Kitabı oku: «Their Majesties' Servants. Annals of the English Stage (Volume 2 of 3)», sayfa 15

But before we address ourselves to Sarah Kemble, we have to chronicle the last years of two great actors, with whose period she is connected by having played with the greater of the two, – Garrick and Barry.

CHAPTER XVIII
THE LAST YEARS OF GARRICK AND BARRY

During the remainder of the period that Garrick and Barry continued at the same house, the stage seemed to languish as their career drew to a close. Barry's energies slackened, and Garrick studied no new part. Within the same period old Havard died, after a service of utilities and some authorship, which extended to nearly threescore years.⁹⁶ If power may be judged by effects, Havard was a powerful writer, for his "Charles I.," when acted at York, excited such painful emotions in a young lady named Terrot that she died of it. Kitty Clive now retired, and Holland died, it is said, of small-pox; but he was more affected by Powell's death. After this event he was standing in the green-room, talking mournfully of his comrade. "The first time we played together in private," he said, "I acted Iachimo to his Posthumus. When I first appeared in public, we performed the same characters; and they were the last we ever played together!" "And you are dressed for Iachimo, as you tell it," added a listener. Holland smiled sadly; and soon after he slept with his old play-fellow, Posthumus; dying at the age of forty. Love, in Falstaff only inferior to Quin, died also about this time. Under that pseudonym he saved his father, the City Architect, it was supposed, the disgrace that might attach to him, if his son called himself by his proper name (Dance) on the stage. Covent Garden, in losing Powell, lost one who was as ignorant as Mrs. Pritchard, but he had fine stage inspirations. Of the acquisitions made at this time, the most notable was that of Lewis, who first appeared at Covent Garden in the season of 1773-74 as Belcour, and in light tragic parts.

Playgoers felt that the old school of actors was breaking up, and the poets did little to render the finale illustrious. It was the dramatic era of Kelly and Goldsmith, both of them needy Irishmen, and hard-working literary men, having many things in common, except talent, but being especially antagonistic as the upholders – Kelly of sentimental, Goldsmith of natural comedy. Kelly was the victor at first, for his "False Delicacy," of which few now know anything, brought him a little fortune, while Goldsmith's "Good-natured Man" would have made shipwreck but for Shuter's energy and humour. As I look over the records of this time, I cannot but remark how many of the dramatic poets toiled in vain. Taking, for instance, the tragic writers – Hoole, the watchmaker's son, is still an honoured name as a translator of the Italian poets, but his "Cyrus" and "Timanthes" are wrapped in oblivion. Some among us may still read the story of Hindostan written by one whose own story was as strange as that of Gil Blas, and who, driven upon the world as an adventurer, in consequence of a duel, in which he was a principal, rose from the condition of a common sailor to be Secretary to the Governor of Bencoolen, and a Lieutenant-Colonel. I allude to the Scotchman, Dow, at whose "Zingis" the public laughed, more than they shuddered,⁹⁷ and whose "Sethona" even the two Barrys could not render endurable, despite magnificent acting.⁹⁸

Home fared as badly as Dow. There was a strong prejudice at this season against Scotchmen, and Home was obnoxious as a client of Lord Bute's. His "Fatal Discovery," an Ossianic subject, was mounted with Roman costumes and Greek scenery, and the audience threatened to burn the house down if the piece was not withdrawn!⁹⁹ The silver tongue of Barry could not charm them into patience. Equally unsuccessful was Home's "Alonzo,"¹⁰⁰ the hero of which does not appear till the play is half over. Home sat by Barry's bed-side as the tragedy was being acted, and Mrs. Barry sent every half hour to say how she was, hoping the best and doing her utmost. But what could even that great actress do for a piece of which the story, as Walpole remarks, is that of David and Goliath, worse told than it would have been if Sternhold and Hopkins had put it into metre? His criticism is made in his happiest vein: "A gentlewoman embraces her maid, when she expects her husband. He goes mad with jealousy, without discovering what he ails, and runs away to Persia, where the post comes in from Spain, with news of a duel that is to be fought, the Lord knows when. As Persian princes love single combat as well as if they had been bred in Lucas's coffee-house, nobody is surprised that the Prince of Persia should arrive to fight a duel, that was probably over before he set out. The wife discovers the Prince to be her own husband, and the lad her own son, and so, to prevent mischief, stabs herself, and then tells the whole story, which it was rather more natural to do first. The language is as poor as the plot. Somebody asked me what prose Home had ever written. I said I knew none but his poetry."

Then, to a version of Voltaire's "Orestes," Mrs. Yates, as Electra, could not give life; and when Craddock gave to her all the profits he derived from his tragedy of "Zobeide," he showed his sense of that lady's value. Kelly could give her nothing, for he gained nothing by his "Clementina," at which the audience yawned more than they hissed.¹⁰¹ Managers seemed to understand little of the requirements of the public taste; and Colman still kept the Fool from "King Lear," as being "such a character in tragedy as would not be endured on the modern stage." In our own time, however, it has been not only endured, but enjoyed. One of the pleasantest of stage memories is connected with the Fool, as acted by Miss P. Horton, now Mrs. German Reed.

Garrick taxed all Barry's powers, for he imposed on him the part of Tancred, in perhaps the most insufferable of the tragedies of this time, the "Almida" of Mallett's daughter, Madame Celisia, which Garrick brought out only because her husband had been hospitable to him in Italy! Cumberland laid as heavy a charge on him in his emendation of "Timon," in which there was more of Cumberland and less of Shakspeare than the public could welcome. Walpole lets pass Murphy's imbroglio of "Alzuma," and his over-rated "Grecian Daughter," the success of which was due to the Barrys alone, as Evander and Euphrasia; but he records his impression of Mason's "Elfrida," which may joyously close the tragic register of this period. "It is wretchedly acted," he writes to the author (Mason), in February 1773,¹⁰² "and worse set to music. The virgins were so inarticulate, that I should have understood them as well if they had sung choruses of Sophocles. Orgar (Clarke) had a broad Irish accent. I thought the first virgin, who is a lusty virago, called Miss Miller, would have knocked him down; and I hoped she would. Edgar (Bensley) stared at his own crown, and seemed to fear it would tumble off." Miss Catley looked so impudent, and so manifestly unlike the British virgin whom she was supposed to represent, "you would have imagined she had been singing the 'Black Joke,' only that she would then have been more intelligible. Smith did not play Athelwold ill. Mrs. Hartley is made for the part (Elfrida), if beauty and figure would suffice for what you write; but she has no one symptom of genius. Still, it is very affecting, and does admirably for the stage, under all these disadvantages. The tears came into my eyes, and streamed down the Duchess of Richmond's lovely cheeks." Those great folk must have been easily moved, or Mrs. Hartley must have had more talent than Walpole will acknowledge.

Of her beauty there is no doubt, nor of its effects. In Hull's poor tragedy, "Henry II.," she played Rosamond to the Henry of Smith; and this handsome couple went on making love to one another, on the stage, till they believed in it, and fairly ran away together. When Smith, in his older and wiser days, was living in well-endowed retirement, at Bury St. Edmunds, a remark made by him, affirming the fidelity of his married life, caused his excellent wife to look up at him. He blushed; murmured something of having forgotten "one slip," and never boasted again. He had the grace of repentance.

Of comedies, and operas, and farces that have been forgotten, I will say nothing. Mrs. Lennox showed more dramatic power in her novels, and Mrs. Griffiths more good purpose in her hints to young ladies, than they did in their plays. O'Brien found his pieces condemned, through his adoption of the suggestions of his aristocratic friends. Bickerstaffe, ex-page to Lord Chesterfield, in Dublin, and an ex-officer of marines, not yet compelled to fly the country in dishonour, gained less renown by "Lionel and Clarissa" (Mattocks and Miss Macklin), of the entire originality of which he boasted, than he did by the "Padlock" (Mungo, by Dibdin), which he borrowed from the Spanish; or by the "Hypocrite" (Cantwell, by King), which was a refitting of Cibber's "Nonjuror," with the addition of Maw-worm. Kelly's sentimental comedies were only tolerated by the Wilks party, whom he had offended by his political writings, when they were brought forward under an assumed name, but they had not merit enough of their own to live. Even Cumberland's "West Indian" (Belcour, King; Major O'Flaherty, Moody), and his "Fashionable Lover" (Lord Abberville, Dodd; Aubrey, and Augusta Aubrey, by the Barrys), have departed from the scene, with his "Brothers." All Cumberland's dénouements may be conjectured before the curtain falls on his second acts. Of the "Brothers," George Montagu writes to Walpole: "I am glad it succeeds, as he has a tribe of children, and is almost as extravagant as his uncle, and a much better man." Cumberland lacks that most at which he most aims, facility to delineate character. He has less power of style than purity of sentiment. Of his fifty-four pieces, one alone, the "Wheel of Fortune," survives. In all, he exhibits more regard for modesty than he furnishes matter for amusement.

But the one comedy of this period, which has gloriously survived all the rest, and which is being acted as I write, is Goldsmith's "She Stoops to Conquer." There is nothing in it of the mawkishness of Kelly nor of the pompous affectation of Cumberland. It was so natural, that those who did not despair, doubted of it; and the author himself had not the courage to believe in its success, though Johnson and a faithful few alone augured triumph. After a world of difficulty, the night of performance arrived at last, – the 15th of March 1773. From the Shakspeare tavern, Johnson led a band of friends to Covent Garden, where he sat in the front of a side box; and as he laughed, the applause increased. But the friendly approvers were occasionally indiscreet, despite the instructions of Cumberland, who very kindly asserts, that the success of the comedy was owing to the exertions of those claqueurs, – predetermined to secure a triumph!

It came, that triumph, – and to a rare son of genius; one, who showed that drollery was compatible with decency, and that high comedy could exist without scoundrelly fine gentlemen to support it. It gave good opportunities, also, to rising actors, who, on the refusal of Smith to play Young Marlow, and of Woodward to play Tony Lumpkin, were cast for those parts, – namely, Lee Lewes and little Quick. Goldsmith did not venture to go down to Covent Garden till the fifth act was on, and then he heard the one solitary hiss, which was the exception to the universal applause, and which has been variously ascribed as issuing from the envious lips of Kelly or of Kenrick.

Sentimental comedy, ridiculed by Foote at the Haymarket, in his "Handsome House Maid, or Piety in Pattens," was dethroned, for a period, by Goldsmith's comedy. It was time. Sentiment had been carried to its utmost limits a month or two before, in a little piece called "Rose." In this operatic drama, we find Lord Gainlove (Vernon) celebrating his twenty-first birthday, by inviting every marriageable lady within five miles. Each of them is to bring a rose; and my lord is to marry her who brings one that cannot decay. The roses are brought by all, save Serina (Mrs. Smith), who, on being questioned, remarks, that the only rose which never decays is virtue; and that she brings the imperishable flower! She is raised to the rank of Lady Gainlove, forthwith!

To a similar school belongs the "Maid of Kent," of Francis Godolphin Waldron. The piece has more of talk than of action in it. Waldron was a respectable actor, a worthy bookseller, and an honest treasurer of the Theatrical Fund. A simple man – he once announced, in the country, that he would play Richard in humble imitation of the inimitable Mr. Garrick! Waldron was a Roman Catholic, and on publishing an appendix to his edition of Ben Jonson's "Sad Shepherd," he had the courage to recall public attention to the poems of Father Southwell, the martyr, of which he gave some specimens. Through him, and later editors, Southwell has become as one of those true and familiar friends who are cherished for their virtues, and are not questioned on account of their creeds.

Perhaps one of the most important improvements in stage arrangements was made at Covent Garden, on the 23d of October 1773, when Macklin first appeared as Macbeth. The taste of the nation, according to Whitehead, depended on Garrick; but Garrick, like his predecessors, had been accustomed to dress the Thane in the uniform of a modern military officer. Shakspeare, in his mind's eye, saw the persons of this drama all in native costume, for Malcolm recognises Rosse, at a distance, for his countryman, by his dress. Macklin, bearing this in mind, dressed all the characters in Scottish suits; but unfortunately, he himself is said to have looked more like a rough old Scotch bagpiper, than the Thane of Cawdor, and King of Scotland. He hoped to snatch a triumph from Garrick, from Barry, and from Smith; and, indeed, in his scene with the witches, his interview with his wife, his hypocrisy after the king's death, his bearing with the murderers, and in contrasts of rage and despondency, he gained great applause. In the other scenes he failed. On the first two nights there was occasionally a little sibilation, which Macklin attributed to Reddish and Sparks, whose friends headed a riot, which was ended by Macklin, on his third appearance in the character,¹⁰³ being driven from the stage, with much attending insult.

A few nights later he was announced for Shylock and Sir Archy Mac Sarcasm; but he could not obtain a hearing. Bensley, Woodward, and Colman treated with the enraged audience, in obedience to whose commands Mr. Macklin was declared to be discharged from the theatre. Against five of the rioters Macklin entered an action, and Lord Mansfield intimated that a jury would give heavy damages against men who had gone to the theatre with a preconceived resolution, not of judging of the merits, but of ruining an actor. Lord Mansfield ordered the case to be referred to a Master, with directions that liberal satisfaction be made; but Macklin interposed, offering to stop all further proceedings, if the defendants would pay the costs, spend £100 in tickets for his daughter's benefit, the same sum for his own, and a third for the advantage of the manager. And this was agreed to. "You have met with great applause to-day, Mr. Macklin," said Lord Mansfield; "you never acted better."

Let us now follow Garrick and Barry to the close of their professional courses, in 1776 and 1777, and make record of the principal productions which were brought forward during the last brilliant years of the first, and the majestic decline of the latter. At Drury Lane, came first Burgoyne's "Maid of the Oaks," as "fine as scenes could make it, and as dull as the author could not help making it," says Walpole. This was followed by Cumberland's "Choleric Man," the author of which, when accused of stealing a portion of it from Shadwell's "Squire of Alsatia," protested he had never seen that play! Dr. Franklin was as reluctant to acknowledge how much his "Matilda" owed to Voltaire's "Duc de Foix." All Walpole's affirmations that a better tragedy than Jephson's "Braganza" had not been seen for fifty years, could not give life to a heavy tragedy, by a man of such a comic turn of mind, that he was called "the mortal Momus." These pieces, with others of less note, were brought forward at Drury Lane, where Garrick appeared for the last time as Don Felix, in the "Wonder," on the 10th of June 1776.

He had been accustomed to take his share in the country dance with which this comedy used to end, with unabated vigour, down to the latest period; and he delighted in thus proving that his strength and spirits were unimpaired. On this final night the dance was omitted, and Garrick stepped forward, in front of a splendid and sympathising audience, to take his one and final farewell. For the first time in his life he was troubled, and at this emotion, the house was moved too, rather to tears than to applause. He could pen farewell verses for others, but he could neither write nor deliver them for himself. In a few phrases, which were perhaps not so unpremeditated as they appeared to be, he bade his old world adieu! They were rendered in simple and honest prose. "The jingle of rhyme, and the language of fiction, would but ill suit my present feelings," he said; and his good taste was duly appreciated.

Of this season at Drury Lane, I will only notice here a link which connects this old time with the present, in the fact, that in the course of it the name of Kean (Moses Kean, the uncle of Edmund) appears to Glumdalca, and Mrs. Siddons made her first appearance in London, as Portia, to King's Shylock.

Meantime, at Covent Garden, the town damned, condoned, and finally crowned the "Rivals" of Sheridan; who showed that a young fellow of twenty-three could write a comedy, remarkable for wit, good arrangement of plot, and knowledge of men and manners. Hoole's dull "Cleonice," and Hull's as dull adaptation of Thomson's "Edward and Eleonora," were followed by the gayest and most popular of operas – Sheridan's "Duenna," which was acted seventy-five times in one season, eclipsing the glory even of the "Beggar's Opera." But the audiences were dulled again by Mason's "Caractacus," the acting of which Walpole styles "a barbarous exhibition." The chief part (given to Clarke), he cruelly says, "will not suffer in not being sputtered by Barry, who has lost all his teeth."

In Garrick's last season, he looked youthful parts as well as ever he did. It was the reverse with Barry, who gave up Douglas for Old Norval, and who was so ill, while dressing for Jaffier, that acting it seemed impossible; and yet the great player, at whom Walpole sneers, entered on the stage only to be inspired; he was warmed by the interest of the scene, and, brightening with the glow of love and tenderness, communicated his feelings to all around – but he fell almost into insensibility on reaching the green-room. He played Evander to Mrs. Barry's Euphrasia, on the 28th of December 1776¹⁰⁴– the last time on which his name appeared in the bills. Death took him, and Shuter, and Woodward, close upon one another; but Garrick and Kitty Clive retired to enjoy a season of luxurious rest – Garrick at Hampton, and Mrs. Clive, between Margaret Woffington's grave, and Horace Walpole's mansion at Teddington.

The great actor, in his retirement, used to smile when his friends told him he had surpassed Betterton. Whether the smile showed he accepted the flattery or differed from the opinion, I do not know; but Garrick would remark, that Booth, in "Cato," had never been excelled; and yet, when Quin first played the part, the pit rang with "Booth outdone!" and encored the famous soliloquy, – an honour never enjoyed by either Betterton or Garrick. Let us now accompany the latter to Hampton, and, sojourning with him there, look back over his past career.