Kitabı oku: «Their Majesties' Servants. Annals of the English Stage (Volume 2 of 3)», sayfa 10

There was no regular theatrical season, – players came and went according to the chances of profit afforded by the presence of great personages in the capital. In 1681, the Duke and Duchess of York were sojourning there; and just at that time, thirty joyous-looking folk were being detained by the Customs' authorities at Irvine, in Ayrshire, where they had landed, and where they were in difficulty, on questions of duties on the gold and silver lace of their wardrobe. Laced clothes were then highly taxed; but, said the gay fellows, who, in truth, were actors, with actresses from the theatre in Orange Street, Dublin, "these clothes, mounted with gold and silver lace, are not for our wear, but are necessary in our vocation, and are, therefore, exempt." They had to petition the Privy Council, which body, submitting to the plea of the actors, that "trumpeters and stage-players" were exempted from the Act, sent a certificate to the tax-collector at Irvine, to let them pass free, and come up and act "Agrippa, King of Alba, or the False Tiberinus," and other dramas, before all lieges in Edinburgh, who were inclined to listen to them.

This incident reminds me of an anecdote of Talma, which was communicated to me by a French actor. Talma was stopped, like the Irish players at Irvine, at the Custom-house on the Belgian frontier, as he was on his way to fulfil an engagement at Brussels. His theatrical costumes were undergoing examination, when an official irreverently spoke of them as "Habits de Polichinelle." The tragic actor was offended. "Habits de Polichinelle!" said he, "they are of the utmost value. That lace is worth fifty francs a yard, and I wear it constantly in private." "And must therefore pay for it," said the sharp Belgian official; "Punch's clothes might pass untaxed, but Mr. Talma's laced coats owe a duty to the King," which he was forced to acquit.

With the fall of the Stuarts and the establishment of Presbytery, a sour feeling against the stage prevailed in Scotland. Mr. R. Chambers attributes a later improved feeling to the Southern gentlemen who were sent northward to hold office, and who took with them tastes which were gradually adopted; at first by Episcopalians, and later by Presbyterians themselves.

There is a smith's shop near Holyrood, which, in 1715, was part of a Tennis Court, which, in that year, and just before the outbreak, was converted into a theatre. It was well attended, and furiously denounced; even solemn kirk folk flocked to listen to the old and modern playwrights, despite the threats of their ministers that, from all such, they would withhold the "tokens to the Sacrament of the Supper." The presbytery of Edinburgh fulminated every species of menace against the new stage and its upholders, but the latter had a fatally amusing comment to make on such fulminations. Only the year previously, three of these very ministers, Mitchell, Ramsay, and Hart, sent as a deputation to congratulate George I. on his accession, rested on their way at Kendal, where there was a little theatre, whither these good men repaired to see Congreve's "Love for Love" acted, and thought nobody would tell of their backsliding!

The Scottish Tennis Court theatre did not prosper even so well as that in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Eleven years after the above date, although we hear of a performance of Otway's "Orphan," with a prologue by Allan Ramsay, it is in "private;"⁶⁷ but adverse critics are informed, that they will have to support their opinions, by the duello, in the King's Park.

In the same year, 1726, Anthony Aston, that erratic actor, "after a circuit round the Queen of Isles," as another prologue by Mr. Allan Ramsay said of him, re-appeared in Edinburgh with a theatrical company.

 
"The dastards said, 'He never will succeed:'
What! such a country look for any good in,
That does not relish plays, nor pork, nor pudding!"
 

Aston had to contend against the utmost efforts of the clergy and magistracy. Nevertheless, ruling elders, who were peers of the realm, Lords of Session and other amateurs, went and wept at graceful Westcombe and handsome Mrs. Millar, in the "Mourning Bride," and a son of Bishop Ross, and master of the Beaux' Coffee House, charged a commission of a penny on every playhouse ticket sold in his establishment. Then, even Lord Grange, the most profligate ruffian in all Scotland, was alarmed for Scottish morals, when he heard that Allan Ramsay had founded a circulating library, and was lending out English playbooks. The magistrates, moved by that arch-villain, Grange, – than whom there was not a man so given to drink, devilry, and devotion, – sent inspectors to learn from Ramsay's books the names of his subscribers. Allan had timely warning; and he destroyed his list before the obnoxious jurors presented themselves. The pulpits re-echoed with denunciations against acting and episcopacy, and men who were carried to the theatres in sedans, – oh! what had come to Scottish thews and sinews, when such a spectacle as this was to be seen in old Edinburgh!

In 1733 and 1734, Shakspeare was in the ascendant at the theatre at the Tailors' Hall, in the Cowgate, varied by the works of Gay, Congreve, and Mrs. Centlivre; pantomime, ballet and farce; with excellent scenery, and machinery, – the troop occasionally visiting Dundee, Montrose, and Aberdeen. Dramatic taste spread to schools, where the pupils began to act plays. While this was confined to "Cato," "Julius Cæsar," and the like, there was no harm done; but when the Perth schoolboys, at Candlemas 1735, took to acting "George Barnwell," the Kirk Session once more bestirred itself, and shut up the house built by Allan Ramsay, in Carrubber's Close.⁶⁸ Subsequently, Ryan, the actor, laid the first stone of a new theatre in the Canongate, which was opened in 1746, but without sanction of law, which, however, was not so rigorous as in earlier days, when Lord Somerville, to screen a principal performer from stern pains and penalties, engaged him in his household, as butler! To this theatre, in 1756, the Rev. John Home, then thirty-two years of age, brought his tragedy of "Douglas." He had been the successor of Blair (of the Grave), in the living of Athelstanford; and had left it, to fight against the Pretender, at Falkirk, where he was captured. The reverend warrior ultimately escaped to England. Collins dedicated to him his Ode on the Superstitions of the Highlands. Home returned northward, full of the love of poetry, and powerful in the expression of it. His great dramatic essay was a grievous offence against the laws of his church, to the practical duties of which he had again surrendered himself. Had it not been that Sarah Ward was willing to help author and friends, even the reading of "Douglas" would never have come off. Sarah lent her sitting-room in the Canongate, to Home; and Digges was present and silent, for once, with Mrs. Ward, to enact audience. The characters were thus cast; and a finer group of intellectual persons sitting as they could best catch the light, in an obscure room of the Canongate, cannot well be imagined. Lord Randolph (or Barnard, according to the original cast) was read by Robertson; Glenalvon, by the greater historian, David Hume; Old Norval, by the famous Dr. Carlyle, the minister of Musselburgh; and Douglas, by Home, in right of authorship. Lady Randolph was allotted to Professor Ferguson; and the part of Anna was read by Dr. Blair, the minister of the High Church, and author of the once popular sermons!

But the Presbyteries of Edinburgh and Glasgow speedily denounced author, play, dramatists, and dramas generally, as instruments and children of Satan; and excommunicated, not only Home, but actors and audiences, and all abettors and approvers! The triumph of the play compensated for everything. The nation confirmed the sentiment of the critic in the pit, whose voice was heard in the ovation of the first night, exultantly exclaiming, "Weel, lads, what do ye think o' Wully Shakspeare noo?" The tragedy was offered to Garrick, who refused it. Mrs. Cibber, in Lady Randolph, would extinguish Norval! Rich accepted it, as readily as Garrick had declined it; and in March 1757 London confirmed the judgment of the city in the north. Gray declared that Home had retrieved the true language of the stage, which had been lost for a century. The Prince of Wales conferred a pension on the expelled minister, and Sheridan sent to Home a gold medal, worth ten guineas.

Just a century before Home was denounced by the Presbytery, Adam Seaton, dwelling near John O'Groats, where Cromwell's troops were encamped, on their way to the Orkneys, was condemned to make public confession in the Kirk, for "having masking playes in his house for the Inglishe men." This extract from the old Session record of the parish of Canisby (quoted in Calder's History of Caithness), shows how the drama "looked up," in remote Scottish localities, in spite of the decree of 1647. A Presbyterian, lending his house to amateur, or professional, actors in Cromwell's army, is a novel illustration in the history of the stage. Much might be said thereon; but Margaret Woffington, the original Lady Randolph in England, now retires from the scene, and waits the telling of her story.

CHAPTER XII
MARGARET WOFFINGTON

That good-tempered woman, who is looking with admiration at the pretty and delicate child who is drawing water from the Liffey, is Madame Violante. She is mistress of a booth for rope-dancing and other exhibitions in Dame Street. As the young girl turns homeward, with the bowl of water on her head, the lady follows, still admiring.

The object of her admiration is as bright and as steady as a sunbeam. If she be ill-clad, she is exquisitely shaped, and she will live to lend her dresses to the two Miss Gunnings, to enable them to attend a drawing-room at the Castle; their first steps towards reaching the coronets of countess and duchess that were in store for them.

This child, meanwhile, enters a shabby huckster's shop, kept by her widowed mother, on Ormond Quay. The father was a working bricklayer, and married the mother when she was as hard-working a laundress. There is another child in this poor household, a sister of the water-bearer, fair, but less fair than she. When Madame Violante first saw Mary and Margaret Woffington, she little dreamed that the latter would be the darling of London society, and the former the bride of a son of one of the proudest of English earls.

Margaret Woffington, born in 1720,⁶⁹ was very young when Madame Violante induced her mother to let her have the pretty child as a pupil. The foreign lady was of good repute, and Margaret became an apt pupil, performed little tricks while her mistress was on the rope, learned French thoroughly, and acquired graces of person, style, and carriage, by which she gained fortune, and reaped ruin.

As a child, she played Macheath,⁷⁰ in Madame's booth, when the "Beggar's Opera" was acted there by children. From the age of seventeen to twenty, she was on the more regular Dublin stage, charming all eyes and hearts by her beauty, grace, and ability in a range of characters from Ophelia to Sir Harry Wildair.⁷¹ Rich at once engaged her, at a moderate salary, and, in 1740, brought her out, at Covent Garden, as Sylvia to Ryan's Plume and the younger Cibber's Brazen. A successful coup d'essai emboldened her to try Sir Harry. She played it night after night for weeks, and Wilks was forgotten. It is said she so enraptured one susceptible damsel, that the young lady, believing Sir Harry to be a man, made him an offer of marriage.

Walpole was among the last to be pleased. "There is much in vogue, a Mrs. Woffington," he writes, in 1741; "a bad actress, but she has life." Walpole's friend, Conway, confesses that "all the town was in love with her;" but to Conway's eyes she was only "an impudent Irish-faced girl." Even these fastidious gentlemen became converted, and, at a later period, Walpole records her excellent acting in Moore's "Foundling," with Garrick, Barry, and Mrs. Cibber.

Her Lothario was not so successful as her Sir Harry; but her high-born ladies, her women of dash, spirit, and elegance, her homely, humorous females, in all these she triumphed; and triumphed in spite of a voice that was almost unmanageable for its harshness.

Margaret and Garrick were very soon on very intimate terms. In the summer of 1742, they were together in Dublin, and on their return, according to a tradition of the stage, Garrick and Mrs. Woffington, living together, alternately supplied the expenses of the household, each being at the head of the latter during a month. In Garrick's term the table is said to have been but moderately furnished; whereas during the beautiful Margaret's month there was a banquet and brilliant company daily; all the fashionable men about town being delighted at an invitation from the Irish actress. Johnson used to be among those visitors, and he noticed the difference in the quality of the housekeeping, after his usual fashion. "Is not this tea stronger than usual, madam? It's as red as blood!"⁷² It was Margaret's month, and the liberal lady smiled.

That Garrick ever entertained thoughts of marrying Margaret, I very much doubt, despite the story, said to have been told by the lady to Murphy, that he had gone so far as to buy the wedding-ring, and try it on her finger. In the early part of the few years which elapsed between Garrick's début in London and his marriage with Eva Maria Violetti, he lived in such affectionate intimacy with the charming Irish actress, as to address to her the song beginning with

 
"Once more I'll tune the vocal shell,
To hills and dales my passion tell,
A flame which time can never quell,
Which burns for you, my Peggy!"⁷³
 

Notwithstanding this homage, the lady's infidelities were so numerous, that whatever may have been her wrath or disappointment, she had no right to expect that of so inconstant a mistress of one home, Garrick was likely to make the wife of another. However this may have been, it remains undeniable that Garrick preserved, to his last days, a pair of silver buckles which once belonged to that Peggy, who, from first to last, enthralled more hearts than any actress since the days of Elizabeth Barry; – from those of young fellows with the down just budding on their lips, to what was left of those of old Owen Mac Swiney and older Colley Cibber, between which two ancient danglers, people compared Margaret to Susanna between the two Elders.

In good truth, her company was sought after "by men of the first rank and distinction;" and "persons of the gravest character, and most eminent for learning," felt honoured by her acquaintance, and were charmed with her conversation. She founded her avowed preference of the company of men to that of women, on the alleged fact that the latter never talked but of satins and silks. She herself was endowed with a good understanding, which was much improved by contact with intellectual society, and by much reading. In short, it seems to have been impossible to resist this clever, vivacious, affable, and good-natured creature; one who laughed most unaffectedly at the joke which touched her own character nearest; whose errors are forgotten in her much-abounding and still-enduring charity, and who not only faithfully kept that part of the decalogue which says, "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife," but provided a home for her neighbours' wives, through many generations, by building the asylum for them, which still exists at Teddington. "Mes enfans, sauvez-vous par la charité!"

Margaret Woffington was the most beautiful and the least vain of the women of her day. Whatever character she had to play, she identified herself therewith; and did it happen to be that of an old or ordinary woman, she descended to the level of circumstances, and hid every natural beauty beneath wrinkles and stolidity, according to the exigencies of the part.

Her sister, Mary Woffington, whom many living persons remember well, failed comparatively as an actress; but she achieved better fortune as a woman than her more able and attractive sister. By marriage she connected herself with Walpole's family, and Walpole, whose mother was the daughter of a timber-dealer, was disgusted.

"I have been unfortunate in my own family," says Walpole to Mann, in 1746; "my nephew, Captain Cholmondeley, has married a player's sister." This last was Mrs. Woffington's sister, Mary. Captain, subsequently the Reverend Robert Cholmondeley, was the second son of the Earl Cholmondeley, who obtained Houghton, by marrying Walpole's only legitimate sister, Mary. At the match between the captain and the player's sister the earl was greatly incensed, and he went to Mrs. Woffington to tell her as much. But Margaret so softened him by her winning ways, and won him by her good sense, and subdued him to her will, that he, at last, called her his "dear Mrs. Woffington," and declared that he was happy at his son's choice, in spite of his having been "so very much offended previously." This aroused Margaret's spirit a little. "Offended previously!" she exclaimed, "I have most cause to be offended now." "Why, dear lady?" asked the earl. "Because," replied the actress, "I had one beggar to support, and now I shall have two!"

Of this marriage, Mrs. Woffington lived to see five of the nine children born. One of these, married to Sir William Bellingham, Bart., carried the Woffington blood back to one of the oldest families in Ireland. Another of Margaret Woffington's nieces was Maid of Honour to the Princess of Wales; who, when driving with her royal mistress through Leatherhead, in 1806, was killed by the upsetting of the carriage. Mary Woffington (the Hon. Mrs. Cholmondeley) survived till 1811.

To see Margaret Woffington and Smith in Sylvia and Plume was an ecstasy, he being so graceful and vivacious, while she charmed her audiences in both the dresses worn by Sylvia, rendering, says the Dramatic Censor, "even absurdities pleasing by the elegance of her appearance and the vivacity of her expression." Mrs. Bellamy was so overcome by her acting Jocasta in that awful drama of "Œdipus," that she fainted on the stage when playing Eurydice to her. Some persons set this down to affectation; but George Anne was not a lady likely to affect a swoon for the sake of complimenting a rival actress.⁷⁴

Mrs. Woffington was the only player who acted Sir Harry Wildair with the spirit and elegance of the original – Wilks, to whom Garrick and Woodward were, in this part, inferior. She was excellent in Lady Plyant, and admirable in the representation of females in high rank and of dignified elegance. Millamant, Lady Townley, Lady Betty Modish, and Maria, in the "Nonjuror," were exhibited by her with that happy ease and gaiety, and with such powerful attraction, that the excesses of these characters appeared not only pardonable, but agreeable.

Her Jane Shore did not admit of competition with Mrs. Oldfield's; but that and Hermione were full of merit notwithstanding. In male attire the elegance of her figure was most striking; but I cannot suppose that her Lady Randolph, of which she was the original representative in London, in any one point approached that of Mrs. Crawford (Barry), or of Mrs. Siddons. Indeed her voice unfitted her for tragic parts. She called it her "bad voice!"

Margaret Woffington's independence was one of the great traits in her character. About six years before Mrs. Cibber left the stage⁷⁵ she was often too indisposed to act; and at short notice Mrs. Woffington was advertised to play some favourite part of her own instead. Once, when thus advertised, she pleaded illness, and would not go to the theatre. The next night, as Mrs. Woffington came on, as Lady Jane Grey, she was greeted with a hurricane of hisses for having failed to appear the evening before. They even called upon her to "beg pardon!" then her complexion glowed with angry beauty, her eyes flashed lightning, and she walked off the stage magnificently scornful. It was with great difficulty she was induced to return, and when she did, the imperious fair one calmly faced her excited audience with a "now then!" sort of look. She expressed her willingness to perform her duty, but it was for them to decide; "On or off; it must be as you please; to me it is a matter of perfect indifference!" The audience petted this wayward creature, and the contending parties were friends for ever after.

Margaret and Kitty Clive got on as ill together as the former and Mrs. Cibber. The green-room was kept alive by their retorts, joyous by their repartees, or uncomfortable by their dissensions. But there were no two dramatic queens who hated each other so cordially within the theatre as Margaret and George Anne Bellamy. In rivalry or opposition on the stage, they entered into the full spirit of their parts, felt all or more than they said, and not only handled their daggers menacingly, but losing control of temper sometimes, used them more vigorously than law or good manners would allow.

After a career in London of undiminished popularity, she passed over to Dublin for three seasons, 1751-54, where she was equally the popular idol, drew thousands of pounds, had a salary, first of £400, then of £800 for the season, was enthroned at the Beef Steak Club by Sheridan, addressed verses, free enough to be what they were not – her own, to the Lord Lieutenant, and altogether ruled "the court, the camp, and the grove." Victor extols all her tragic parts, save Jane Shore; and Mrs. Delaney confirms his account of her Lady Townley, as being better than any the town had seen since Mrs. Oldfield's time; adding, that she pronounced well, and spoke sensibly; but that her voice was not agreeable, and that her arms were ungainly. Of her Maria ("Nonjuror"), Mrs. Delaney says that the effect in Dublin was marred by the immoderate size of Mrs. Woffington's hoops!

It was at this time she took a step which was sharply canvassed, – that of forsaking the church in which she was born, and putting her arm, as it were, under that of Protestantism. She went a long way, and in strange companionship too, in order to take this step. She and Sheridan made a pleasant excursion, on the occasion, through Mullingar to Longford and Carrick on Shannon, and on, by Lough Allen and Drumshamboe, till they stood on the verge of the Pot of the Shannon.

Murphy fancies that as Roman Catholics could not then legally wear a sword, she renounced her old faith that she might carry one, in male characters, without offending the law! This is sheer nonsense.⁷⁶ But whatever took her to the little village on the mountain side, it is impossible to conceive a more striking contrast than the one between this magnificent district, where occasionally an eagle may be seen sweeping between Quilca and Sliev na Eirin, with Covent Garden or Smock Alley! I do not know if at that period, as till lately, the Primate of Ireland had a little shooting-box on a platform of the mountain, but to the modest residence still existing of the Protestant pastor, Sheridan and Margaret took their way; and there the brilliant lady enrolled herself as a member of the church by law established. The influences which moved her to this were simply that she would not lose her chance of an estate for the sake of the old religion in which she had been baptized. Her ex-admirer, Mac Swiney, had left her heiress to his estate of £200 a year; and that the bequest might be legal, and the succession uncontested, the frail Margaret qualified for prospective fortune by declaring herself a Protestant, in the presence of competent witnesses.

She returned to the "Garden" in the season 1754-55, going through all her best characters in that, and the two succeeding, and her final seasons. The last male part she acted was Lothario; the last original part she created was Lady Randolph (which, however, had been previously played in Edinburgh by Mrs. Ward), and in Rosalind, paralysis put an end to her professional career. Just previously, her Lothario had not been highly esteemed; and Barry, in the memorable suit of white puckered satin, had produced all the effect in "Douglas." This affected her spirits. Then she was annoyed at young Tate Wilkinson, whom Foote had just brought on the stage, and who had audaciously imitated the worst parts of Margaret's voice. Almost the only unkind act that can be laid to Mrs. Woffington's charge, was her consequent attempt to induce Rich not to enter into an engagement with Wilkinson. Her scorn drove the unfortunate young gentleman, for his story was a sad one, from the green-room, despite the interference of Shuter. One night, as she was playing Clarissa in the "Confederacy," she saw Wilkinson in a stage-box with Captain Forbes, and unable to control her rage, she came close to the box, and absolutely made him shrink back by the sneering sarcasm with which she flung at him one of her speeches. A rude woman in the box above mimicked her peculiar voice so well, as Clarissa turned away, that Mrs. Woffington thought it came from Wilkinson. That night she swept through the green-room, a beautiful fury, and the next day, at Rich's levee, she assailed Tate with terrible eloquence, prophesied evil to him, wished the evil she prophesied, and altogether manifested little of the kindly nature which was, in truth, her own.

Soon followed thereon the fatal 3d of May 1757. The play was "As You Like It," in which she acted Rosalind. Young Tate Wilkinson was standing at the wing as she passed on to the stage, and on her way she complimented him, ironically, on his recent success as a debutant. Wilkinson watched and studied her throughout the piece, till she came off early in the fifth act, and suddenly complained of being ill. Wilkinson offered his arm, leaning on which she retired to the green-room, rallied, went on, changed her dress, again trod the stage, defiantly of fate, and again yielded to the coming blow; but only for a moment. Once more she recovered, her self-will being so great, and she began the lines of the epilogue. She had just uttered, with fearful gaiety, the words: – "If I were among you, I'd kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me – ," when that once saucy tongue became paralysed. A last flash of courage impelled her to an attempt to proceed; but it was vain, and at the sense that she was stricken, she flung up her hands, uttered a wild shriek in abject terror, and staggering towards the stage door, fell into the arms stretched to receive her; and amid indescribable confusion of cheering and commiserating cries, Margaret Woffington disappeared from the stage, for ever.

In November of that year, a fine gentleman asked, "What has become of Mrs. Woffington?" "She has been taken off by Colonel Cæsar," answered another fine gentleman. "Reduced to aut Cæsar aut nullus," said the smart Lord Tyrawley. "She is gone to be married," said Kitty Clive; "Colonel Cæsar bought the license at the same time Colonel Mostyn bought his." At this time, poor Margaret, in the meridian of her beauty, somewhat weary of her calling, ashamed, it is said, of her life, was slowly dying at "Teddington, in Twickenhamshire," as Walpole loved to call it. So slowly, that the end did not come till 1760.

In the interval, Margaret Woffington is said to have lived to good purpose. Unreasonably exalted as her character has been, it is impossible to contemplate it at its close without respect. Charity, good works, sorrow for the past, hope, – all the Magdalen was there in that beautiful wreck. In a playful time she and Colonel Cæsar had agreed that the survivor of the two should be the heir of the other; but Margaret would not let a jest do injury to her family and to the poor. Of her few thousands, she left the greater part to her sister; her mother she had pensioned and protected; to the poor of Teddington, among whom she reposes, she left well-endowed almshouses. The poor, at least, may bless the memory of that once bright young creature, whom Madame Violante saw drawing water from the Liffey.

Those almshouses form a better relic of Margaret Woffington than the poor stage-jewels which her dresser, Mrs. Barrington, a respectable actress, hoped to inherit. These were claimed by, and surrendered to, the Hon. Mrs. Cholmondeley, and were carried to Ireland by that lady's daughter, on her marriage with Sir William Bellingham.

Such is the story of one, of whom an anonymous contemporary has written, – "Mrs. Woffington is a downright cheat, a triumphant plagiary. She first steals your heart, and then laughs at you as secure of your applause. There is such a prepossession arises from her form; such a witchcraft in her beauty, and to those who are personally acquainted with her, such an absolute command, from the sweetness of her disposition, that it is almost impossible to criticise upon her." With this criticism, I leave Margaret Woffington to the tender judgment of all gentle readers.

But while Margaret Woffington is slowly dying, here is a funeral passing through Berkeley Square. "Mr. Colley Cibber" is the name often pronounced in the crowd. It is one of which we have, for some time, lost sight; let us return to it, before we pass on to that of other conspicuous men.