pattern houses that almost fill the street, of a cold chocolate colour, with its four narrow, "lanky" windows, almost touching each other, and an architectural door way. To that house many wistful eyes were to be raised, and to that house found its way all the wit and genius of London. It is number twenty-seven, and was recently converted into an hotel. He was, indeed, a favourite with the Burlingtons, and his testimony to Lady Burlington's merit may be found in some verses in her prayerbook which she had presented to him.* In the mean time the actor and his wife took up their abode at Burlington House, and sometimes passed to Chiswick. Thus the honeymoon went by, until with August came round the new season and business, and Roscius had now to face the bantering that he so dreaded. But as he had anticipated ridicule, or fancied he had, by having a pasquinade written on himself, so he now boldly came on the boards in the character of Benedick, and from behind his foot lights boldly defied the wits. This rather questionable course was said, however, to have been perfectly successful, and when he said, "Here you may see Benedick, the married man! I may chance to have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me because I have railed so long against marriage." Mingled applause and laughter burst out. But it may be questioned whether this was the most dignified fashion of meeting ridicule. Alternately with this lively comedy was played Othello, and a fresh proof of the manager's good sense and moderation was his resigning the part of Othello to Barry. This, indeed, was Barry's "great part," and the town had already pronounced for the surprising tenderness and abundant power with which he played it. Still, with a rival-a rival too who might reasonably exercise his power of choice-this might become almost a reason for taking the part for himself. But the manager, undisturbed by the petty currents of theatrical jealousy, looked calmly but to the interests of his house; and in the end, even found his account in shaking himself free of characters which did not suit him. He contented himself with Iago, who, it must be recollected, was not then raised into almost equal importance with the Moor. Yet, with this burden of responsibility on his shoulders, he could find time to reason calmly and gently with what might be only too indulgently called "sensitiveness" and querulousness on the part of those who called themselves friends; but which was difficult in the case of a man of the quality and temper of Foote. This wit, whose dangerous "trade" was mimicry and public "taking off," and who kept this odious talent by him like a horse pistol, to draw on the harmless and foolish, like any highwayman on the road of his time, must have been one of the nuisances of society. The weak and helpless, like Mrs. Dodd-not Dodd, as is generally supposed; or like Apreece, the foolish country provincial were his favourite victims-not the strong and dangerous like Johnson, from whose wholesome menace he shrank. And yet how absurdly sensitive this professional mimic could be, where some inferior artist thought of turning his own arts against him, and taking him off, may be seen in Wilkin's case and in an instance of Garrick. About this time a comedy, “Friendship in Fashion," was about being revived at Drury-lane, and Foote had heard a rumour that Woodward, who was to play Malagene, intended "dressing" that character at him. There was some likeness in these two characters, and a little closer imitation in the dress would be quite in Foote's own line, and make the town laugh as Foote himself would have done. In a tumult of alarm and rage, he wrote to Garrick a true "threatening" letter in a tone there was no mis • This book passed into the possession of the Rev. Mr. Rackett. This sacred book has Dorothea given, To show a straying sheep the way to heaven. taking, the professional mimic said scornfully, that he could have no dread from the manager's "passive wit," or his" actors' active humour," but he would just hint that he had by him "a plan for a short Farce," that was to be wormwood to some, entertaining to many, and very beneficial to, sir, yours, S. FOOTE. In what shape the wormwood was to be administered, might be guessed from an insulting postscript in which the popular jest at the manager's saving habits, was made to his very face. Foote tossed him back his free admission, saying that he would always pay his five shillings for admission to the boxes, a sum not very contemptible to you." 66 With perfect dignity, good humour, and kind reasoning, Garrick wrote back plainly declining to interfere. He explained that he knew not what views Woodward had in the business, that he even intended "taking off" his own manager, whose full permission he had. As for calling Woodward contemptible," that was a litte indiscreet, considering what a dangerous rival of Foote's that actor had been. Besides, supposing he did "dress at him," was it not a compliment, for the character of Malagene is that of a very smart, pleasant, conceited little fellow, and a good mimic? Then with exquisite good humour, he deals with the thrust about the five shillings. "If I had such a regard for five shillings, surely then, my giving you the liberty of the house was a still greater favour." Pleasant, too, is it to see him in his relations with a man like Hogarth. The rude coarse work of the theatre, and the rough, plain passions of the green-room had no effect on the delicacy of his mind, and when the painter sent round to him that he was aggrieved by his neglect, fancied or real, he wrote an exquisite letter of excuse, which has an interest that reaches to all friendships. He knew what Montaigne had said about a debtor and ledger account of "cal lings," &c., as a fatal sign of decaying regard, and could " cap it by an instance of his experience. Poor Draper, whom I loved better than any man breathing, once asked me smiling, 'how long is it since you were at my house-how long? 'Why a month or six weeks.' A year and five days,' replied he, but don't imagine that I have kept an account; my wife told me so this morning, and bid me scold you for it."" In this there is dramatic effect and almost true pathos; and "dear Draper's" speech has the air of one of Steel's little stories. "Could I follow my own wishes," he goes on, "I would see you every day in the week, and not care whether it was in Leicester fields or Southampton street." With this sweet and affectionate tone it was no wonder Mr. Garrick made many and fast friends. He felt now that it was time to introduce a novelty, and he brought out a cold declamatory piece entitled "Edward the Black Prince," by a Mr. Shirley, and which was one of the long series of bald, dreary, tedious plays, constructed on the French model, which was to be such a feature of his management. There seems to have been but the one strict pattern for these chilling dramas, and we look back through that long management on the procession of Roman generals, Sultans, Greek matrons, Persian kings, and almost mythological heroes, who purposely selected out of eras, whose details, costume, feelings, religion, were wrapped in hopeless mists, and removed from all dramatic interest and sympathy. How the taste of the audiences already trained by Garrick's realism could have relished these cold abstractions, these colourless heroes, fetched out of the Roman History; how they could have crowded to hear scraps of Plutarch dramatized, and chapters out of the History of the Turks and Davila's Wars, made into tragedies seems now a surprising mystery.T Even one of the contemporary play * Draper had helped to negotiate for the Theatre. It is amusing to turn over the collection of plays, published during this era, and come on the engravings of Barry and Garrick, arrayed in what was conceived to the correct costumes of remote countries, and more remote ages, These usurpers and tyrants and generals stride and gesticulate in nodding plumes and fur tippets-huge “Blue Beard" wrights was sensible enough to see the monstruosities of the existing school, and could ridicule what he well called the paltry blasts of art employed in raising storms in a tea-cup, or even ludicrous situations, as for example, the adventures of a London apprentice, or the whine of a true girl like Demetrius, in the Brothers, who when for the sake of a half jade, half idiot, he strikes a dagger to his heart, who can feel the blow. The pathetic. Is it in a man's making high love to his own dear wife, as in the Earl of Essex? Or as, in Boadicea, Dunmorin expending for two or three acts, his whole stock of pathos, in persuading his to take, very unnecessarily a cup of poison, when all he says might be reduced to these two or three kind words: "I prithee die, my dear?"* He had already inaugurated ten series with Aaron Hill's "Bombastic Merope," translated, though not professedly, from Voltaire's play. This seems to have had success,† and perhaps encouraged him to produce Mr. Shirley's "Black Prince," or the The author 66 Battle of Poitiers." was a merchant living at Lisbon, and who had not the satisfaction of seeing his play brought out.‡ Garrick undertook the "Prince," an energetic fighting part; while Barry was fitted with "Lord Ribemont," a chivalrous French marshal. How the correct taste of Garrick could accept such stuff seems sur prising. Bathos like the following has rarely been surpassed. "In the midst of the battle, enter Archbishop of Sens with a drawn sword. "Sens.- Confusion seize-but there's no need to wish it. Too much it rages in our host already." Arnold meets his death on the same "He dies!-Is gone! In another scene, Barry has to say "Having thus fairly stated our account, How great's the balance that appears A sentiment scarcely prompted by A little later, in February, 1750, scymetars, and long trains, in the laurel wreath and greaves, and general armour of the *This is to be found in a strange, cracked letter by Cleland, who, in the same breath, But it is † Murphy, in his odd language, says that Garrick and Mrs. Pritchard "made the spectators pant with terror and pity: and at last drew tears of joy from every eye." In an inflated dedication to Lord Halifax, he speaks of himself "as a poet," and "And save that tale must have for Britons charms, 1 But now the manager was to have early experience of the troubles which the rule of a green-room brings with it, and which, in his instance, were to be more vexatious than ever waited on manager. It would seem as though his known moderation and superiority to the mean passions that reign behind the curtain, offered tempting inducements to malcontents. But, through all his long administration, he had not to struggle against so serious a blow as the secession of his three leading actors at the beginning of the next season. What were Barry's grievanceshow small and petty, and almost ludicrous-may be gathered from his written complaints on another occasion, when he again tried the forbearance and unruffled good temper of his master. The unworthy "whinings" of the sensitive Barry, we may be sure, were to the same key as we know they were later, and, perhaps, about as unsubstantial. He began to take airs, and real illhealth was often put forward as an excuse for gratifying his humours. He took the unusual course of addressing the public in an almost hostile way, saying, that "he scorned all trick and evasion," and that nothing but illness should ever cause him to fail in his duty. He could not endure the manager's Hamlet drawing more than his. He then pettishly demanded that he might choose his own nights, which Garrick, with unruffled good humour, at once conceded. But nothing could satisfy this spoiled lover of the stage. Scandal and malignancy has tried to find other motives for this separation. It has been said that Mrs. Garrick received a letter from some secret admirer a few weeks after her marriage, and that Garrick succeeded in tracing it to Barry.* Another cause of quarrel was said to be a battle that took place behind the scenes between Mrs. Clive and Mrs. Woffington, in which Garrick took the sidef of Mrs. Woffington, and Barry that of Mrs. Clive. These little whisperings are not worthy. The whole is fairly explained, even by friends of Barry, on the grounds of general dissatisfaction. The town, of course, had its verses on the revolt: "One great Goliah, Gath could boast But Covent Garden's threat'ning host Yet fear not, ye of Drury-lane, Mrs. Cibber, who had expected to rule with Garrick, and who perhaps was annoyed that his regard for the first interests of his stage, made him play "Macbeth" and other pieces with Mrs. Pritchard, also took offence, and her playing so much with Barry, gave an opportunity for sharing their griefs. Mrs. Woffington, an old favourite, was said to have been offended at his marriage; but it is more likely that one so free, saucy, and abandoned as she was, found the reforms behind the scenes, and the new decorums quite unsuited to her ways. There was an obvious awkwardness too, in the relations of manager and actress. It was therefore obvious that she could not remain long there, and at the end of the season, 1750, these three disaffected members of the company formed a league, and at the same moment deserted to Covent Garden. What made this desertion more flagrant was, that Barry was under articles at the time.I This was a serious blow for the manager, who thus lost the two best lovers on the stage, and a low comedy actress of incomparable spirit and power, at one "fell swoop." The other house was proportionably strengthened, and had besides Gain and Macklin. *See Lee Lewes's absurd account of this transaction. Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 89. The extraordinary verbiage, and the way in which a little fact which has been told to him is expanded into pages of actual dialogue, supplied from his own brain, make this book almost valueless. Facts that are more simply stated prove to be all wrong and perverted. "Espoused the conduct," says Lee Lewes. Proceedings were taken against him; but a writer in the Gentleman's Magazine says, defeated them by some subterfuge or quibble, "by no way redounding to his honour." 1866.] Garrick. might be estimated as was the presence of Napoleon in Spain-as equivalent to a whole army of actors. Beyond this, he had only Woodward, a pretty Mrs. Ward, and a new actress from that wonderful Dublin nursery, Miss, or Mrs. George Anne Bel-lamy. The pretty Mrs Ward had small powers as an actress, and her coldness and want of dramatic feeling had disgusted the manager. He always exacted at least the tribute of apparent interest in those who played with him; which detractors set down to weakness and vanity. With an artist who could be busy buttoning her glove during one of his most impassioned bursts in the "Fair Penitent," it was not unnatural he should be highly offended. But the revolters had prepared an awful stroke, which it would be difficult to encounter. Barry and Cibber, unrivalled in tender passion, were to open in the great play of sweet and tender passion, "Romeo and Juliet,' the play too in which Garrick had trained them both. But of this plot he had early intimation, and, in secret, he carefully instructed the new Dublin actress as Juliet, taking Romeo himself.* In September then, he courageously drew up his thinned ranks for battle, and opened his theatre with a prologue, in which he boldly took the public into confidence, and with some evil, glanced at the desertion, and not without good humour too : "Some few there are whom paltry passions Desert each day and and fly from side to Others, like Swiss, love fighting as their For beat or beating, they must be paid." With perfect consistency too, with the declarations of his first prologue, he again reminded the public, as he had done three years before, that with them rested the choice of entertainment that was to be set before them. No manager could be expected to reand form the stage, and deal in pure classic shows at the expense of his pocket. At his first season he had told them that it was still possible, that on their classic boards, Hunt "If an empty house, the actors curse, Shows us our Lear's and Hamlet's lose their force. Unwilling we must change the nobler And in our turn present you Harlequin. In truth this was but open notice "It is true there is a formidable force This Drury-lane stage, of which I am now Pantomines. As soon, therefore, as "Romeo and * Mrs. Bellamy, whose enmity to Garrick is unconcealed, makes no allusion to this training. Davies, like Murphy, strangely inaccurate where dates are concerned, makes 1749 the year of this Romeo contest. |