The Palmy Days of Nance Oldfield Part 21

"'Odious! in woolen? 'twould a saint provoke!'

Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke.

'No, let a charming Chintz and Brussels lace Wrap my cold limbs and shade my lifeless face; One would not sure be frightful when one's dead, And, Betty, give this cheek a little red.'"[A]

[Footnote A: Pope's Moral Essays.]

These ante-mortem directions had no further reality than the imagination of the poet; but it is easy to believe that the woman who had set the fashions for the town these many years would have enough of the feminine instinct left, though Death waited without, to plan a becoming funeral garb. Woollen, forsooth! It was a beastly law which required that all the dead should be buried in that material, and Nance shuddered when she thought of it.[A]

[Footnote A: The dead were then buried in woolen, which was rendered compulsory by the Acts 30 Car. II. c. 3 and 36 ejusdem c. i. The first act was ent.i.tled "an Act for the lessening the importation of linnen from beyond the seas, and the encouragement of the woolen and paper manufactures of the kingdome." It prescribed that the curate of every parish, shall keep a register to be provided at the charge of the parish, wherein to enter all burials and affidavits of persons being buried in woolen; the affidavit to be taken by any justice of the peace, mayor, or such like chief officer in the parish where the body was interred.... It imposed a fine of five pounds for every infringement, one half to go to the informer, and the other half to the poor of the parish. This Act was only repealed by 54 Geo. III.

c. 108, or in the year 1815. The material used was flannel, and such interments are frequently mentioned in the literature of the time.--ASHTON.]

Soon there were no more thoughts of dress, no more plaintive shudders at the iniquity of the woollen act. The eyes whose kindly light had illumined the dull soul of many a playgoer, closed for ever on the 23rd of October, 1730, and the incomparable Oldfield was no more.

Surely old Sol did not shine on London that day; surely he must have mourned behind the leaden English sky for one of his fairest daughters, that child of sunshine who brightened the world by her presence, and made her exit, as she did her entrance, with a smile.

After the breath had left Anne's still lovely body, Mistress Saunders dressed her in a "Brussels lace head-dress, a Holland shift, with tucker and double ruffles of the same lace, and a pair of new kid gloves." It was, no doubt, the costume which the actress had commanded, and handsome she must have looked, as many an admirer took one last glimpse of the remains prior to the interment in Westminster Abbey. All that was mortal of Oldfield lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber,[A] and then there followed an elaborate funeral, at which were present a host of great men, and the two sons of the deceased, Mr. Maynwaring and young Churchill. Were these sons less grieved when they found that their mother had left them the major part of her fortune?

[Footnote A: The solemn lying in state of an English actress in the Jerusalem Chamber, the sorrow of the public over their lost favourite, and the regret of friends in n.o.ble, or humble, but virtuous homes, where Mrs. Oldfield had been ever welcome, contrast strongly with the French sentiment towards French players. It has been already said, that as long as Clairon exercised the power, when she advanced to the footlights, to make the (then standing) pit recoil several feet, by the mere magic of her eyes, the pit, who enjoyed the terror as a luxury, flung crowns to her, and wept at the thought of losing her; but Clairon infirm was Clairon forgotten, and to a decaying actor or actress a French audience is the most merciless in the world. The brightest and best of them, as with us, died in the service of the public. Monfleury, Mondory, and Bricourt died of apoplexy, brought on by excess of zeal. Moliere, who fell in harness, was buried with less ceremony than some favourite dog. The charming Lecouvreur, that Oldfield of the French stage, whose beauty and intellect were the double charm which rendered theatrical France ecstatic, was hurriedly interred within a saw-pit. Bishops might be exceedingly interested in, and unepiscopally generous to living actresses of wit and beauty, but the prelates smote them with a "Maranatha!" and an "Avaunt ye!" when dead.--DR. DORAN.]

Later on Savage was inspired to write that famous poem of his, unsigned though it appeared, on the virtues of the departed:

"Oldfield's no more! and can the Muse forbear O'er Oldfield's grave to shed a grateful tear?

Shall she, the Glory of the British Stage, Pride of her s.e.x, and wonder of the age; Shall she, who, living, charm'd th' admiring throng, Die undistinguish'd, and not claim a song?

No; feeble as it is, I'll boldly raise My willing voice, to celebrate her praise, And with her name immortalise my lays.

Had but my Muse her art to touch the soul, Charm ev'ry sense, and ev'ry pow'r control, I'd paint her as she was--the form divine, Where ev'ry lovely grace united shine; A mein majestic, as the wife of Jove; An air as winning as the Queen of Love: In ev'ry feature rival charms should rise, And Cupid hold his empire in her eyes.

A soul, with ev'ry elegance refin'd, By nature, and the converse of mankind: Wit, which could strike a.s.suming folly dead; And sense, which temper'd ev'ry thing she said; Judgment, which ev'ry little fault could spy; But candour, which would pa.s.s a thousand by: Such finish'd breeding, so polite a taste, Her fancy always for the fashion pa.s.s'd; Whilst every social virtue fir'd her breast To help the needy, succour the distrest; A friend to all in misery she stood, And her chief pride was plac'd in doing good.

But now, my Muse, the arduous task engage, And shew the charming figure on the stage; Describe her look, her action, voice and mein, The gay coquette, soft maid, or haughty Queen.

So bright she shone, in ev'ry different part, She gain'd despotic empire o'er the heart; Knew how each various motion to control, Sooth ev'ry pa.s.sion, and subdue the soul: As she, o'er gay, or sorrowful appears, She claims our mirth, or triumphs in our tears.

When Cleopatra's form she chose to wear We saw the monarch's mein, the beauty's air; Charmed with the sight, her cause we all approve, And, like her lover, give up all for love: Anthony's fate, instead of Caesar's choose, And wish for her we had a world to lose.

But now the gay delightful scene is o'er, And that sweet form must glad our world no more; Relentless death has stop'd the tuneful tongue, And clos'd those eyes, for all, but death, too strong, Blasted that face where ev'ry beauty bloom'd, And to Eternal Rest the graceful Mover doom'd."

In writing which Savage almost justified his existence.

APPENDIX

THEATRICAL CLAPTRAP

(_What Addison has to say about it in the "Spectator_")

No. 44. FRIDAY, APRIL 20, 1711.

"Tu quid ego, et populus mec.u.m desideret, audi."

HOR. ARS POET. ver. 153.

"Now hear what ev'ry auditor expects."

ROSCOMMON.

Among the several artifices which are put in practice by the poets to fill the minds of an audience with terror, the first place is due to thunder and lightning, which are often made use of at the descending of a G.o.d, or the rising of a ghost, at the vanishing of a devil, or at the death of a tyrant. I have known a bell introduced into several tragedies with good effect; and have seen the whole a.s.sembly in a very great alarm all the while it has been ringing. But there is nothing which delights and terrifies our English theatre so much as a ghost, especially when he appears in a b.l.o.o.d.y shirt. A spectre has very often saved a play, though he has done nothing but stalked across the stage, or rose through a cleft of it, and sunk again without speaking one word. There may be a proper season for these several terrors; and when they only come in as aids and a.s.sistances to the poet, they are not only to be excused, but to be applauded. Thus the sounding of the clock in "Venice Preserved" makes the hearts of the whole audience quake, and conveys a stronger terror to the mind than it is possible for words to do. The appearance of the ghost in "Hamlet" is a masterpiece in its kind, and wrought up with all the circ.u.mstances that can create either attention or horror. The mind of the reader is wonderfully prepared for his reception by the discourses that precede it. His dumb behaviour at his first entrance strikes the imagination very strongly; but every time he enters he is still more terrifying.

Who can read the speech with which young Hamlet accosts him without trembling?

"_Hor_. Look, my Lord, it comes!

"_Ham_. Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin d.a.m.n'd; Bring with thee airs from heav'n, or blasts from h.e.l.l; Be thy events wicked or charitable; Thou com'st in such a questionable shape That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet, King, Father, Royal Dane. Oh I answer me.

Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell Why thy canoniz'd bones, hea.r.s.ed in death, Have burst their cerements? Why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws To cast thee up again? What may this mean?

That thou dead corse again in complete steel Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous?"

I do not therefore find fault with the artifices above mentioned, when they are introduced with skill and accompanied by proportionable sentiments and expressions in the writings.

For the moving of pity our princ.i.p.al machine is the handkerchief; and indeed in our common tragedies we should not know very often that the persons are in distress by anything they say, if they did not from time to time apply their handkerchiefs to their eyes. Far be it from me to think of banishing this instrument of sorrow from the stage; I know a tragedy could not subsist without it: all that I would contend for is to keep it from being misapplied. In a word, I would have the actor's tongue sympathise with his eyes.

A disconsolate mother, with a child in her hand, has frequently drawn compa.s.sion from the audience, and has therefore gained a place in several tragedies. A modern writer, that observed how this had took in other plays, being resolved to double the distress, and melt his audience twice as much as those before him had done, brought a princess upon the stage with a little boy in one hand and a girl in the other. This too had a very good effect. A third poet being resolved to outwrite all his predecessors, a few years ago introduced three children with great success: and, as I am informed, a young gentleman, who is fully determined to break the most obdurate hearts, has a tragedy by him where the first person that appears upon the stage is an afflicted widow in her mourning weeds, with half a dozen fatherless children attending her, like those that usually hang about the figure of Charity. Thus several incidents that are beautiful in a good writer become ridiculous by falling into the hands of a bad one.

But among all our methods of moving pity or terror, there is none so absurd and barbarous, and which more exposes us to the contempt and ridicule of our neighbours, than that dreadful butchering of one another, which is very frequent upon the English stage. To delight in seeing men stabbed, poisoned, racked, or impaled is certainly the sign of a cruel temper; and as this is often practised before the British audience, several French critics, who think these are grateful spectacles to us, take occasion from them to represent us as a people who delight in blood. It is indeed very odd to see our stage strewed with carca.s.ses in the last scenes of a tragedy; and to observe in the wardrobe of the playhouse several daggers, poniards, wheels, bowls for poison, and many other instruments of death. Murders and executions are always transacted behind the scenes in the French theatre, which in general is very agreeable to the manners of a polite and civilised people; but as there are no exceptions to this rule on the French stage, it leads them into absurdities almost as ridiculous as that which falls under our present censure. I remember in the famous play of Corneille, written upon the subject of the Horatii and Curiatii, the fierce young hero, who had overcome the Curiatii one after another (instead of being congratulated by his sister for his victory, being upbraided by her for having slain her lover), in the height of his pa.s.sion and resentment kills her. If anything could extenuate so brutal an action, it would be the doing of it on a sudden, before the sentiments of nature, reason, or manhood could take place in him.

However, to avoid public bloodshed, as soon as his pa.s.sion is wrought to its height, he follows his sister the whole length of the stage, and forbears killing her till they are both withdrawn behind the scenes. I must confess, had he murdered her before the audience, the indecency might have been greater; but as it is, it appears very unnatural, and looks like killing in cold blood. To give my opinion upon this case, the fact ought not to have been represented, but to have been told if there was any occasion for it.

It may not be unacceptable to the reader to see how Sophocles has conducted a tragedy under the like delicate circ.u.mstance. Orestes was in the same condition with Hamlet in Shakespeare, his mother having murdered his father and taken possession of his kingdom in conspiracy with her adulterer. That young prince, therefore, being determined to revenge his father's death upon those who filled his throne, conveys himself by a beautiful stratagem into his mother's apartment, with a resolution to kill her. But because such a spectacle would have been too shocking to the audience, this dreadful resolution is executed behind the scenes. The mother is heard calling to her son for mercy, and the son answering her that she showed no mercy to his father; after which she shrieks out that she is wounded, and by what follows we find that she is slain. I do not remember that in any of our plays there are speeches made behind the scenes, though there are other instances of this nature to be met with in those of the ancients: and I believe my reader will agree with me that there is something infinitely more affecting in this dreadful dialogue between the mother and her son behind the scenes than could have been in anything transacted before the audience. Orestes immediately after meets the usurper at the entrance of his palace; and by a very happy thought of the poet avoids killing him before the audience, by telling him that he should live some time in his present bitterness of soul before he would despatch him, and by ordering him to retire into that part of the palace where he had slain his father, whose murder he would revenge in the very same place where it was committed. By this means the poet observes that decency, which Horace afterwards established as a rule, of forbearing to commit parricides or unnatural murders before the audience.

"Nec pueros coram populo Medea trucidet,"

ARS POET. ver. 185.

"Let not Medea draw her murd'ring knife, And spill her children's blood upon the stage."

ROSCOMMON.

The French have therefore refined too much upon Horace's rule, who never designed to banish all kinds of death from the stage; but only such as had too much horror in them, and which would have a better effect upon the audience when transacted behind the scenes. I would therefore recommend to my countrymen the practice of the ancient poets, who were very sparing of their public executions, and rather chose to perform them behind the scenes, if it could be done with as great an effect upon the audience. At the same time, I must observe, that though the devoted persons of the tragedy were seldom slain before the audience, which has generally something ridiculous in it, their bodies were often produced after their death, which has always in it something melancholy or terrifying; so that the killing on the stage does not seem to have been avoided only as an indecency, but also as an improbability.

"Nec pueros coram populo Medea trucidet: Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus; Aut in avem Progne vertatur, Cadmus in anguem.

Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi."

HOR. ARS. POET. ver. 185.

"Medea must not draw her murd'ring knife, Nor Atreus there his horrid feast prepare; Cadmus and Progne's metamorphoses (She to a swallow turn'd, he to a snake); And whatsoever contradicts my sense, I hate to see, and never can believe."

ROSCOMMON.

I have now gone through the several dramatic inventions which are made use of by the ignorant poets to supply the place of tragedy, and by the skilful to improve it; some of which I could wish entirely rejected, and the rest to be used with caution. It would be an endless task to consider comedy in the same light, and to mention the innumerable shifts that small wits put in practice to raise a laugh.

Bullock in a short coat, and Norris in a long one, seldom failed of this effect.[A] In ordinary comedies a broad and a narrow brimmed hat are different characters. Sometimes the wit of a scene lies in a shoulder-belt, and sometimes in a pair of whiskers. A lover running about the stage, with his head peeping out of a barrel, was thought a very good jest in King Charles the Second's time, and invented by one of the first wits of the age.[B] But because ridicule is not so delicate as compa.s.sion, and because the objects that make us laugh are infinitely more numerous than those that make us weep, there is a much greater lat.i.tude for comic than tragic artifices, and by consequence a much greater indulgence to be allowed them.

[Footnote A: Addison's comment about these two favourite comedians shows that then, as now, eccentricity in dress formed a popular species of stage humour.]

[Footnote B: Sir George Etherege, in his comedy of "The Comical Revenge, or Love in a Tub."]

COMIC EPILOGUES