University of Virginia Library

1.5. CHAPTER V.

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; [119.1] 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. [122.1] In Mr. Addison's Cato, Syphax [122.2] has some Sentiments of near the same nature,

Kynaston

[Description: Mezzotint Portrait, engraved by R.B. Parkes. Edward Kynaston, comedian. After R. Cooper.]

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. [123.1] In Shakespear Instances of them are frequent, as in Mackbeth, Hotspur, Richard the Third, and Harry the Eighth, [123.2] 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, [124.1] —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. [125.1] Risum tebeatus? It was impossible not to laugh and reasonably too, when this Line came out of the Mouth of Kynaston, [125.2] 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! [125.3] 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.

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 wak'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. [127.1]

Monfort, [127.2] 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,

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 brillant 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 [128.1] 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 pleased 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 [129.1] 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 33rd 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. [130.1]

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, and Iago, or a Machiavil [131.1] 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 form 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. [132.1] 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. [133.1]

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 our of Power, I leave those to guess at him who may yet remember the changing Complexion of his Ministers. [134.1] 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. Form 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. [135.1]

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:

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, [136.2] 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. [137.1]

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 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. [139.1]

When I first brought Richard the Third [139.2] (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 last 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. [140.1]

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 [141.1] 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, [143.1] Barnaby Brittle in the Wanton Wife, Sir Davy Dunce in the Soldier's Fortune, Sosia in Amphytrion, [143.2] &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 form 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 he 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.

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; [146.1]

Anthony Leigh

[Description: Mezzotint Portrait, engraved by R.B. Parkes. Anthony Leigh, in the character of the friar, in Dryden's tragi-comedy of "The Spanish Friar." After the painting by Sir Godfrey Kneller.]

Ralph, a stupid, staring Under-servant, in Sir Solomon Single. [147.1] Quite opposite to those were Sir Jolly Jumble in the Soldier's Fortune, [147.2] and his old Belfond in the Squire of Alsatia. [147.3] 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 [148.1] 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, some 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.

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, [149.1] and the Toothless Lawyer [149.2] 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, [150.1] 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, [151.1] 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 Cate, 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. [152.1] 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. [153.1]

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. [154.1]

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, [155.1] 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 Grave-digger 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; [155.2] 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 Portraicts.

There were at this time several others in some degree of Favour with the Publick, Powel, [157.1] Verbruggen,[157.2] Williams, [157.3] &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. Berry 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, [158.1] 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: Form 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! [159.1] 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. [159.2]

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. [160.1] 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. [161.1] '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, [161.2] 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! [161.3]

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. [162.1]

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. [163.1]

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. [164.1]

Here I cannot help observing, when there was but one Theatre in London, at what unequal Sallaries, compar'd to those of late 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 [165.1] 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 he 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; [166.1] 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 [166.2] 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, [166.3] 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. [167.1] 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. [167.2] 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 firs 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. [168.1] 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 of her variety of Humour was every way proportionable; as, indeed, in most Parts that she thought worth her care of 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. [169.1]

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. [170.1] 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, [172.1] 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 [173.1] 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, [174.1] 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. [174.2]

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 to 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. [177.1] 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 Commonwealth, 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. [178.1]

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. [178.2] 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: [179.1] 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. [179.2]