
_Monfort_'s Action, yet the fantastick Impression is still so strong in
my Memory that I cannot help saying something, tho' fantastically, about
it. The first ridiculous Airs that break from her are upon a Gallant
never seen before, who delivers her a Letter from her Father
recommending him to her good Graces as an honourable Lover.[191] Here
now, one would think, she might naturally shew a little of the Sexe's
decent Reserve, tho' never so slightly cover'd! No, Sir; not a Tittle of
it; Modesty is the Virtue of a poor-soul'd Country Gentlewoman; she is
too much a Court Lady to be under so vulgar a Confusion; she reads the
Letter, therefore, with a careless, dropping Lip and an erected Brow,
humming it hastily over as if she were impatient to outgo her Father's
Commands by making a compleat Conquest of him at once; and that the
Letter might not embarrass her Attack, crack! she crumbles it at once
into her Palm and pours upon him her whole Artillery of Airs, Eyes, and
Motion; down goes her dainty, diving Body to the Ground, as if she were
sinking under the conscious Load of her own Attractions; then launches
into a Flood of fine Language and Compliment, still playing her Chest
forward in fifty Falls and Risings, like a Swan upon waving Water; and,
to complete her Impertinence, she is so rapidly fond of her own Wit that
she will not give her Lover Leave to praise it: Silent assenting Bows
and vain Endeavours to speak are all the share of the Conversation he is
admitted to, which at last he is relieved from by her Engagement to half
a Score Visits, which she _swims_ from him to make, with a Promise to
return in a Twinkling.
If this Sketch has Colour enough to give you any near Conception of her,
I then need only tell you that throughout the whole Character her
variety of Humour was every way proportionable; as, indeed, in most
Parts that she thought worth her care or that had the least Matter for
her Fancy to work upon, I may justly say, That no Actress, from her own
Conception, could have heighten'd them with more lively Strokes of
Nature.[192]
I come now to the last, and only living Person, of all those whose
Theatrical Characters I have promised you, Mrs. _Bracegirdle_; who, I
know, would rather pass her remaining Days forgotten as an Actress, than
to have her Youth recollected in the most favourable Light I am able to
place it; yet, as she is essentially necessary to my Theatrical History,
and as I only bring her back to the Company of those with whom she
pass'd the Spring and Summer of her Life, I hope it will excuse the
Liberty I take in commemorating the Delight which the Publick received
from her Appearance while she was an Ornament to the Theatre.
Mrs. _Bracegirdle_ was now but just blooming to her Maturity; her
Reputation as an Actress gradually rising with that of her Person; never
any Woman was in such general Favour of her Spectators, which, to the
last Scene of her Dramatick Life, she maintain'd by not being unguarded
in her private Character.[193] This Discretion contributed not a little
to make her the _Cara_, the Darling of the Theatre: For it will be no
extravagant thing to say, Scarce an Audience saw her that were less than
half of them Lovers, without a suspected Favourite among them: And tho'
she might be said to have been the Universal Passion, and under the
highest Temptations, her Constancy in resisting them served but to
increase the number of her Admirers: And this perhaps you will more
easily believe when I extend not my Encomiums on her Person beyond a
Sincerity that can be suspected; for she had no greater Claim to Beauty
than what the most desirable _Brunette_ might pretend to. But her Youth
and lively Aspect threw out such a Glow of Health and Chearfulness, that
on the Stage few Spectators that were not past it could behold her
without Desire. It was even a Fashion among the Gay and Young to have a
Taste or _Tendre_ for Mrs. _Bracegirdle_. She inspired the best Authors
to write for her, and two of them,[194] when they gave her a Lover in a
Play, seem'd palpably to plead their own Passions, and make their
private Court to her in fictitious Characters. In all the chief Parts
she acted, the Desirable was so predominant, that no Judge could be cold
enough to consider from what other particular Excellence she became
delightful. To speak critically of an Actress that was extremely good
were as hazardous as to be positive in one's Opinion of the best Opera
Singer. People often judge by Comparison where there is no Similitude in
the Performance. So that, in this case, we have only Taste to appeal to,
and of Taste there can be no disputing. I shall therefore only say of
Mrs. _Bracegirdle_, That the most eminent Authors always chose her for
their favourite Character, and shall leave that uncontestable Proof of
her Merit to its own Value. Yet let me say, there were two very
different Characters in which she acquitted herself with uncommon
Applause: If any thing could excuse that desperate Extravagance of Love,
that almost frantick Passion of _Lee's Alexander the Great_, it must
have been when Mrs. _Bracegirdle_ was his _Statira_: As when she acted
_Millamant_[195] all the Faults, Follies, and Affectations of that
agreeable Tyrant were venially melted down into so many Charms and
Attractions of a conscious Beauty. In other Characters, where Singing
was a necessary Part of them, her Voice and Action gave a Pleasure which
good Sense, in those Days, was not asham'd to give Praise to.
She retir'd from the Stage in the Height of her Favour from the
Publick, when most of her Cotemporaries whom she had been bred up with
were declining, in the Year 1710,[196] nor could she be persuaded to
return to it under new Masters upon the most advantageous Terms that
were offered her; excepting one Day, about a Year after, to assist her
good Friend Mr. _Betterton_, when she play'd _Angelica_ in _Love for
Love_ for his Benefit. She has still the Happiness to retain her usual
Chearfulness, and to be, without the transitory Charm of Youth,
agreeable.[197]
If, in my Account of these memorable Actors, I have not deviated from
Truth, which, in the least Article, I am not conscious of, may we not
venture to say, They had not their Equals, at any one Time, upon any
Theatre in _Europe_? Or, if we confine the Comparison to that of
_France_ alone, I believe no other Stage can be much disparag'd by being
left out of the question; which cannot properly be decided by the single
Merit of any one Actor; whether their _Baron_ or our _Betterton_ might
be the Superior, (take which Side you please) that Point reaches, either
way, but to a thirteenth part of what I contend for, _viz._ That no
Stage, at any one Period, could shew thirteen Actors, standing all in
equal Lights of Excellence in their Profession: And I am the bolder, in
this Challenge to any other Nation, because no Theatre having so
extended a Variety of natural Characters as the _English_, can have a
Demand for Actors of such various Capacities; why then, where they could
not be equally wanted, should we suppose them, at any one time, to have
existed?
How imperfect soever this copious Account of them may be, I am not
without Hope, at least, it may in some degree shew what Talents are
requisite to make Actors valuable: And if that may any ways inform or
assist the Judgment of future Spectators, it may as often be of service
to their publick Entertainments; for as their Hearers are, so will
Actors be; worse, or better, as the false or true Taste applauds or
discommends them. Hence only can our Theatres improve or must
degenerate.
There is another Point, relating to the hard Condition of those who
write for the Stage, which I would recommend to the Consideration of
their Hearers; which is, that the extreme Severity with which they damn
a bad Play seems too terrible a Warning to those whose untried Genius
might hereafter give them a good one: Whereas it might be a Temptation
to a latent Author to make the Experiment, could he be sure that, though
not approved, his Muse might at least be dismiss'd with Decency: But the
Vivacity of our modern Criticks is of late grown so riotous, that an
unsuccessful Author has no more Mercy shewn him than a notorious Cheat
in a Pillory; every Fool, the lowest Member of the Mob, becomes a Wit,
and will have a fling at him. They come now to a new Play like Hounds
to a Carcase, and are all in a full Cry, sometimes for an Hour together,
before the Curtain rises to throw it amongst them. Sure those Gentlemen
cannot but allow that a Play condemned after a fair Hearing falls with
thrice the Ignominy as when it is refused that common Justice.
But when their critical Interruptions grow so loud, and of so long a
Continuance, that the Attention of quiet People (though not so complete
Criticks) is terrify'd, and the Skill of the Actors quite disconcerted
by the Tumult, the Play then seems rather to fall by Assassins than by a
Lawful Sentence.[198] Is it possible that such Auditors can receive
Delight, or think it any Praise to them, to prosecute so injurious, so
unmanly a Treatment? And tho' perhaps the Compassionate, on the other
side (who know they have as good a Right to clap and support, as others
have to catcall, damn, and destroy,) may oppose this Oppression; their
Good-nature, alas! contributes little to the Redress; for in this sort
of Civil War the unhappy Author, like a good Prince, while his Subjects
are at mortal Variance, is sure to be a Loser by a Victory on either
Side; for still the Common-wealth, his Play, is, during the Conflict,
torn to pieces. While this is the Case, while the Theatre is so
turbulent a Sea and so infested with Pirates, what Poetical Merchant of
any Substance will venture to trade in it? If these valiant Gentlemen
pretend to be Lovers of Plays, why will they deter Gentlemen from giving
them such as are fit for Gentlemen to see? In a word, this new Race of
Criticks seem to me like the Lion-Whelps in the _Tower_, who are so
boisterously gamesome at their Meals that they dash down the Bowls of
Milk brought for their own Breakfast.[199]
As a good Play is certainly the most rational and the highest
Entertainment that Human Invention can produce, let that be my Apology
(if I need any) for having thus freely deliver'd my Mind in behalf of
those Gentlemen who, under such calamitous Hazards, may hereafter be
reduced to write for the Stage, whose Case I shall compassionate from
the same Motive that prevail'd on _Dido_ to assist the _Trojans_ in
Distress.
_Non ignara mali miseris succurrere disco._ Virg.[200]
Or, as _Dryden_ has it,
_I learn to pity Woes so like my own_.
If those particular Gentlemen have sometimes made me the humbled Object
of their Wit and Humour, their Triumph at least has done me this
involuntary Service, that it has driven me a Year or two sooner into a
quiet Life than otherwise my own want of Judgment might have led me
to:[201] I left the Stage before my Strength left me, and tho' I came to
it again for some few Days a Year or two after, my Reception there not
only turn'd to my Account, but seem'd a fair Invitation that I would
make my Visits more frequent: But to give over a Winner can be no very
imprudent Resolution.[202]