University of Virginia Library

1.3. CHAPTER III.

The Author's several Chances for the Church, the Court, and the Army. Going to the University. Met the Revolution at Nottingham. Took Arms on that Side. What he saw of it. A few Political Thoughts. Fortune willing to do for him. His Neglect of her. The Stage preferr'd to all her Favours. The Profession of an Actor consider'd. The Misfortunes and Advantages of it.

I AM now come to that Crisis of my Life when Fortune seem'd to be at a Loss what she should do with me. Had she favour'd my Father's first Designation of me, he might then, perhaps, have had as sanguine Hopes of my being a Bishop as I afterwards conceived of my being a General when I first took Arms at the Revolution. Nay, after that I

had a third Chance too, equally as good, of becoming an Under-propper of the State. How at last I came to be none of all these the Sequel will inform you.

About the Year 1687 I was taken from School to stand at the Election of Children into Winchester College; my being by my Mother's Side a Descendant [56.1] of William of Wickam, the Founder, my Father (who knew little how the World was to be dealt with) imagined my having that Advantage would be Security enough for my Success, and so sent me simply down thither, without the least favourable Recommendation or Interest, but that of my naked Merit and a pompous Pedigree in my Pocket. Had he tack'd a Direction to my Back, and sent me by the Carrier to the Mayor of the Town, to be chosen Member of Parliament there, I might have had just as much Chance to have succeeded in the one as the other. But I must not omit in this Place to let you know that the Experience which my Father then bought, at my Cost, taught him some Years after to take a more judicious Care of my younger Brother, Lewis Cibber, whom, with the Present of a Statue of the Founder, of his own making, he recommended to the same College. This Statue now stands (I think) over the School Door there, [56.2] and was so well

executed that it seem'd to speak———for its Kinsman. It was no sooner set up than the Door of Preferment was open to him.

Here one would think my Brother had the Advantage of me in the Favour of Fortune, by this his first laudable Step into the World. I own I was so proud of his Success that I even valued myself upon it; and yet it is but a melancholy Reflection to observe how unequally his Profession and mine were provided for; when I, who had been the Outcast of Fortune, could find means, from my Income of the Theatre, before I was my own Master there, to supply in his highest Preferment his common Necessities. I cannot part with his Memory without telling you I had as sincere a Concern for this Brother's Well-being as my own. He had lively Parts and more than ordinary Learning, with a good deal of natural Wit and Humour; but from too great a disregard to his Health he died a Fellow of New College in Oxford soon after he had been ordained by Dr. Compton, then Bishop of London. I now return to the State of my own Affair at Winchester.

After the Election, the Moment I was inform'd that I was one of the unsuccessful Candidates, I blest myself to think what a happy Reprieve I had got from the confin'd Life of a School-boy! and the same Day took Post back to London, that I might arrive time enough to see a Play (then my darling Delight) before my Mother might demand an Account of my travelling Charges. When I look back to that Time,

it almost makes me tremble to think what Miseries, in fifty Years farther in Life, such an unthinking Head was liable to! To ask why Providence afterwards took more Care of me than I did of myself, might be making too bold an Enquiry into its secret Will and Pleasure: All I can say to that Point is, that I am thankful and amazed at it! [58.1]

'Twas about this time I first imbib'd an Inclination, which I durst not reveal, for the Stage; for besides that I knew it would disoblige my Father, I had no Conception of any means practicable to make my way to it. I therefore suppress'd the bewitching Ideas of so sublime a Station, and compounded with my Ambition by laying a lower Scheme, of only getting the nearest way into the immediate Life of a Gentleman-Collegiate. My Father being at this time employ'd at Chattsworth in Derbyshire by the

(then) Earl of Devonshire, who was raising that Seat from a Gothick to a Grecian Magnificence, I made use of the Leisure I then had in London to open to him by Letter my Disinclination to wait another Year for an uncertain Preferment at Winchester, and to entreat him that he would send me, per saltum, by a shorter Cut, to the University. My Father, who was naturally indulgent to me, seem'd to comply with my Request, and wrote word that as soon as his Affairs would permit, he would carry me with him and settle me in some College, but rather at Cambridge, where (during his late Residence at that Place, in making some Statues that now stand upon Trinity College New Library) he had contracted some Acquaintance with the Heads of Houses, who might assist his Intentions for me. [59.1] This I lik'd better than to go discountenanc'd to Oxford, to which it would have been a sort of Reproach to me not to have come elected. After some Months were elaps'd, my Father, not being willing to let me lie too long idling in London, sent for me down to Chattsworth, to be under his Eye, till he cou'd be at leisure to carry me to Cambridge. Before I could set out on my Journey thither, the Nation fell in labour of the Revolution, the News being then just brought to London That the Prince of Orange at the Head of an Army was landed in the West. [60.1] When I came to Nottingham, I found my Father in Arms there, among those Forces which the Earl of Devonshire had rais'd for the Redress of our violated Laws and Liberties. My Father judg'd this a proper Season for a young Strippling to turn himself loose into the Bustle of the World; and being himself too advanc'd in Years to endure the Winter Fatigue which might possibly follow, entreated that noble Lord that he would be pleas'd to accept of his Son in his room, and that he would give him (my Father) leave to return and finish his Works at Chattsworth. This was so well receiv'd by his Lordship that he not only admitted of my Service, but promis'd my Father in return that when Affairs were settled he would provide for me. Upon this my Father return'd to Derbyshire, while I, not a little transported, jump'd into his Saddle. Thus in one Day all my Thoughts of the University were smother'd in Ambition! A slight Commission for a Horse-Officer was the least View I had before me. At this Crisis you cannot but observe that the Fate of King James and of the Prince of Orange, and that of so minute a Being as my self, were all at once upon the Anvil: In what shape they wou'd severally come out, tho' a good Guess might be made, was not then demonstrable to the deepest Foresight; but as my Fortune seem'd to be of small Importance to the Publick, Providence thought fit to postpone it 'till that of those great Rulers of Nations was justly perfected. Yet, had my Father's Business permitted him to have carried me one Month sooner (as he intended) to the University, who knows but by this time that purer Fountain might have wash'd my Imperfections into a Capacity of writing (instead of Plays and Annual Odes) Sermons and Pastoral Letters. But whatever Care of the Church might so have fallen to my share, as I dare say it may be now in better Hands, I ought not to repine at my being otherwise disposed of. [61.1]

You must now consider me as one among those desperate Thousands, who, after a Patience sorely try'd, took Arms under the Banner of Necessity, the natural Parent of all Human Laws and Government. I question if in all the Histories of Empire there is one Instance of so bloodless a Revolution as that in England in 1688, wherein Whigs, Tories, Princes, Prelates, Nobles, Clergy, common People, and a Standing Army, were unanimous. To have seen all England of one Mind is to have liv'd at a very particular Juncture. Happy Nation! who are never divided among themselves but when they have least to complain of! Our greatest Grievance since that Time seems to have been that we cannot all govern; and 'till the Number of good Places are equal to those who think themselves qualified for them there must ever be a Cause of Contention among us. While Great Men want great Posts, the Nation will never want real or seeming Patriots; and while great Posts are fill'd with Persons whose Capacities are but Human, such Persons will never be allow'd to be without Errors; not even the Revolution, with all its Advantages, it seems, has been able to furnish us with unexceptionable Statesmen! for from that time I don't remember any one Set of Ministers that have not been heartily rail'd at; a Period long enough one would think (if all of them have been as bad as they have been call'd) to make a People despair of ever seeing a good one: But as it is possible that Envy, Prejudice, or Party may sometimes have a

share in what is generally thrown upon 'em, it is not easy for a private Man to know who is absolutely in the right from what is said against them, or from what their Friends or Dependants may say in their Favour: Tho' I can hardly forbear thinking that they who have been longest rail'd at, must from that Circumstance shew in some sort a Proof of Capacity. ———But to my History.

It were almost incredible to tell you, at the latter end of King James's Time (though the Rod of Arbitrary Power was always shaking over us) with what Freedom and Contempt the common People in the open Streets talk'd of his wild Measures to make a whole Protestant Nation Papists; and yet, in the height of our secure and wanton Defiance of him, we of the Vulgar had no farther Notion of any Remedy for this Evil than a satisfy'd Presumption that our Numbers were too great to be master'd by his mere Will and Pleasure; that though he might be too hard for our Laws, he would never be able to get the better of our Nature; and that to drive all England into Popery and Slavery he would find would be teaching an old Lion to dance. [63.1]

But happy was it for the Nation that it had then wiser Heads in it, who knew how to lead a People so dispos'd into Measures for the Publick Preservation.

Here I cannot help reflecting on the very different Deliverances England met with at this Time and in the very same Year of the Century before: Then (in 1588) under a glorious Princess, who had at heart the Good and Happiness of her People, we scatter'd and destroy'd the most formidable Navy of Invaders that ever cover'd the Seas: And now (in 1688) under a Prince who had alienated the Hearts of his People by his absolute Measures to oppress them, a foreign Power is receiv'd with open Arms in defence of our Laws, Liberties, and Religion, which our native Prince had invaded! How widely different were these two Monarchs in their Sentiments of Glory! But, Tantum religio potuit suadere malorum. [64.1]

When we consider in what height of the Nation's Prosperity the Successor of Queen Elizabeth came to this Throne, it seems amazing that such a Pile of English Fame and Glory, which her skilful Administration

had erected, should in every following Reign down to the Revolution so unhappily moulder away in one continual Gradation of Political Errors: All which must have been avoided, if the plain Rule which that wise Princess left behind her had been observed, viz. That the Love of her People was the surest Support of her Throne. This was the Principle by which she so happily govern'd herself and those she had the Care of. In this she found Strength to combat and struggle thro' more Difficulties and dangerous Conspiracies than ever English Monarch had to cope with. At the same time that she profess'd to desire the People's Love, she took care that her Actions shou'd deserve it, without the least Abatement of her Prerogative; the Terror of which she so artfully covered that she sometimes seem'd to flatter those she was determin'd should obey. If the four following Princes had exercis'd their Regal Authority with so visible a Regard to the Publick Welfare, it were hard to know whether the People of England might have ever complain'd of them, or even felt the want of that Liberty they now so happily enjoy. 'Tis true that before her Time our Ancestors had many successful Contests with their Sovereigns for their ancient Right and Claim to it; yet what did those Successes amount to? little more than a Declaration that there was such a Right in being; but who ever saw it enjoy'd? Did not the Actions of almost every succeeding Reign shew there were still so many Doors of Oppression left open to the Prerogative that (whatever Value our most eloquent Legislators may have set upon those ancient Liberties) I doubt it will be difficult to fix the Period of their having a real Being before the Revolution: Or if there ever was an elder Period of our unmolested enjoying them, I own my poor Judgment is at a loss where to place it. I will boldly say then, it is to the Revolution only we owe the full Possession of what, 'till then, we never had more than a perpetually contested Right to: And, from thence, from the Revolution it is that the Protestant Successors of King William have found their Paternal Care and Maintenance of that Right has been the surest Basis of their Glory. [66.1]

These, Sir, are a few of my Political Notions, which I have ventur'd to expose that you may see what sort of an English Subject I am; how wise or weak they may have shewn me is not my Concern; let the weight of these Matters have drawn me never so far out of my Depth, I still flatter myself that I have kept a simple, honest Head above Water. And it is a solid Comfort to me to consider that how insignificant soever my Life was at the Revolution, it had still the good Fortune to make one among the many who brought it about; and that I now, with

my Coævals, as well as with the Millions since born, enjoy the happy Effects of it.

But I must now let you see how my particular Fortune went forward with this Change in the Government; of which I shall not pretend to give you any farther Account than what my simple Eyes saw of it.

We had not been many Days at Nottingham before we heard that the Prince of Denmark, with some other great Persons, were gone off from the King to the Prince of Orange, and that the Princess Anne, fearing the King her Father's Resentment might fall upon her for her Consort's Revolt, had withdrawn her self in the Night from London, and was then within half a Days Journey of Nottingham; on which very Morning we were suddenly alarm'd with the News that two thousand of the King's Dragoons were in close pursuit to bring her back Prisoner to London: But this Alarm it seems was all Stratagem, and was but a part of that general Terror which was thrown into many other Places about the Kingdom at the same time, with design to animate and unite the People in their common defence; it being then given out that the Irish were every where at our Heels to cut off all the Protestants within the Reach of their Fury. In this Alarm our Troops scrambled to Arms in as much Order as their Consternation would admit of, when, having advanc'd some few Miles on the London Road, they met the Princess in a Coach, attended only by the Lady Churchill (now

Dutchess Dowager of Marlborough) and the Lady Fitzharding, whom they conducted into Nottingham through the Acclamations of the People: The same Night all the Noblemen and the other Persons of Distinction then in Arms had the Honour to sup at her Royal Highness's Table; which was then furnish'd (as all her necessary Accommodations were) by the Care and at the Charge of the Lord Devonshire. At this Entertainment, of which I was a Spectator, something very particular surpriz'd me: The noble Guests at the Table happening to be more in number than Attendants out of Liveries could be found for, I being well known in the Lord Devonshire's Family, was desired by his Lordship's Maitre d'Hotel to assist at it: The Post assign'd me was to observe what the Lady Churchill might call for. Being so near the Table, you may naturally ask me what I might have heard to have pass'd in Conversation at it? which I should certainly tell you had I attended to above two Words that were utter'd there, and those were, Some Wine and Water. These I remember came distinguish'd and observ'd to my Ear, because they came from the fair Guest whom I took such Pleasure to wait on: Except at that single Sound, all my Senses were collected into my Eyes, which during the whole Entertainment wanted no better Amusement, than of stealing now and then the Delight of gazing on the fair Object so near me: If so clear an Emanation of Beauty, such a commanding Grace of Aspect struck me into a Regard that had something softer than the most profound Respect in it, I cannot see why I may not without Offence remember it; since Beauty, like the Sun, must sometimes lose its Power to chuse, and shine into equal Warmth the Peasant and the Courtier. [69.1] Now to give you, Sir, a farther Proof of how good a Taste my first hopeful Entrance into Manhood set out with, I remember above twenty Years after, when the same Lady had given the World four of the loveliest Daughters that ever were gaz'd on, even after they were all nobly married, and were become the reigning Toasts of every Party of Pleasure, their still lovely Mother had at the same time her Votaries, and her Health very often took the Lead in those involuntary Triumphs of Beauty. However presumptuous or impertinent these Thoughts might have appear'd at my first entertaining them, why may I not hope that my having kept them decently secret for full fifty Years may be now a good round Pleas for their Pardon? Were I now qualify'd to say more of this celebrated Lady, I should conclude it thus: That she has liv'd (to all Appearance) a peculiar Favourite of Providence; that few Examples can parallel the Profusion of Blessings which have attended so long a Life of Felicity. A Person so attractive! a Husband so memorably great! an Offspring so beautiful! a Fortune so immense! and a Title which (when Royal Favour had no higher to bestow) she only could receive from the Author of Nature; a great Grandmother without grey Hairs! These are such consummate Indulgencies that we might think Heaven has center'd them all in one Person, to let us see how far, with a lively Understanding, the full Possession of them could contribute to human Happiness.—I now return to our Military Affairs.

From Nottingham our Troops march'd to Oxford; through every Town we pass'd the People came out, in some sort of Order, with such rural and rusty Weapons as they had, to meet us, in Acclamations of Welcome and good Wishes. This I thought promis'd a favourable End of our Civil War, when the Nation seem'd so willing to be all of a Side! At Oxford the Prince and Princess of Denmark met for the first time after their late Separation, and had all possible Honours paid them by the University. Here we rested in quiet Quarters for several Weeks, till the Flight of King James into France; when the Nation being left to take care of it self, the only Security that could be found for it was to advance the Prince and Princess of Orange to the vacant Throne. The publick Tranquillity being now settled, our Forces were remanded back to Nottingham. Here all our Officers who had commanded them from their first Rising receiv'd Commissions to confirm

them in their several Posts; and at the same time such private Men as chose to return to their proper Business or Habitations were offer'd their Discharges. Among the small number of those who receiv'd them, I was one; for not hearing that my Name was in any of these new Commissions, I thought it time for me to take my leave of Ambition, as Ambition had before seduc'd me from the imaginary Honours of the Gown, and therefore resolv'd to hunt my Fortune in some other Field. [71.1]

From Nottingham I again return'd to my Father at Chattsworth, where I staid till my Lord came down, with the new Honours [72.1] of Lord Steward of his Majesty's Houshold and Knight of the Garter! a noble turn of Fortune! and a deep Stake he had play'd for! which calls to my Memory a Story we had then in the Family, which though too light for our graver Historians notice, may be of weight enough for my humble Memoirs. This noble Lord being in the Presence-Chamber in King James's time, and known to be no Friend to the Measures of his Administration, a certain Person in favour there, and desirous to be more so, took occasion to tread rudely upon his Lordship's Foot, which was return'd with a sudden Blow upon the Spot: For this Misdemeanour his Lordship was fin'd thirty thousand Pounds; but I think had some time allow'd him for the Payment. [72.2] In the Summer preceding the Revolution, when his Lordship was retir'd to Chattsworth, and had been there deeply engag'd with other Noblemen in the Measures which soon after brought it to bear, King James sent a Person down to him with Offers to mitigate his Fine upon Conditions of ready Payment, to which his Lordship reply'd, That if his Majesty pleas'd to allow him a little longer

time, he would rather chuse to play double or quit with him: The time of the intended Rising being then so near at hand, the Demand, it seems, came too late for a more serious Answer.

However low my Pretensions to Preferment were at this time, my Father thought that a little Court-Favour added to them might give him a Chance for saving the Expence of maintaining me, as he had intended, at the University: He therefore order'd me to draw up a Petition to the Duke, and, to give it some Air of Merit, to put it into Latin, the Prayer of which was, That his Grace would be pleas'd to do something (I really forget what) for me.———However the Duke, upon receiving it, was so good as to desire my Father would send me to London in the Winter, where he would consider of some Provision for me. It might, indeed, well require time to consider it; for I believe it was then harder to know what I was really fit for, than to have got me any thing I was not fit for: However, to London I came, where I enter'd into my first State of Attendance and Dependance for about five Months, till the February following. But alas! in my Intervals of Leisure, by frequently seeing Plays, my wise Head was turn'd to higher Views, I saw no Joy in any other Life than that of an Actor, so that (as before, when a Candidate at Winchester) I was even afraid of succeeding to the Preferment I sought for: 'Twas on the Stage alone I had form'd a Happiness preferable to all that Camps or Courts could offer me! and

there was I determin'd, let Father and Mother take it as they pleas'd, to fix my non ultra. [74.1] Here I think my self oblig'd, in respect to the Honour of that noble Lord, to acknowledge that I believe his real Intentions to do well for me were prevented by my own inconsiderate Folly; so that if my Life did not then take a more laudable Turn, I have no one but my self to reproach for it; for I was credibly inform'd by the Gentlemen of his Houshold, that his Grace had, in their hearing, talk'd of recommending me to the Lord Shrewsbury, then Secretary of State, for the first proper Vacancy in that Office. But the distant Hope of a Reversion was too cold a Temptation for a Spirit impatient as mine, that wanted immediate Possession of what my Heart was so differently set upon. The Allurements of a Theatre are still so strong in my Memory, that perhaps few, except those who have felt them, can conceive: And I am yet so far willing to excuse my Folly, that I am convinc'd, were it possible to take off that Disgrace and Prejudice which Custom has thrown upon the Profession of an Actor, many a well-born younger Brother and Beauty of low Fortune would gladly have adorn'd the Theatre, who by their not being able to brook such Dishonour to their Birth, have pass'd away their Lives decently unheeded and forgotten.

Many Years ago, when I was first in the Menagement of the Theatre, I remember a strong Instance, which will shew you what degree of Ignominy the Profession of an Actor was then held at.—A Lady, with a real Title, whose female Indiscretions had occasion'd her Family to abandon her, being willing, in her Distress, to make an honest Penny of what Beauty she had left, desired to be admitted as an Actress; when before she could receive our Answer, a Gentleman (probably by her Relation's Permission) advis'd us not to entertain her, for Reasons easy to be guess'd. You may imagine we cou'd not be so blind to our Interest as to make an honourable Family our unnecessary Enemies by not taking his Advice; which the Lady, too, being sensible of, saw the Affair had its Difficulties, and therefore pursu'd it no farther. Now, is it not hard that it should be a doubt whether this Lady's Condition or ours were the more melancholy? For here you find her honest Endeavour to get Bread from the Stage was look'd upon as an Addition of new Scandal to her former Dishonour! so that I am afraid, according to this way of thinking, had the same Lady stoop'd to have sold Patches and Pomatum in a Band-box from Door to Door, she might in that Occupation have starv'd with less Infamy than had she reliev'd her Necessities by being famous on the Theatre. Whether this Prejudice may have arisen from the

abuses that so often have crept in upon the Stage, I am not clear in; tho' when that is grossly the Case, I will allow there ought to be no Limits set to the Contempt of it; yet in its lowest Condition in my time, methinks there could have been no Pretence of preferring the Band-box to the Buskin. But this severe Opinion, whether merited or not, is not the greatest Distress that this Profession is liable to.

I shall now give you another Anecdote, quite the reverse of what I have instanc'd, wherein you will see an Actress as hardly us'd for an Act of Modesty (which without being a Prude, a Woman, even upon the Stage, may sometimes think it necessary not to throw off.) This too I am forc'd to premise, that the Truth of what I am going to tell you may not be sneer'd at before it be known. About the Year 1717, a young Actress of a desirable Person, sitting in an upper Box at the Opera, a military Gentleman thought this a proper Opportunity to secure a little Conversation with her, the Particulars of which were probably no more worth repeating than it seems the Damoiselle then thought them worth listening to; for, notwithstanding the fine Things he said to her, she rather chose to give the Musick the Preference of her Attention: This Indifference was so offensive to his high Heart, that he began to change the Tender into the Terrible, and, in short, proceeded at last to treat her in a Style too grosly insulting for the meanest Female Ear to endure unresented: Upon which, being beaten too far out of her Discretion,

she turn'd hastily upon him with an angry Look, and a Reply which seem'd to set his Merit in so low a Regard, that he thought himself oblig'd in Honour to take his time to resent it: This was the full Extent of her Crime, which his Glory delay'd no longer to punish than 'till the next time she was to appear upon the Stage: There, in one of her best Parts, wherein she drew a favourable Regard and Approbation from the Audience, he, dispensing with the Respect which some People think due to a polite Assembly, began to interrupt her Performance with such loud and various Notes of Mockery, as other young Men of Honour in the same Place have sometimes made themselves undauntedly merry with: Thus, deaf to all Murmurs or Entreaties of those about him, he pursued his Point, even to throwing near her such Trash as no Person can be suppos'd to carry about him unless to use on so particular an Occasion.

A Gentleman then behind the Scenes, being shock'd at his unmanly Behaviour, was warm enough to say, That no Man but a Fool or a Bully cou'd be capable of insulting an Audience or a Woman in so monstrous a manner. The former valiant Gentleman, to whose Ear the Words were soon brought by his Spies, whom he had plac'd behind the Scenes to observe how the Action was taken there, came immediately from the Pit in a Heat, and demanded to know of the Author of those Words if he was the Person that spoke them? to which he calmly reply'd,

That though he had never seen him before, yet, since he seem'd so earnest to be satisfy'd, he would do him the favour to own, That indeed the Words were his, and that they would be the last Words he should chuse to deny, whoever they might fall upon. To conclude, their Dispute was ended the next Morning in Hyde-Park, where the determin'd Combatant who first ask'd for Satisfaction was oblig'd afterwards to ask his Life too; whether he mended it or not, I have not yet heard; but his Antagonist in a few Years after died in one of the principal Posts of the Government. [78.1]

Now, though I have sometimes known these gallant Insulters of Audiences draw themselves into Scrapes which they have less honourably got out of, yet, alas! what has that avail'd? This generous publick-spirited Method of silencing a few was but repelling the Disease in one Part to make it break out in another: All Endeavours at Protection are new Provocations to those who pride themselves in pushing their Courage to a Defiance of Humanity. Even when a Royal Resentment has shewn itself in the behalf of an injur'd Actor, it has been unable to defend him from farther Insults! an Instance of which happen'd in the late King James's time. Mr. Smith [78.2] (whose Character as a Gentleman could have

been no way impeach'd had he not degraded it by being a celebrated Actor) had the Misfortune, in a Dispute with a Gentleman behind the Scenes, to receive a Blow from him: The same Night an Account of this Action was carry'd to the King, to whom the Gentleman was represented to grosly in the wrong, that the next Day his Majesty sent to forbid him the Court upon it. This Indignity cast upon a Gentleman only for having maltreated a Player, was look'd upon as the Concern of every Gentleman; and a Party was soon form'd to assert and vindicate their Honour, by humbling this favour'd Actor, whose slight Injury had been judg'd equal to so severe a Notice. Accordingly, the next time Smith acted he was receiv'd with a Chorus of Cat-calls, that soon convinc'd him he should not be suffer'd to proceed in his Part; upon which, without the least Discomposure, he order'd the Curtain to be dropp'd; and, having a competent Fortune of his own, thought the Conditions of adding to it by his remaining upon the Stage were too dear, and from that Day entirely quitted it. [79.1] I shall make no Observation upon the King's Resentment, or on that of his good Subjects; how far either was or was not right, is not the Point I dispute for: Be that as it may, the unhappy Condition of the Actor was so far from being reliev'd by this Royal Interposition in his favour, that it was the worse for it.

While these sort of real Distresses on the Stage

are so unavoidable, it is no wonder that young People of Sense (though of low Fortune) should be so rarely found to supply a Succession of good Actors. Why then may we not, in some measure, impute the Scarcity of them to the wanton Inhumanity of those Spectators, who have made it so terribly mean to appear there? Were there no ground for this Question, where could be the Disgrace of entring into a Society whose Institution, when not abus'd, is a delightful School of Morality; and where to excel requires as ample Endowments of Nature as any one Profession (that of holy Institution excepted) whatsoever? But, alas! as Shakespear says,

Look into St. Peter's at Rome, and see what a profitable Farce is made of Religion there! Why then is an Actor more blemish'd than a Cardinal? While the Excellence of the one arises from his innocently seeming what he is not, and the Eminence of the other from the most impious Fallacies that can be impos'd upon human Understanding? If the best things, therefore, are most liable to Corruption, the Corruption of the Theatre is no Disproof of its innate and primitive Utility.

In this Light, therefore, all the Abuses of the Stage, all the low, loose, or immoral Supplements to

wit, whether in making Virtue ridiculous or Vice agreeable, or in the decorated Nonsense and Absurdities of Pantomimical Trumpery, I give up to the Contempt of every sensible Spectator, as so much rank Theatrical Popery. But cannot still allow these Enormities to impeach the Profession, while they are so palpably owing to the deprav'd Taste of the Multitude. While Vice and Farcical Folly are the most profitable Commodities, why should we wonder that, time out of mind, the poor Comedian, when real Wit would bear no Price, should deal in what would bring him most ready Money? But this, you will say, is making the Stage a Nursery of Vice and Folly, or at least keeping an open Shop for it.—— I grant it: But who do you expect should reform it? The Actors? Why so? If People are permitted to buy it without blushing, the Theatrical Merchant seems to have an equal Right to the Liberty of selling it without Reproach. That this Evil wants a Remedy is not to be contested; nor can it be denied that the Theatre is as capable of being preserv'd by a Reformation as Matters of more Importance; which, for the Honour of our National Taste, I could wish were attempted; and then, if it could not subsist under decent Regulations, by not being permitted to present any thing there but what were worthy to be there, it would be time enough to consider, whether it were necessary to let it totally fall, or effectually support it.

Notwithstanding all my best Endeavours to recommend

the Profession of an Actor to a more general Favour, I doubt, while it is liable to such Corruptions, and the Actor himself to such unlimited Insults as I have already mention'd, I doubt, I say, we must still leave him a-drift, with his intrinsick Merit, to ride out the Storm as well as he is able.

However, let us now turn to the other side of this Account, and see what Advantages stand there to balance the Misfortunes I have laid before you. There we shall still find some valuable Articles of Credit, that sometimes overpay his incidental Disgraces.

First, if he has Sense, he will consider that as these Indignities are seldom or never offer'd him by People that are remarkable for any one good Quality, he ought not to lay them too close to his Heart: He will know too, that when Malice, Envy, or a brutal Nature, can securely hide or fence themselves in a Multitude, Virtue, Merit, Innocence, and even sovereign Superiority, have been, and must be equally liable to their Insults; that therefore, when they fall upon him in the same manner, his intrinsick Value cannot be diminish'd by them: On the contrary, if, with a decent and unruffled Temper, he lets them pass, the Disgrace will return upon his Aggressor, and perhaps warm the generous Spectator into a Partiality in his Favour.

That while he is conscious, That, as an Actor, he must be always in the Hands of Injustice, it does him at least this involuntary Good, that it keeps him in a settled Resolution to avoid all Occasions of provoking it, or of even offending the lowest Enemy,

who, at the Expence of a Shilling, may publickly revenge it.

That, if he excells on the Stage, and is irreproachable in his Personal Morals and Behaviour, his Profession is so far from being an Impediment, that it will be oftner a just Reason for his being receiv'd among People of condition with Favour; and sometimes with a more social Distinction, than the best, though more profitable Trade he might have follow'd, could have recommended him to.

That this is a Happiness to which several Actors within my Memory, as Betterton, Smith, Montfort, Captain Griffin, [83.1] and Mrs. Bracegirdle (yet living) have arriv'd at; to which I may add the late celebrated

Mrs. Oldfield. Now let us suppose these Persons, the Men, for example, to have been all eminent Mercers, and the Women as famous Milliners, can we imagine that merely as such, though endow'd with the same natural Understanding, they could have been call'd into the same honourable Parties of Conversation? People of Sense and Condition could not but know it was impossible they could have had such various Excellencies on the Stage, without having something naturally valuable in them: And I will take upon me to affirm, who knew them all living, that there was not one of the Number who were not capable of supporting a variety of Spirited Conversation, tho' the Stage were never to have been the Subject of it.

That to have trod the Stage has not always been thought a Disqualification from more honourable Employments; several have had military Commissions; Carlisle [84.1] and Wiltshire[84.2] were both kill'd Captains;

one in King William's Reduction of Ireland; and the other in his first War in Flanders; and the famous Ben. Johnson, tho' an unsuccessful Actor, was afterwards made Poet-Laureat. [85.1]

To these laudable Distinctions let me add one more; that of Publick Applause, which, when truly merited, is perhaps one of the most agreeable Gratifications that venial Vanity can feel. A Happiness almost peculiar to the Actor, insomuch that the best Tragick Writer, however numerous his separate Admirers may be, yet, to unite them into one general Act of Praise, to receive at once those thundring Peals of Approbation which a crouded Theatre throws out, he must still call in the Assistance of the skilful Actor to raise and partake of them.

In a Word, 'twas in this flattering Light only, though not perhaps so thoroughly consider'd, I look'd upon the Life of an Actor when but eighteen Years of Age; nor can you wonder if the Temptations were too strong for so warm a Vanity as mine to resist; but whether excusable or not, to the Stage at length I came, and it is from thence, chiefly, your Curiosity, if you have any left, is to expect a farther Account of me.