University of Virginia Library

1.4. CHAPTER IV.

A short View of the Stage, from the Year 1660 to the Revolution. The King's and Duke's Company united, composed the best Set of English Actors yet known. Their several Theatrical Characters.

THO' I have only promis'd you an Account of all the material Occurrences of the Theatre during my own Time, yet there was one which happen'd not above seven Years before my Admission to it, which may be as well worth notice as the first great Revolution of it, in which, among numbers, I was involv'd. And as the one will lead you into a clearer View of the other, it may therefore be previously necessary to let you know that

King Charles II. at his Restoration granted two Patents, one to Sir William Davenant, [87.1] and the other to Thomas Killigrew, Esq., [87.2] and their several Heirs and Assigns, for ever, for the forming of two distinct Companies of Comedians: The first were

call'd the King's Servants, and acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane; [88.1] and the other the Duke's Company, who acted at the Duke's Theatre in Dorset-Garden. [88.2] About ten of the King's Company were on the Royal Houshold-Establishment, having each ten Yards of Scarlet Cloth, with a proper quantity of Lace allow'd them for Liveries; and in their Warrants from the Lord Chamberlain were stiled Gentlemen of the Great Chamber. [88.3] Whether the like Appointments were extended to the Duke's Company, I am not certain; but they were both in high Estimation with the Publick, and so much the

Thomas Betterton

[Description: Mezzotint Portrait, engraved by R.B. Parkes. Thomas Betterton. After the painting by Sir Godfrey Kneller]

Delight and Concern of the Court, that they were not only supported by its being frequently present at their publick Presentations, but by its taking cognizance even of their private Government, insomuch that their particular Differences, Pretentions, or Complaints were generally ended by the King or Duke's Personal Command or Decision. Besides their being thorough Masters of their Art, these Actors set forwards with two critical Advantages, which perhaps may never happen again in many Ages. The one was, their immediate opening after the so long Interdiction of Plays during the Civil War and the Anarchy that followed it. What eager Appetites from so long a Fast must the Guests of those Times have had to that high and fresh variety of Entertainments which Shakespear had left prepared for them? Never was a Stage so provided! A hundred Years are wasted, and another silent Century well advanced, and yet what unborn Age shall say Shakespear had his equal! How many shining Actors have the warm Scenes of his Genius given to Posterity? without being himself in his Action equal to his Writing! A strong Proof that Actors, like Poets, must be born such. Eloquence and Elocution are quite different Talents: Shakespear could write Hamlet, but Tradition tells us That the Ghost, in the same Play, was one of his best Performances as an Actor: Nor is it within the reach of Rule or Precept to complete either of them. Instruction, 'tis true, may guard them equally against Faults or Absurdities, but there it stops; Nature must do the rest: To excel in either Art is a self-born Happiness which something more than good Sense must be the Mother of.

The other Advantage I was speaking of is, that before the Restoration no Actress had ever been seen upon the English Stage. [90.1] The Characters of Women on former Theatres were perform'd by Boys, or young Men of the most effeminate Aspect. And what Grace or Master-strokes of Action can we conceive such ungain Hoydens to have been capable of? This Defect was so well considered by Shakespear, that in few of his Plays he has any greater Dependance upon the Ladies than in the Innocence and Simplicity of a Desdemona, an Ophelia, or in the short Specimen of a fond and virtuous Portia. The additional Objects then of real, beautiful Women

could not but draw a Proportion of new Admirers to the Theatre. We may imagine, too, that these Actresses were not ill chosen, when it is well known that more than one of them had Charms sufficient at their leisure Hours to calm and mollify the Cares of Empire. [91.1] Besides these peculiar Advantages, they had a private Rule or Agreement, which both Houses were happily ty'd down to, which was, that no Play acted at one House should ever be attempted at the other. All the capital Plays therefore of Shakespear, Fletcher, and Ben. Johnson were divided between them by the Approbation of the Court and their own alternate Choice. [91.2] So that when Hart [91.3] was famous for Othello, Betterton had n less a Reputation for Hamlet. By this Order the Stage was supply'd with a greater Variety of Plays than could possibly have been shewn had both Companies been employ'd at the same time upon the same Play; which Liberty, too, must have occasion'd such frequent Repetitions of 'em, by their opposite Endeavours to forestall and anticipate one another, that the best Actors in the World must have grown tedious and tasteless to the Spectator: For what Pleasure is not languid to Satiety? [91.4] It was therefore one of our greatest Happinesses (during my time of being in the Menagement of the Stage) that we had a certain Number of select Plays which no other Company had the good Fortune to make a tolerable Figure in, and consequently could find little or no Account by acting them against us. These Plays therefore for many Years, by not being too often seen, never fail'd to bring us crowded Audiences; and it was to this Conduct we ow'd no little Share of our Prosperity. But when four Houses [92.1] are at once (as very lately they were) all permitted to act the same Pieces, let three of them perform never so ill, when Plays come to be so harrass'd and hackney'd out to the common People (half of which too, perhaps, would as lieve see them at one House as another) the best Actors will soon feel that the Town has enough of them.

I know it is the common Opinion, That the more Play-houses the more Emulation; I grant it; but what has this Emulation ended in? Why, a daily

Contention which shall soonest surfeit you with the best Plays; so that when what ought to please can no longer please, your Appetite is again to be raised by such monstrous Presentations as dishonour the Taste of a civiliz'd People. [93.1] If, indeed, to our several Theatres we could raise a proportionable Number of good Authors to give them all different Employment, then perhaps the Publick might profit from their Emulation: But while good Writers are so scarce, and undaunted Criticks so plenty, I am afraid a good Play and a blazing Star will be equal Rarities. This voluptuous Expedient, therefore, of indulging the Taste with several Theatres, will amount to much the same variety as that of a certain Oeconomist, who, to enlarge his Hospitality, would have two Puddings and two Legs of Mutton for the same Dinner. [93.2] —But to resume the Thread of my History.

These two excellent Companies were both prosperous for some few Years, 'till their Variety of Plays began to be exhausted: Then of course the better Actors (which the King's seem to have been

allowed) could not fail of drawing the greater Audiences. Sir William Davenant, therefore, Master of the Duke's Company, to make Head against their Success, was forced to add Spectacle and Musick to Action; and to introduce a new Species of Plays, since call'd Dramatick Opera's, of which kind were the Tempest, Psyche, Circe, and others, all set off with the most expensive Decorations of Scenes and Habits, with the best Voices and Dangers. [94.1]

This sensual Supply of Sight and Sound coming in to the Assistance of the weaker Party, it was no Wonder they should grow too hard for Sense and simple Nature, when it is consider'd how many more People there are, that can see and hear, than think and judge. So wanton a Change of the publick Taste, therefore, began to fall as heavy upon the King's Company as their greater Excellence in Action had before fallen upon their Competitors: Of which Encroachment upon Wit several good Prologues in those Days frequently complain'd. [94.2]

But alas! what can Truth avail, when its Dependance is much more upon the Ignorant than the sensible Auditor? a poor Satisfaction, that the due Praise given to it must at last sink into the cold Comfort of—Laudatur & Alget. [95.1] Unprofitable Praise can hardly give it a Soup maigre. Taste and Fashion with us have always had Wings, and fly from on publick Spectacle to another so wantonly, that I have been inform'd by those who remember it, that a famous Puppet-shew [95.2] in Salisbury Change (then standing where Cecil-Street now is) so far distrest these two celebrated Companies, that they were reduced to petition the King for Relief against it: Nor ought we perhaps to think this strange, when, if I mistake not, Terence himself reproaches the Roman Auditors of his Time with the like Fondness for the Funambuli, the Rope-dancers. [95.3] Not to dwell too long therefore upon that Part of my History which I have only collected from oral Tradition, I

shall content myself with telling you that Mohun [96.1] and Hart now growing old (for, above thirty Years before this Time, they had severally born the King's Commission of Major and Captain in the Civil Wars), and the younger Actors, as Goodman, [96.2] Clark, [96.3] and others, being impatient to get into their Parts, and growing intractable, [96.4] the Audiences too of both Houses then falling off, the Patentees of each, by the King's Advice, which perhaps amounted to a Command, united their Interests and both Companies into one, exclusive of all others, in the Year 1682. [96.5] This Union was, however, so much in favour of the Duke's Company, that Hart left the Stage upon it, and Mohun survived not long after.

One only Theatre being now in Possession of the whole Town, the united Patentees imposed their own

Terms upon the Actors; for the Profits of acting were then divided into twenty Shares, ten of which went to the Proprietors, and the other Moiety to the principal Actors, in such Sub-divisions as their different Merit might pretend to. These Shares of the Patentees were promiscuously sold out to Money-making Persons, call'd Adventurers, [97.1] who, tho' utterly ignorant of Theatrical Affairs, were still admitted to a proportionate Vote in the Menagement of them; in particular Encouragements to Actors were by them, of Consequence, look'd upon as so many Sums deducted from their private Dividends. While therefore the Theatrical Hive had so many Drones in it, the labouring Actors, sure, were under the highest Discouragement, if not a direct State of Oppression. Their Hardship will at least appear in a much stronger Light when compar'd to our later Situation, who with scarce half their Merit succeeded to be Sharers under a Patent upon five times easier Conditions: For as they had but half the Profits divided among ten or more of them; we had three fourths of the whole Profits divided only among three of us: And as they might be said to have ten Task-masters over them, we never had but one Assistant Menager (not an Actor) join'd with us; [97.2] who, by the Crown's Indulgence, was sometimes too of our own chusing. Under this heavy Establishment then groan'd this United Company when I was first admitted into the lowest Rank of it. How they came to be relieved by King William's Licence in 1695, how they were again dispersed early in Queen Anne's Reign, and from what Accidents Fortune took better care of Us, their unequal Successors, will be told in its Place: But to prepare you for the opening so large a Scene of their History, methinks I ought (in Justice to their Memory too) to give you such particular Characters of their Theatrical Merit as in my plain Judgment they seem'd to deserve. Presuming then that this Attempt may not be disagreeable to the Curious or the true Lovers of the Theatre, take it without farther Preface.

In the Year 1690, when I first came into this Company, the principal Actors then at the Head of it were, Of Men. Of Women. Mr. Betterton, Mrs. Betterton, Mr. Monfort, Mrs. Barry, Mr. Kynaston, Mrs. Leigh, Mr. Sandford, Mrs. Butler, Mr. Nokes, Mrs. Monfort, and Mr. Underhil, and Mrs. Bracegirdle. Mr. Leigh.

These Actors whom I have selected from their

Cotemporaries were all original Masters in their different Stile, not meer auricular Imitators of one another, which commonly is the highest Merit of the middle Rank, but Self-judges of Nature, from whose various Lights they only took their true Instruction. If in the following Account of them I may be obliged to hint at the Faults of others, I never mean such Observations should extend to those who are now in Possession of the Stage; for as I design not my Memoirs shall come down to their Time, I would not lie under the Imputation of speaking in their Disfavour to the Publick, whose Approbation they must depend upon for Support. [99.1] But to my Purpose.

Betterton was an Actor, as Shakespear was an Author, both without Competitors! form'd for the mutual Assistance and Illustration of each others Genius! How Shakespear wrote, all Men who have a Taste for Nature may read and know—but with what higher Rapture would he still be read could they conceive how Betterton play'd him! Then might they know the one was born alone to speak what the other only knew to write! Pity it is that the momentary Beauties flowing from an harmonious Elocution cannot, like those of Poetry, be their own Record! That the animated Graces of the Player can live no longer than the instant Breath and

Motion that presents them, or at best can but faintly glimmer through the Memory or imperfect Attestation of a few surviving Spectators. Could how Betterton spoke be as easily known as what he spoke, then might you see the Muse of Shakespear in her Triumph, with all her Beauties in their best Array rising into real Life and charming her Beholders. But alas! since all this is so far out of the reach of Description, how shall I shew you Betterton? Should I therefore tell you that all the Othellos, Hamlets, Hotspurs, Mackbeths, and Brutus's whom you may have seen since his Time, have fallen far short of him; this still would give you no Idea of his particular Excellence. Let us see then what a particular Comparison may do! whether that may yet draw him nearer to you?

You have seen a Hamlet perhaps, who, on the first Appearance of his Father's Spirit, has thrown himself into all the straining Vociferation requisite to express Rage and Fury, and the House has thunder'd with Applause; tho' the mis-guided Actor was all the while (as Shakespear terms it) tearing a Passion into Rags [100.1] —I am the more bold to offer you this particular Instance, because the late Mr. Addison, while I sate by him to see this Scene acted, made

the same Observation, asking me, with some Surprize, if I thought Hamlet should be in so violent a Passion with the Ghost, which, tho' it might have astonish'd, it had not provok'd him? for you may observe that in this beautiful Speech the Passion never rises beyond an almost breathless Astonishment, or an Impatience, limited by filial Reverence, to enquire into the suspected Wrongs that may have rais'd him from his peaceful Tomb! and a Desire to know what a Spirit so seemingly distrest might wish or enjoin a sorrowful Son to execute towards his future Quiet in the Grave? This was the Light into which Betterton threw this Scene; which he open'd with a Pause of mute Amazement! then rising slowly to a solemn, trembling Voice, he made the Ghost equally terrible to the Spectator as to himself! [101.1] and in the descriptive Part of the natural Emotions which the ghastly Vision gave him, the boldness of his Expostulation was still govern'd by Decency, manly, but not braving; his Voice never rising into that seeming Outrage or wild Defiance of what he naturally rever'd. [101.2] But alas! to preserve this medium, between mouthing and meaning too little, to keep the Attention more pleasingly awake by a temper'd Spirit than by meer Vehemence of Voice, is of all the Master-strokes of an Actor the most difficult to reach. In this none yet have equall'd Betterton. But I am unwilling to shew his Superiority only by recounting the Errors of those who now cannot answer to them, let their farther Failings therefore be forgotten! or rather, shall I in some measure excuse them? For I am not yet sure that they might not be as much owing to the false Judgment of the Spectator as the Actor. While the Million are so apt to be transported when the Drum of their Ear is so roundly rattled; while they take the Life of Elocution to lie in the Strength of the Lungs, it is no wonder the Actor, whose end is Applause, should be also tempted at this easy rate to excite it. Shall I go a little farther? and allow that this Extreme is more pardonable than its opposite Error? I mean that dangerous Affectation of the Monotone, or solemn Sameness of Pronounciation, which, to my Ear, is insupportable; for of all Faults that so frequently pass upon the Vulgar, that of Flatness will have the fewest Admirers. That this is an Error of ancient standing seems evident by what Hamlet says, in his Instructions to the Players, viz. The Actor, doubtless, is as strongly ty'd down to the Rules of Horace as the Writer.

He that feels not himself the Passion he would raise, will talk to a sleeping Audience: But this never was the Fault of Betterton; and it has often amaz'd me to see those who soon came after him throw out, in some Parts of a Character, a just and graceful Spirit which Betterton himself could not but have applauded. And yet in the equally shining Passages of the same Character have heavily dragg'd the Sentiment along like a dead Weight, with a long-ton'd Voice and absent Eye, as if they had fairly forgot what they were about: If you have never made this Observation, I am contented you should not know where to apply it. [103.2]

A farther Excellence in Betterton was, that he could vary his Spirit to the different Characters he acted. Those wild impatient Starts, that fierce and flashing Fire, which he threw into Hotspur, never came from the unruffled Temper of his Brutus (for I have more than once seen a Brutus as warm as Hotspur): when the Betterton Brutus was provok'd in his Dispute with Cassius, his Spirit flew only to his Eye; his steady Look alone supply'd that Terror

which he disdain'd an Intemperance in his Voice should rise to. Thus, with a settled Dignity of Contempt, like an unheeding Rock he repelled upon himself the Foam of Cassius. Perhaps they very Words of Shakespear will better let you into my Meaning:

And a little after,

Not but in some part of this Scene, where he reproaches Cassius, his Temper is not under this Suppression, but opens into that Warmth which becomes a Man of Virtue; yet this is that Hasty Spark of Anger which Brutus himself endeavours to excuse.

But with whatever strength of Nature we see the Poet shew at once the Philosopher and the Heroe, yet the Image of the Actor's Excellence will be still imperfect to you unless Language could put Colours in our Words to paint the Voice with.

Et, si vis similem pingere, pinge sonum, [104.1] is enjoyning an impossibility. The most that a Vandyke can arrive at, is to make his Portraits of great Persons seem to think; a Shakespear goes farther yet, and tells you what his Pictures thought; a Betterton steps beyond 'em both, and calls them from the Grave to breathe and be themselves again in Feature, Speech,

and Motion. When the skilful Actor shews you all these Powers at once united, and gratifies at once your Eye, your Ear, your Understanding: To conceive the Pleasure rising from such Harmony, you must have been present at it! 'tis not to be told you!

There cannot bed a stronger Proof of the Charms of harmonious Elocution than the many even unnatural Scenes and Flights of the False Sublime it has lifted into Applause. In what Raptures have I seen an Audience at the furious Fustian and turgid Rants in Nat. Lee's Alexander the Great! For though I can allow this Play a few great Beauties, yet it is not without its extravagant Blemishes. Every Play of the same Author has more or less of them. Let me give you a Sample from this. Alexander, in a full crowd of Courtiers, without being occasionally call'd or provok'd to it, falls into this Rhapsody of Vain-glory. Can none remember? Yes, I know all must! And therefore they shall know it agen.

When these flowing Numbers came from the Mouth of a Betterton the Multitude no more desired Sense to them than our musical Connoisseurs think it essential in the celebrate Airs of an Italian Opera. Does not this prove that there is very near as much Enchantment in the well-govern'd Voice of an Actor as in the sweet Pipe of an Eunuch? If I tell you there was no one Tragedy, for many Years, more in favour with the Town than Alexander, to what must we impute this its command of publick Admiration? Not to its intrinsick Merit, surely, if it swarms with passages like this I have shewn you! If this Passage has Merit, let us see what Figure it would make upon Canvas, what sort of Picture would rise from it. If Le Brun, who was famous for painting the Battles of this Heroe, had seen this lofty Description, what one Image could he have possibly taken from it? In what Colours would he have shewn us Glory perch'd upon a Beaver? How would he have drawn Fortune trembling? Or, indeed, what use could he have made of pale Fates or Immortals riding upon Billows, with this blustering God of his own making at the head of them? [106.1] Where, then, must have lain the Charm that once made the Publick so partial to this

Tragedy? Why plainly, in the Grace and Harmony of the Actor's Utterance. For the Actor himself is not accountable for the false Poetry of his Author; That the Hearer is to judge of; if it passes upon him, the Actor can have no Quarrel to it; who, if the Periods given him are round, smooth, spirited, and high-sounding, even in a false Passion, must throw out the same Fire and Grace as may be required in one justly rising from Nature; where those his Excellencies will then be only more pleasing in proportion to the Taste of his Hearer. And I am of opinion that to the extraordinary Success of this very Play we may impute the Corruption of so many Actors and Tragick Writers, as were immediately misled by it. The unskilful Actor who imagin'd all the Merit of delivering those blazing Rants lay only in the Strength and strain'd Exertion of the Voice, began to tear his Lungs upon every false or slight Occasion to arrive at the same Applause. And it is from hence I date our having seen the same Reason prevalent for above fifty Years. Thus equally misguided, too, many a barren-brain'd Author has stream'd into a frothy flowing Style, pompously rolling into sounding Periods signifying—-roundly nothing; of which Number, in some of my former Labours, I am something more than suspicious that I may myself have made one. But to keep a little closer to Betterton.

When this favourite Play I am speaking of, from its being too frequently acted, was worn out, and came to be deserted by the Town, upon the sudden Death of Monfort, who had play'd Alexander with Success for several Years, the Part was given to Betterton, which, under this great Disadvantage of the Satiety it had given, he immediately reviv'd with so new a Lustre that for three Days together it fill'd the House; [108.1] and had his then declining Strength been equal to the Fatigue the Action gave him, it probably might have doubled its Success; an uncommon Instance of the Power and intrinsick Merit of an Actor. This I mention not only to prove what irresistable Pleasure may arise from a judicious Elocution, with scarce Sense to assist it; but to shew you too, that tho' Betterton never wanted Fire and Force when his Character demanded it; yet, where it was not demanded, he never prostituted his Power to the low Ambition of a false Applause. And further, that when, from a too advanced Age, he resigned that toilsome Part of Alexander, the Play for many Years after never was able to impose upon the Publick; [108.2] and I look upon his so particularly supporting

the false Fire and Extravagancies of that Character to be a more surprizing Proof of his Skill than his being eminent in those of Shakespear; because there, Truth and Nature coming to his Assistance, he had not the same Difficulties to combat, and consequently we must be less amaz'd at his Success where we are more able to account for it.

Notwithstanding the extraordinary Power he shew'd in blowing Alexander once more into a blaze of Admiration, Betterton had so just a sense of what was true or false Applause, that I have heard him say, he never thought any kind of it equal to an attentive Silence; that there were many ways of deceiving an Audience into a loud one; but to keep them husht and quiet was an Applause which only Truth and Merit could arrive at: Of which Art there never was an equal Master to himself. From these various Excellencies, he had so full a Possession of the Esteem and Regard of his Auditors, that upon his Entrance into every Scene he seem'd to seize upon the Eyes and Ears of the Giddy and Inadvertent! To have talk'd or look'd another way would then have been thought Insensibility or Ignorance. [109.1] In all his Soliloquies of moment, the strong Intelligence of his Attitude and Aspect drew you into such an impatient Gaze and eager Expectation, that you

almost imbib'd the Sentiment with your Eye before the Ear could reach it.

As Betterton is the Centre to which all my Observations upon Action tend, you will give me leave, under his Character, to enlarge upon that Head. In the just Delivery of Poetical Numbers, particularly where the Sentiments are pathetick, it is scarce credible upon how minute an Article of Sound depends their greatest Beauty or Inaffection. The Voice of a Singer is not more strictly ty'd to Time and Tune, than that of an Actor in Theatrical Elocution: [110.1] The least Syllable too long or too slightly dwelt upon in a Period depreciates it to nothing; which very Syllable if rightly touch'd shall, like the heightening Stroke of Light from a Master's Pencil, give Life

and Spirit to the whole. I never heard a Line in Tragedy come from Betterton wherein my Judgment, my ear, and my Imagination were not fully satisfy'd; which, since his Time, I cannot equally say of any one Actor whatsoever: Not but it is possible to be much his Inferior, with great Excellencies; which I shall observe in another Place. Had it been practicable to have ty'd down the clattering Hands of all the il judges who were commonly the Majority of an Audience, to what amazing Perfection might the English Theatre have arrived with so just an Actor as Betterton at the Head of it! If what was Truth only could have been applauded, how many noisy Actors had shook their Plumes with shame, who, from the injudicious Approbation of the Multitude, have bawl'd and strutted in the place of Merit? If therefore the bare speaking Voice has such Allurements in it, how much less ought we to wonder, however we may lament, that the sweeter Notes of Vocal Musick should so have captivated even the politer World into an Apostacy from Sense to an Idolatry of Sound. Let us enquire from whence this Enchantment rises. I am afraid it may be too naturally accounted for: For when we complain that the finest Musick, purchas'd at such vast Expence, is so often thrown away upon the most miserable Poetry, we seem not to consider, that when the Movement of the Air and Tone of the Voice are exquisitely harmonious, tho' we regard not one Word of what we hear, yet the Power of the Melody is so busy in the Heart, that we naturally annex Ideas to it of our own Creation, and, in some sort, become our selves the Poet to the Composer; and what Poet is so dull as not to be charm'd with the Child of his own Fancy? So that there is even a kind of Language in agreeable Sounds, which, like the Aspect of Beauty, without Words speaks and plays with the Imagination. While this Taste therefore is so naturally prevalent, I doubt to propose Remedies for it were but giving Laws to the Winds or Advice to Inamorato's: And however gravely we may assert that Profit ought always to be inseparable from the Delight of the Theatre; nay, admitting that the Pleasure would be heighten'd by the uniting them; yet, while Instruction is so little the Concern of the Auditor, how can we hope that so choice a Commodity will come to a Market where there is so seldom a Demand for it?

It is not to the Actor, therefore, but to the vitiated and low Taste of the Spectator, that the Corruptions of the Stage (of what kind soever) have been owing.

If the Publick, by whom they must live, had Spirit enough to discountenance and declare against all the Trash and Fopperies they have been so frequently fond of, both the Actors and the Authors, to the best of their Power, must naturally have serv'd their daily Table with sound and wholesome Diet. [113.1] —- But I have not yet done with my Article of Elocution.

As we have sometimes great Composers of Musick who cannot sing, we have as frequently great Writers that cannot read; and though without the nicest Ear no Man can be Master of Poetical Numbers, yet the best Ear in the World will not always enable him to pronounce them. Of this Truth Dryden, our first great Master of Verse and Harmony, was a strong Instance: When he brought his Play of Amphytrion to the Stage, [113.2] I heard him give it his first Reading to the Actors, in which, though it is true he deliver'd the plain Sense of every Period, yet the whole was in so cold, so flat, and unaffecting a manner, that I am afraid of not being believ'd when I affirm it.

On the contrary, Lee, far his inferior in Poetry, was so pathetick a Reader of his own Scenes, that I have been inform'd by an Actor who was present,

that while Lee was reading to Major Mohun at a Rehearsal, Mohun, in the Warmth of his Admiration, threw down his Part and said, Unless I were able to play it as well as you read it, to what purpose should I undertake it? And yet this very Author, whose Elocution rais'd such Admiration in so capital an Actor, when he attempted to be an Actor himself, soon quitted the Stage in an honest Despair of ever making any profitable Figure there. [114.1] From all this I would infer, That let our Conception of what we are to speak be ever so just, and the Ear ever so true, yet, when we are to deliver it to an Audience (I will leave Fear out of the question) there must go along with the whole a natural Freedom and becoming Grace, which is easier to conceive than to describe: For without this inexpressible Somewhat the Performance will come out oddly disguis'd, or somewhere defectively unsurprizing to the Hearer. Of this Defect, too, I will give you yet a stranger Instance, which you will allow Fear could not be the Occasion of: If you remember Estcourt, [114.2] you must have known that he was long enough upon the Stage not to be under the least Restraint from Fear in his Performance: This Man was so amazing and extraordinary a Mimick, that no Man or Woman, from the Coquette to the Privy-Counsellor, ever mov'd or spoke before him, but he could carry their Voice, Look, Mien, and Motion, instantly into another Company: I have heard him make long Harangues and form various Arguments, even in the manner of thinking of an eminent Pleader at the Bar, [115.1] with every the least Article and Singularity of his Utterance so perfectly imitated, that he was the very alter ipse, scarce to be distinguish'd from his Original. Yet more; I have seen upon the Margin of the written Part of Falstaff which he acted, his own Notes and Observations upon almost every Speech of it, describing the true Spirit of the Humour, and with what Tone of Voice, Look, and Gesture, each of them ought to be delivered. Yet in his Execution upon the Stage he seem'd to have lost all those just Ideas he had form'd of it, and almost thro' the Character labour'd under a heavy Load of Flatness: In a word, with all his Skill in Mimickry and Knowledge of what ought to be done, he never upon the Stage could bring it truly into Practice, but was upon the whole a languid, unaffecting Actor. [115.2] After I have shewn you so many necessary Qualifications, not one of which can be spar'd in true Theatrical Elocution, and have at the same time prov'd that with the Assistance of them all united, the whole may still come forth defective; what Talents shall we say will infallibly form an Actor? This I confess is one of Nature's Secrets, too deep for me to dive into; let us content our selves therefore with affirming, That Genius, which Nature only gives, only can complete him. This Genius then was so strong in Betterton, that it shone out in every Speech and Motion of him. Yet Voice and Person are such necessary Supports to it, that by the Multitude they have been preferr'd to Genius itself, or at least often mistaken for it. Betterton had a Voice of that kind which gave more Spirit to Terror than to the softer Passions; of more Strength than Melody. [116.1] The Rage and Jealousy of Othello became him better than the Sighs and Tenderness of Castalio: [116.2] For though in Castalio he only excell'd others, in Othello he excell'd himself; which you will easily believe 'when you consider that, in spite of his Complexion, Othello has more natural Beauties than the best Actor can find in all the Magazine of Poetry to animate his Power and delight his Judgment with.

The Person of this excellent Actor was suitable to his Voice, more manly than sweet, not exceeding the

middle Stature, inclining to the corpulent; of a serious and penetrating Aspect; his Limbs nearer the athletick than the delicate Proportion; yet however form'd, there arose from the Harmony of the whole a commanding Mien of Majesty, which the fairer-fac'd or (as Shakespear calls 'em) the durlea Darlings of his Time ever wanted something to be equal Masters of. There was some Years ago to be had, almost in every Print-shop, a Metzotinto from Kneller, extremely like him. [117.1]

In all I have said of Betterton, I confine myself to the Time of his Strength and highest Power in Action, that you may make Allowances from what he was able to execute at Fifty, to what you might have seen of him at past Seventy; for tho' to the last he was without his Equal, he might not then be equal to his former Self; yet so far was he from being ever overtaken, that for many Years after his Decease I seldom saw any of his Parts in Shakespear supply'd by others, but it drew from me the Lamentation of Ophelia upon Hamlet's being unlike what she had seen him.

The last Part this great Master of his Profession acted was Melantius in the Maid's Tragedy, for his own Benefit; [117.2] when being suddenly seiz'd by the

Gout, he submitted, by extraordinary Applications, to have his Foot so far reliev'd that he might be able to walk on the Stage in a Slipper, rather than wholly disappoint his Auditors. He was observ'd that Day to have exerted a more than ordinary Spirit, and met with suitable Applause; but the unhappy Consequence of tampering with his Distemper was, that it flew into his Head, and kill'd him in three Days, (I think) in the seventy-fourth Year of his Age. [118.1]

I once thought to have fill'd up my Work with a select Dissertation upon Theatrical Action, [118.2] but I find, by the Digressions I have been tempted to make in this Account of Betterton, that all I can say upon that Head will naturally fall in, and possibly be less tedious if dispers'd among the various Characters of the particular Actors I have promis'd to treat of; I shall therefore make use of those several Vehicles, which you will find waiting in the next Chapter, to carry you thro' the rest of the Journey at your Leisure.