The Palmy Days of Nance Oldfield Part 8

"After twenty excuses to clear himself of the neglect I had so warmly charged him with, he concluded them with telling me he had been out all the morning upon business and that his linnen was too much soil'd to be seen in company. Oh, ho! said I, is that all? Come along with me, we will soon get over that dainty difficulty. Upon which I haul'd him by the sleeve into my shifting-room, he either staring, laughing, or hanging back all the way. There, when I had lock'd him in, I began to strip off my upper cloaths, and bade him do the same; still he either did not or would not seem to understand me, and continuing his laugh, cry'd, What! is the puppy mad? No, No, only positive, said I; for look you, in short, the play is ready to begin, and the parts that you and I are to act to-day are not of equal consequence; mine of young Reveller (in 'Greenwich Park'[A]) is but a rake; but whatever you may be, you are not to appear so; therefore take my shirt and give me yours; for depend upon't, stay here you shall not, and so go about your business.

[Footnote A: A play written by Mountford.]

"To conclude, we fairly chang'd linnen, nor could his mother's have wrap'd him up more fortunately; for in about ten days he marry'd the Lady."

The gallant Colonel not only married the ex-Countess but became so flirtatious with at least one other woman that he suggested to Cibber the most _risque_ scene in the "Careless Husband." This, then, was the model gentleman to whom Skipwith made over a share in the Drury Lane patent, and through whose efforts the rival companies were united in 1708. Swiney, according to the orders of the Lord Chamberlain, was to conduct the Haymarket for operatic performances, and the players were all to act at the older house.

For a time life at the theatre went as merrily as a marriage bell. The public, of both high and low degree, crowded Drury Lane, and every one was happy excepting sour-faced Rich, who saw with disgust that the plausible, insinuating Brett was fast overshadowing him in the management. How wily Christopher schemed and schemed, and how the gay Colonel was finally compelled to relinquish his portion of the patent altogether, are details that need not be set forth here. It will suffice to say, that as a result of all this intriguing, affairs at Drury Lane a.s.sumed an almost chaotic character. Nor was it long before Owen Swiney entered into treaty with Wilks, Dogget, Mrs. Oldfield and Cibber, who were to come over to the Haymarket as the heads of a new company.

In this episode the sunny spirit of Nance was brought prettily into the foreground. "When Mrs. Oldfield was nominated as a joint sharer in our new agreement to be made with Swiney [again is the quotation from Cibber], Dogget, who had no objection to her merit, insisted that our affairs could never be upon a secure foundation if there was more than one s.e.x admitted to the management of them." Beastly, unchivalrous, narrow-minded Dogget. Were you alive to-day, how the New Woman would champ with rage. "He therefore hop'd that if we offer'd Mrs. Oldfield a _Carte Blanche_ instead of a share, she would not think herself slighted." And Oldfield, with the affability which sat so well upon her, did not think herself in the least slighted. She "receiv'd it rather as a favour than a disobligation. Her demands therefore were two hundred pounds a year certain, and a benefit clear of all charges, which were readily sign'd to."

In the meantime Drury Lane is closed by order of the Lord Chamberlain,[A] on the ground that in seeking to take from the actors one-third of their benefit receipts the management have proceeded illegally. Soon the new forces of Swiney take possession of the Haymarket, and for a short time London has but one playhouse. Mayhap Mr. Rich is chagrined, or perhaps he is not ill-pleased, and in any case he extracts great comfort from a manifesto published in his behalf by the treasurer of Drury Lane, sweet-named Zachary Baggs. In this formidable doc.u.ment, which seeks to prove that the seceders are a lot of ingrates, Oldfield is held up to the public as a sad example of depravity. Her account with Master Rich is thus itemised:

s. d.

To Mrs. Oldfield, at 4 l. a week salary, which for 14 weeks and one day; she leaving off acting presently after her benefit (viz.) on the 17th of March last, 1708, though the benefit was intended for her whole nine months acting, and she refused to a.s.sist others in their benefits; her salary for these 14 weeks and one day came to, and she was paid 56 13 4

In January she required, and was paid ten guineas, to wear on the stage in some plays, during the whole season, a mantua petticoat that was given her for the stage and though she left off three months before she should, yet she hath not returned any part of the ten guineas 10 15 0

And she had for wearing in some plays a suit of boys cloaths on the stage; paid 2 10 9

By a benefit play; paid 62 7 8

[Footnote A: June 1709.]

But what cares laughing Nance for Master Baggs' spiteful paragraph about the mantua petticoat. Mantua petticoat, forsooth! she has more artistic things to think about than that, and so pray do not plague her, gentle reader, with so commonplace an incident. Let her act on serenely until that glorious night in April 1713, when, back at Drury Lane, under the triumvirate of Cibber, Wilks and Dogget, she helps to make sedate Addison's equally sedate "Cato" a triumphant success.

CHAPTER V

A DEAD HERO

"The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.

The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years; But thou shall flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds."

So doth n.o.ble Cato philosophise when, in Addison's stately tragedy, he gazes on his sword and plans to admit the Grim Visitor whom the most of us wish to keep without our threshold until the last fatal moment.

How those lines used to thrill the cla.s.sic hearts of our ancestors; how Barton Booth, who

"shook the stage, and made the people stare,"

could put into this mild plea for suicide a fervour that caused Drury Lane to ring with applause. What mattered it if the actor, as Pope related, wore a long wig and flowered gown? Cato was none the less himself for that, nor did Booth's elegance of delivery seem unwelcome because his clothes pictured the dandified spirit of the eighteenth century.

"Cato!" The play is forgotten now, but there was magic in its name in the palmy days of its author, gentle, kindly Joseph Addison. So potent was that magic, such vivid impression did the fate of the grand old Roman make on more than one mind, when thus retold in lofty verse, that the tragedy was cited as a justification of self-destruction.

"What Cato did, and Addison approved Cannot be wrong."

These lines, written on a sc.r.a.p of paper by Eustace Budgell, were found shortly after the death of that odd genius. From being an honoured contributor to the _Spectator_, Budgell descended to the depths of infamy, poverty, and despair, and so one day he threw himself out of a boat under London Bridge, and the waters of the Thames closed over him for ever. He owed his early prosperity to Addison, his cousin, and by way of grat.i.tude he sought to throw upon his benefactor's memory the odium of this moist and melancholy exit from the world.

Their lies no odium, nevertheless, where Addison is concerned. His own life may have been clouded towards the last by the mists of disappointment, but to us admiring moderns he is all sunshine. Not the fiery sunshine of summer, but the genial, dignified light of an autumn afternoon when nature seems in most reflective mood. For there was nothing impetuous or ardent in the composition of this good-humoured philosopher; and while he railed so well at the petty sins and vanities of the England in which he dwelt, the satire had naught of venom, malice, or uncharitableness.

Nowadays Addison and the _Spectator_ go rolling down to fame together, an indivisible reminder--the very essence indeed--of the virtues, peccadilloes, greatness and meanness of early eighteenth century life.

We may forget that Joe was quite a politician in his prime, we are even loth to recall that there was ever such a play as "Cato," but so long as the English language has power to charm, the dear old volumes of the _Spectator_ will stand out as a delightful landmark of that literature which forms the heritage of American and Briton alike.

How fondly do we turn the pages of the well-read essays, with their pictures of good Sir Roger de Coverley, Will Honeycomb, and the rest of that happy crew. And over what portrait do we linger more lovingly than that of the _Spectator_ himself, wherein there is many a stroke of the pen that brings Addison in view. When he tells us, for instance: "I threw away my rattle before I was two months old, and would not make use of my coral until they had taken away the bells from it," the writer is indulging in a pretty bit of humour at the expense of his own sedate youth.

"I have pa.s.sed my latter years," the philosopher goes on to say, "in this city (London), where I am frequently seen in most public places, though there are not above half a dozen of my select friends that know me.... There is no place of general resort wherein I do not often make my appearance: sometimes I am seen thrusting my head into a round of politicians at Will's,[A] and listening with great attention to the narratives that are made in those little circular audiences; sometimes I smoke a pipe at Child's,[B] and while I seem attentive to nothing but the postman, overhear the conversation of every table in the room.

I appear on Sunday nights at St. James' coffee house, and sometimes join the little committee of politics in the inner room, as one who comes there to hear and improve. My face is likewise very well known at the Grecian, the Cocoa Tree, and in the theatres both of Drury Lane and the Haymarket. I have been taken for a merchant upon the Exchange for above these ten years, and sometimes pa.s.s for a Jew in the a.s.sembly of stockbrokers at Jonathan's. In short, wherever I see a cl.u.s.ter of people, I always mix with them, though I never open my lips but in my own club."

[Footnote A: Will's and Child's were popular coffee-houses, as were also the Grecian, St. James', and the Cocoa Tree.]

[Footnote B: See footnote on page 97.]

It is easy to fancy Addison, shy but ever observant, mingling with the people who thronged the coffee-houses and there settled the affairs of the nation, discussed their neighbours, and sipped their coffee or stronger drink, as the case might be. He must have laughed in his sleeve many a time as he heard the know-it-alls predicting that the British nation was on the brink of perdition or announcing, in the most confidential of manners, the secret policies of his Christian Majesty, Louis XIV. of France. Probably Joe agreed with Steele, who, in speaking of a certain coffee-house, observed that in it men differed rather in the time of day wherein they made a figure, than in any real greatness above one another.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JOSEPH ADDISON By SIR G.o.dFREY KNELLER]

"I, who am at the coffee-house at six in the morning," d.i.c.k writes on,[A] "know that my friend Beaver the haberdasher has a levee of more undissembled friends and admirers than most of the courtiers or generals of Great Britain. Every man about him has, perhaps, a newspaper in his hand; but none can pretend to guess what step will be taken in any one court of Europe, till Mr. Beaver has thrown down his pipe, and declares what measures the allies must enter into upon this new posture of affairs. Our coffee-house is near one of the inns of court, and Beaver has the audience and admiration of his neighbours from six till within a quarter of eight, at which time he is interrupted by the students of the house; some of whom are ready dressed for Westminster at eight in a morning, with faces as busy as if they were retained in every cause there; and others come in their night gowns to saunter away their time, as if they never designed to go thither.

[Footnote A: _Spectator_, No. 49.]

"I do not know that I meet in any of my walks, objects which move both my spleen and laughter so effectually as those young fellows at the Greecian, Squire's, Searle's, and all other coffee-houses adjacent to the law, who rise early for no other purpose but to publish their laziness. One would think these young virtuosos take a gay cap and slippers, with a scarf and party-coloured gown, to be ensigns of dignity; for the vain things approach each other with an air which shews they regard one another for their vestments. I have observed that the superiority among these proceeds from an opinion of gallantry and fashion. The gentleman in the strawberry sash, who presides so much over the rest, has, it seems, subscribed to every opera this last winter, and is supposed to receive favours from one of the actresses."[A]

[Footnote A: Come, says my Friend, let us step into this Coffee House here; as you are a Stranger in the Town, it will afford you some Diversion. Accordingly in we went, where a parcel of Muddling Muckworms were as busy as so many Rats in an old Cheese Loft; some Going, some Coming, some Scribling, some Talking, some Drinking, some Smoaking, others Jangling: and the whole Room stinking of Tobacco, like a Dutch Scoot or a Boatswain's Cabbin. The Walls being hung with Gilt Frames, as a Farriers shop with Horse shoes; which contain'd abundance of Rarities viz. Nectar and Ambrosia, May Dew, Golden Elixirs, Popular Pills, Liquid Snuff, Beautifying Waters, Dentifrisis Drops, Lozenges, all as infallible as the Pope,

Where every one above the rest Deservedly has gain'd the Name of Best

(as the famous Saffold has it).--WARD.]

As the day lengthens the scene changes. The gentleman with the strawberry sash and uncertain morals and his servile subjects disappear, giving place "to men who have business or good sense in their faces, and come to the coffee-house either to transact affairs or enjoy conversation. The persons to whose behaviour and discourse I have most regard, are such as are between these two sorts of men; such as have not spirits too active to be happy and well pleased in a private condition, not complexions too warm to make them neglect the duties and relations of life. Of this sort of men consist the worthier part of mankind; of these are all good fathers, generous brothers, sincere friends, and faithful subjects. Their entertainments are derived rather from reason than imagination; which is the cause that there is no impatience or instability in their speech or action. You see in their countenances they are at home, and in quiet possession of the present instant as it pa.s.ses, without desiring to quicken it by gratifying any pa.s.sion or prosecuting any new design. These are the men formed for society, and those little communities which we express by the word neighbourhood."

Thus moved the panorama of the coffee-house. Perhaps nothing contributed more importantly to the gossip of the latter than did the mention of quiet Addison himself after the night in April, 1713, which witnessed the triumph of "Cato." The essayist had always possessed, like many other literary men, a secret longing to be the author of a prosperous tragedy, and in his earlier days made bold to submit a play to the inspection of Dryden. The poet read it with polite interest, and, on returning the ma.n.u.script to the author, expressed therefor his profound esteem, with many apologetic _et ceteras_, and only regretted that, in his humble opinion, the piece, if placed upon the stage, "would not meet with its deserved success." In other words, Dryden saw that Addison was sadly wanting in dramatic instinct, but was too forbearing to say this in plain, set terms. As for the young man, he must have felt much after the fashion of the aspiring writer who receives an article back from an unappreciative magazine with a printed slip warning him that "the rejection of ma.n.u.script does not imply lack of merit," &c. &c., the whole thing being intended as a moral cushion to break the suddenly descending spirits of the sender.

Years later the great man was favoured with another cushion of this sort by no less a person than his friend Alexander Pope, whose august criticism he asked in behalf of "Cato." The major part of the play--all of it, in fact, excepting the last act--had been written when Addison first began to fall under the pa.s.sionate influence of French tragedy, with its tiresome regularity of form and attempted imitation of the cla.s.sic drama.[A] And a powerful influence it was in the days of good Queen Anne, so powerful, verily, that it almost emasculated the art of play-writing, and for a time well nigh bereft the stage of originality of thought or freedom of expression. Form, form, that was the cry still ringing in the ears of the author when he put the finishing touches to a production which was to be famous for the nonce, and then go down in the dark waters of oblivion with the wreck of many like it.

[Footnote A: Just as the school of Racine and Boileau set its face against the extravagances of the romantic coteries, so Addison and his English followers, adopting the principles of the French cla.s.sicists, applied them to the reformation of the English theatre. Hence arose a great revival of respect for the political doctrines of Aristotle, regard for the unities of time and place, attention to the proprieties of sentiment and diction--in a word, for all those characteristics of style afterwards summed up in the phrase "correctness."--W.J.

COURTHOPE'S "Addison."]

"When Mr. Addison," related Pope, "had finished his 'Cato,' he brought it to me, desired to have my sincere opinion of it, and left it with me for three or four days. I gave him my opinion of it sincerely, which was, 'that I thought he had better not act it, and that he would get reputation enough by only printing it.' This I said as thinking the lines well written, but the piece was not theatrical enough. Some time after Mr. Addison said 'that his own opinion was the same with mine, but that some particular friends of his, whom he could not disoblige, insisted on its being acted,'"