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A Book of the Play by Dutton Cook

D >> Dutton Cook >> A Book of the Play




Pepys, who, born in 1633, must have had experiences of youthful
playgoing before the great Civil War, finds evidence afterwards of
"the vanity and prodigality of the age" in the nightly company of
citizens, 'prentices, and others attending the theatre, and holds it a
grievance that there should be so many "mean people" in the pit at two
shillings and sixpence apiece. For several years, he mentions, he had
gone no higher than the twelvepenny, and then the eighteenpenny
places. Oftentimes, however, the king and his court, the Duke and
Duchess of York, and the young Duke of Monmouth, were to be seen in
the boxes. In 1662 Charles's consort, Catherine, was first exhibited
to the English public at the Cockpit Theatre in Drury Lane, when
Shirley's "Cardinal" was represented. Then there are accounts of
scandals and indecorums in the theatre. Evelyn reprovingly speaks of
the public theatres being abused to an "atheistical liberty." Nell
Gwynne is in front of the curtain prattling with the fops, lounging
across and leaning over them, and conducting herself saucily and
impudently enough. Moll Davis is in one box, and my Lady Castlemaine,
with the king, in another. Moll makes eyes at the king, and he at her.
My Lady Castlemaine detects the interchange of glances, and "when she
saw Moll Davies she looked like fire, which troubled me," said Mr.
Pepys, who, to do him justice, was often needlessly troubled about
matters with which, in truth, he had very little concern. There were
brawls in the theatre, and tipsiness, and much license generally. In
1682 two gentlemen, disagreeing in the pit, drew their swords and
climbed to the stage. There they fought furiously until a sudden
sword-thrust stretched one of the combatants upon the boards. The
wound was not mortal, however, and the duellists, after a brief
confinement by order of the authorities, were duly set at liberty.

The fop of the Restoration was a different creature to the Elizabethan
gallant. Etherege satirised him in his "Man of Mode; or, Sir Fopling
Flutter," Dryden supplying the comedy with an epilogue, in which he
fully described certain of the prevailing follies of the time in
regard to dress and manners. The audience are informed that

None Sir Fopling him or him can call,
He's knight of the shire and represents you all!
From each he meets he culls whate'er he can;
Legion's his name, a people in a man.

* * * * *

His various modes from various fathers follow;
One taught the toss, and one the new French wallow;
His sword-knot this, his cravat that designed;
And this the yard-long snake he twirls behind.
From one the sacred periwig he gained,
Which wind ne'er blew nor touch of hat profaned.
Another's diving bow he did adore,
Which, with a shog, casts all the hair before,
Till he with full decorum brings it back,
And rises with a water-spaniel shake.

Upon another occasion the poet writes:

But only fools, and they of vast estate,
The extremity of modes will imitate,
The dangling knee-fringe and the bib-cravat.

While the fops were thus equipped, the ladies wore vizard-masks, and
upon the appearance of one of these in the pit--

Straight every man who thinks himself a wit,
Perks up, and managing his comb with grace,
With his white wig sets off his nut-brown face.

For it was the fashion of the gentlemen to toy with their soaring,
large-curled periwigs, smoothing them with a comb. Between the fops
and the ladies goodwill did not always prevail. The former were, no
doubt, addicted to gross impertinence in their conversation.

Fop Corner now is free from civil war,
White wig and vizard-mask no longer jar,
France and the fleet have swept the town so clear.

So Dryden "prologuised" in 1672, attributing the absence of "all our
braves and all our wits" to the war which England, in conjunction with
France, had undertaken against the Dutch.

Queen Anne, in 1704, expressly ordered that "no woman should be
allowed, or presume to wear, a vizard-mask in either of the
theatres." At the same time it was commanded that no person, of what
quality soever, should presume to go behind the scenes, or come upon
the stage, either before or during the acting of any play; and that no
person should come into either house without paying the price
established for their respective places. And the disobedient were
publicly warned that they would be proceeded against, as "contemners
of our royal authority and disturbers of the public peace."

These royal commands were not very implicitly obeyed. Vizard-masks may
have been discarded promptly, but there was much crowding, behind the
scenes and upon the stage, of persons of quality for many years after.
Garrick, in 1762, once and for ever, succeeded in clearing the boards
of the unruly mob of spectators, and secured room to move upon the
scene for himself and his company. But it was only by enlarging his
theatre, and in such wise increasing the number of seats available for
spectators in the auditory of the house, that he was enabled to effect
this reform. From that date the playgoers of the past grew more and
more like the playgoers of the present, until the flight of time
rendered distinction between them no longer possible, and merged
yesterday in to-day. There must have been a very important change in
the aspect of the house, however, when hair powder went out of fashion
in 1795; when swords ceased to be worn--for, of course, then there
could be no more rising of the pit to slash the curtain and scenery,
to prick the performers, and to lunge at the mirrors and decorations;
when gold and silver lace vanished from coats and waistcoats, silks
and velvets gave place to broadcloth and pantaloons; and when,
afterwards, trousers covered those nether limbs which had before, and
for so long a period, been exhibited in silk stockings. Yet these
alterations were accomplished gradually, no doubt. All was not done in
a single night. Fashion makes first one convert, and then another, and
so on, until all are numbered among her followers and wear the livery
she has prescribed. Garrick's opinion of those playgoers of his time,
whom he at last banished from his stage, may be gathered from the
dialogue between AEsop and the Fine Gentleman, in his farce of "Lethe."
AEsop inquires: "How do you spend your evening, sir?" "I dress in the
evening," says the Fine Gentleman, "and go generally behind the
scenes of both playhouses; not, you may imagine, to be diverted with
the play, but to intrigue and show myself. I stand upon the stage,
talk loud, and stare about, which confounds the actors and disturbs
the audience. Upon which the galleries, who hate the appearance of one
of us, begin to hiss, and cry, 'Off, off!' while I, undaunted, stamp
my foot, so; loll with my shoulder, thus; take snuff with my right
hand, and smile scornfully, thus. This exasperates the savages, and
they attack us with volleys of sucked oranges and half-eaten pippins."
"And you retire?" "Without doubt, if I am sober; for orange will stain
silk, and an apple may disfigure a feature."

In the Italian opera-houses of London there have long prevailed
managerial ordinances touching the style of dress to be assumed by the
patrons of those establishments; the British playgoer, however,
attending histrionic performances in his native tongue has been left
to his own devices in that respect. It cannot be said that much harm
has resulted from the full liberty permitted him, or that neglect on
his part has impaired the generally attractive aspect of our
theatrical auditories. Nevertheless, occasional eccentricity has been
forthcoming, if only to incur rebuke. We may cite an instance or two.

In December, 1738, the editor of _The London Evening Post_ was thus
addressed by a correspondent assuming the character of Miss Townley:

"I am a young woman of fashion who love plays, and should be
glad to frequent them as an agreeable and instructive
entertainment, but am debarred that diversion by my relations
upon account of a sort of people who now fill or rather infest
the boxes. I went the other night to the play with an aunt of
mine, a well-bred woman of the last age, though a little formal.
When we sat down in the front boxes we found ourselves
surrounded by a parcel of the strangest fellows that ever I saw
in my life; some of them had those loose kind of great-coats on
which I have heard called _wrap-rascals_, with gold-laced hats,
slouched in humble imitation of _stage-coachmen_; others aspired
at being _grooms_, and had dirty boots and spurs, with black
caps on, and long whips in their hands; a third sort wore scanty
frocks, with little, shabby hats, put on one side, and clubs in
their hands. My aunt whispered me that she never saw such a set
of slovenly, unmannerly footmen sent to keep places in her life,
when, to her great surprise, she saw those fellows, at the end
of the act, pay the box-keeper for their places."

In 1730 the "Universal Spectator" notes: "The wearing of swords, at
the Court end of the town, is, by many polite young gentlemen, laid
aside; and instead thereof they carry large oak sticks, with great
heads and ugly faces carved thereon."

Elliston was, in 1827, lessee and manager of the Surrey Theatre.
"Quite an opera pit," he said to Charles Lamb, conducting him over the
benches of that establishment, described by Lamb as "the last retreat
of his every-day waning grandeur." The following letter--the
authenticity of which seems to be vouched for by the actor's
biographer--supplies a different view of the Surrey audience of that
date:

"_August 10th, 1827._

"SIR,--I really must beg to call your attention to a most
abominable nuisance which exists in your house, and which is, in
a great measure, the cause of the minor theatres not holding the
rank they should amongst playhouses. I mean the admission of
_sweeps_ into the theatre in the very dress in which they climb
chimneys. This not only incommodes ladies and gentlemen by the
obnoxious odour arising from their attire, but these sweeps take
up twice the room of other people because the ladies, in
particular, object to their clothes being soiled by such
unpleasant neighbours. I have with my wife been much in the
habit of visiting the Surrey Theatre, and on three occasions we
have been annoyed by these sweeps. People will not go, sir,
where sweeps are; and you will find, sooner or later, these
gentlemen will have the whole theatre to themselves unless an
alteration be made. I own, at some theatres, the managers are
too particular in dress; those days are passed, and the public
have a right to go to theatrical entertainments in their morning
costumes; but this ought not to include the sweeps. It is not a
week ago since a lady in a nice white gown sat down on the very
spot which a nasty sweep had just quitted, and, when she got up,
the sight was most horrible, for she was a very heavy lady and
had laughed a good deal during the performance; but it was no
laughing matter to her when she got home. I hope I have said
quite enough, and am your

"WELL-WISHER."

"R.W. Elliston, Esq."

No doubt some reform followed upon this urgent complaint.

Regulations as to dress are peculiar to our Italian opera-houses, are
unknown, as Mr. Sutherland Edwards writes in his "History of the
Opera," "even in St. Petersburg and Moscow, where, as the theatres are
directed by the Imperial Government, one might expect to find a more
despotic code of laws in force than in a country like England. When an
Englishman goes to a morning or evening concert, he does not present
himself in the attire of a scavenger, and there is no reason for
supposing that he would appear in any unbecoming garb if liberty of
dress were permitted to him at the opera.... If the check-takers are
empowered to inspect and decide as to the propriety of the cut and
colour of clothes, why should they not also be allowed to examine the
texture? On the same principle, too, the cleanliness of opera-goers
ought to be inquired into. No one whose hair is not properly brushed
should be permitted to enter the stalls, and visitors to the pit
should be compelled to show their nails."

There have been, from time to time, protests, unavailing however,
against the tyranny of the opera-managers. In his "Seven Years of the
King's Theatre" (1828), Mr. Ebers publishes the remonstrance of a
gentleman refused admission to the opera on the score of his imperfect
costume, much to his amazement; "for," he writes, "I was dressed in a
superfine blue coat with gold buttons, white waistcoat, fashionable
tight drab pantaloons, white silk stockings and dress shoes, _all worn
but once, a few days before, at a dress concert, at the Crown and
Anchor Tavern_." He proceeds to express his indignation at the idea of
the manager presuming to enact sumptuary laws without the intervention
of the Legislature, and adds threats of legal proceedings and an
appeal to a British jury. "I have mixed," he continues, "too much in
genteel society not to know that black breeches, or pantaloons, with
black silk stockings, is a very prevailing full dress, and why is it
so? Because it is convenient and economical, _for you can wear a pair
of white silk stockings but once without washing, and a fair of black
is frequently worn for weeks without ablution._ P.S.--I have no
objection to submit an inspection of my dress of the evening in
question to you or any competent person you may appoint." Of this
offer it would seem that Mr. Ebers did not avail himself.




CHAPTER II.

THE MASTER OF THE REVELS.


Lords of Misrule and Abbots of Unreason had long presided over the
Yuletide festivities of Old England; in addition to these
functionaries King Henry VIII. nominated a Master and Yeoman of the
Revels to act as the subordinates of his Lord Chamberlain, and
expressly to provide and supervise the general entertainments and
pastimes of the court. These had already been ordered and established
after a manner that seemed extravagant by contrast with the economical
tastes of the preceding sovereign, who yet had not shown indifference
to the attractions of poetry, music, and the stage. But Henry VIII.,
according to the testimony of Hall, was a proficient, not less in arms
than in arts; he exercised himself daily in shooting, singing,
dancing, wrestling, "casting of the bar, playing at the recorders,
flute, virginals, and in setting of songs, making of ballettes; and
did set two goodly masses, every in them five parts, which were sung
oftentimes in his chapel, and afterwards in divers other places."
Early in his reign he appointed Richard Gibson, one of his father's
company of players, to be "yeoman tailor to the king," and
subsequently "serjeant-at-arms and of the tents and revels;" and in
1546 he granted a patent to Sir Thomas Cawarden, conferring upon him
the office of "Magistri Jocorum, Revellorum et Mascorum, omnium et
singulorum nostrorum, vulgariter nuncupatorum Revells et Masks," with
a salary of L10 sterling--a very modest stipend; but then Sir Thomas
enjoyed other emoluments from his situation as one of the gentlemen
of the Privy Chamber. The Yeoman of the Revels, who assisted the
Master and probably discharged the chief duties of his office,
received an annual allowance of L9 2s. 6d., and eight players of
interludes were awarded incomes, of L3 6s. 8d. To these remote
appointments of "yeoman tailor," and "Master of the Revels," is due
that office of "Licenser of Plays," which, strange to say, is extant
and even flourishing in the present year of grace.

As Chalmers has pointed out, however, in his "Apology for the
Believers in the Shakespearean Papers," the King's Chamberlain, or, as
he was styled in all formal proceedings of the time, Camerarius
Hospitii, had the government and superintendence of the king's hunting
and revels, of the comedians, musicians, and other royal servants; and
was, by virtue of the original constitution of his office, the real
Master of the Revels, "the great director of the sports of the court
by night as well as of the sports of the field by day." Still the
odium of his office, especially in its relation to plays and players,
could not but attach to his subordinates and deputies the Masters of
the Revels; "tasteless and officious tyrants," as Gifford describes
them in a note to Ben Jonson's "Alchemist," "who acted with little
discrimination, and were always more ready to prove their authority
than their judgment, the most hateful of them all being Sir Henry
Herbert," appointed by Charles I. to an office which naturally expired
when the Puritans suppressed the stage and did their utmost to
exterminate the players. At the Restoration, however, Herbert resumed
his duties; but he found, as Chalmers relates, "that the recent times
had given men new habits of reasoning, notions of privileges, and
propensities to resistance. He applied to the courts of justice for
redress; but the verdicts of judges were contradictory; he appealed to
the ruler of the state, but without receiving redress or exciting
sympathy: like other disputed jurisdictions, the authority of the
Master of the Revels continued to be oppressive till the Revolution
taught new lessons to all parties."

It is to be observed, however, that the early severities and arbitrary
caprices to which the players were subjected, were not attributable
solely to the action of the Masters of the Revels. The Privy Council
was constant in its interference with the affairs of the theatre. A
suspicion was for a long time rife that the dramatic representations
of the sixteenth century touched upon matters of religion or points of
doctrine, and oftentimes contained matters "tending to sedition and to
the contempt of sundry good orders and laws." Proclamations were from
time to time issued inhibiting the players and forbidding the
representation of plays and interludes. In 1551 even the actors
attached to the households of noblemen were not allowed to perform
without special leave from the Privy Council; and the authorities of
Gray's Inn, once famous for its dramatic representations, expressly
ordered that there should be "no comedies called interludes in this
house out of term time, but when the Feast of the Nativity of our Lord
is solemnly observed." Upon the accession of Queen Mary, in 1553,
dramatic representations, whether or not touching upon points of
religious doctrine, appear to have been forbidden for a period of two
years. In 1556 the Star Chamber issued orders, addressed to the
justices of the peace in every county in the kingdom, with
instructions that they should be rigorously enforced, forbidding the
representation of dramatic productions of all kinds. Still, in Mary's
reign, certain miracle plays, designed to inculcate and enforce the
tenets of the Roman Catholic religion, were now and then encouraged by
the public authorities; and in 1557 the Queen sanctioned various
sports and pageants of a dramatic kind, apparently for the
entertainment of King Philip, then arrived from Flanders, and of the
Russian ambassador, who had reached England a short time before.

The players had for a long while few temptations to resist authority,
whether rightfully or wrongfully exercised. Sufferance was the badge
of their tribe. They felt constrained to submit without question or
repining, when loud-toned commands were addressed to them, dreading
lest worse things should come about. It was a sort of satisfaction to
them, at last, to find themselves governed by so distinguished a
personage as the Lord Chamberlain, or even by his inferior officer the
Master of the Revels. It was true that he might, as he often did, deal
with them absurdly and severely; but even in this abuse of his power
there was valuable recognition of their profession--it became invested
with a measure of lawfulness, otherwise often denied it by common
opinion. How it chanced that a member of the royal household ruled not
only the dramatic representations of the court, but controlled
arbitrarily enough, plays and players generally, no one appeared to
know, or thought it worth while to inquire. As Colley Cibber writes:
"Though in all the letters patent for acting plays, &c., since King
Charles I.'s time, there has been no mention of the Lord Chamberlain,
or of any subordination to his command or authority, yet it was still
taken for granted that no letters patent, by the bare omission of such
a great officer's name, could have superseded or taken out of his
hands that power which time out of mind he always had exercised over
the theatre. But as the truth of the question seemed to be wrapt in a
great deal of obscurity in the old laws, made in former reigns,
relating to players, &c., it may be no wonder that the best companies
of actors should be desirous of taking shelter under the visible power
of a Lord Chamberlain, who, they knew, had at his pleasure favoured
and protected, or borne hard upon them; but be all this as it may, a
Lord Chamberlain, from whencesoever his power might be derived, had,
till of later years, had always an implicit obedience paid to it."

Among the duties undertaken by the Lord Chamberlain was the licensing
or refusing new plays, with the suppression of such portions of them
_as_ he might deem objectionable; which province was assigned to his
inferior, the Master of the Revels. This, be it understood, was long
before the passing of the Licensing Act of 1737, which indeed,
although it gave legal sanction to the power of the Lord Chamberlain,
did not really invest him with much more power than he had often
before exercised. Even in Charles II.'s time, the representation of
"The Maid's Tragedy," of Beaumont and Fletcher, had been forbidden by
an order from the Lord Chamberlain. It was conjectured that "the
killing of the king in that play, while the tragical death of King
Charles I. was then so fresh in people's memory, was an object too
horribly impious for a public entertainment;" and, accordingly, the
courtly poet Waller occupied himself in altering the catastrophe of
the story, so as to save the life of the king. Another opinion
prevailed, to the effect that the murder accomplished by the heroine
Evadne offered "a dangerous example to other Evadnes then shining at
court in the same rank of royal distinction." In the same reign also,
Nat Lee's tragedy of "Lucius Junius Brutus," "was silenced after three
performances;" it being objected that the plan and sentiments of it
had too boldly vindicated, and might inflame, Republican principles. A
prologue, by Dryden, to "The Prophetess," was prohibited, on account
of certain "familiar metaphorical sneers at the Revolution" it was
supposed to contain, at a time when King William was prosecuting the
war in Ireland. Bank's tragedy of "Mary, Queen of Scotland," was
withheld from the stage for twenty years, owing to "the profound
penetration of the Master of the Revels, who saw political spectres in
it that never appeared in the presentation." From Cibber's version of
"Richard III.," the first act was wholly expunged, lest "the
distresses of King Henry VI., who is killed by Richard in the first
act, should put weak people too much in mind of King James, then
living in France." In vain did Cibber petition the Master of the
Revels "for the small indulgence of a speech or two, that the other
four acts might limp on with a little less absurdity. No! He had not
leisure to consider what might be separately inoffensive!" So, too,
some eight years before the passing of the Licensing Act, Gay's ballad
opera of "Polly," designed as a sequel to "The Beggar's Opera,"
incurred the displeasure of the Chamberlain, and was denied the
honours of representation.

Nor was it only on political grounds that the Lord Chamberlain or the
Master of the Revels exercised his power. The "View of the Stage,"
published by the nonjuring clergyman, Jeremy Collier, in 1697, first
drew public attention to the immorality and profanity of the dramatic
writers of that period. The diatribes and rebukes of Collier, if here
and there a trifle overstrained, were certainly, for the most part,
provoked by the nature of the case, and were justified by the result.
Even Cibber, who had been cited as one of the offenders, admits that
"his calling our dramatic writers to this strict account had a very
wholesome effect upon those who wrote after this time. They were now a
great deal more upon their guard ... and, by degrees, the fair sex
came again to fill the boxes on the first day of a new comedy, without
fear of censure." For some time, it seems, the ladies had been afraid
of venturing "bare-faced" to a new comedy, till they had been assured
that they could do it without risk of affront; "or if," as Cibber
says, "their curiosity was too strong for their patience, they took
care, at least, to save appearances, and rarely came upon the first
days of acting but in masks, then daily worn and admitted in the pit,
the side-boxes, and gallery." This reform of the drama, it is to be
observed, was really effected, not by the agency of the Chamberlain or
any other court official, but by force of the just criticism,
strenuously delivered, of a private individual. But now, following the
example of Collier, the Master of the Revels, in his turn, insisted
upon amendment in this matter, and oftentimes forbade the performance
of whole scenes that he judged to be vicious or immoral. He had
constituted himself a _Censor Morum_; a character in which the modern
Licenser of Plays still commends himself to our notice.

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