nights an amphitheatre of seats was raised upon the stage," where," says Wilkinson, "there would be groups of ill-dressed lads and persons sitting on the stage in front, three or four rows deep; otherwise those who sat behind could not have seen, and a riot would have ensued; so in fact a performer on a popular night could not step with safety, lest he should thereby hurt or offend, or be thrown down amidst scores of idle and tipsy apprentices. But it was the beaux who usually affected this part of the house. There was only one entrance on each side the stage, which was always particularly crowded. First they sported their own figures to gratify self-consequence, and impede and interfere with the performers who had to come on and go off the stage. They loved to affront the audience, particularly the gallery portion, who would answer by showering down oranges and half eaten apples to the great terror of the ladies in the pit, who were so closely wedged they could not move." The presence of an audience upon the stage frequently led to ludicrous contretemps. Such as when a woman once during the performance of Hamlet, having heard him complain just before that the air was very cold, when he threw off his hat upon the appearance of the Ghost, picked it up and replaced it very carefully upon his head. Upon which both the Prince of Denmark and the apparition made a precipitate retreat amidst roars of laughter. Juliet

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frequently lay in her tomb surrounded by some scores of people, and Macbeth returning from the murder of Duncan, had to force his way through a crowd of beaux. Several attempts were made to abolish this pernicious custom; in 1711 a royal proclamation forbade any person to sit upon the stage; but it produced little effect, and the custom continued until it was finally suppressed by Garrick in 1762. Like most reforms it was ill received at first. It was unpopular with the beaux and gallants, who thus lost an opportunity of displaying themselves, and with the actors as it diminished the profits of their benefits; to meet the latter Garrick, by throwing back the stage, increased the accommodation in front. It was the small beginning of a great revolution, it led the way to those gigantic theatres which entirely changed the conditions of the dramatic art.

Upon a stage, half proscenium, and lighted by only four hoops of candles, scenic effects were impossible; and until the Kemble time "the flats and drops" of the great patent houses were as dingy and unpretentious as those of a country fit-up at the present day. Appropriateness of costume was equally neglected; all plays, of whatever age and country, were dressed in the fashion of the time, and very shabbily too. In a newspaper dated 1723, we read, "King Duncan has not had a new habit for the last century, Julius

Cæsar was as ragged as a colt, and his guards were a ragged regiment; only the parts played by the managers (the triumvirate) were welldressed." Tate Wilkinson, writing as late as 1790, says, "The ladies and gentlemen in modern tragedies, forty years ago, at Covent Garden, wore all the old laced clothes which had done many years service at Lincoln's Inn." So heavy were their embossed petticoats that a lady could not move without a page to bear up her train, and, however secret might be the conversation, these supernumeraries were always present. Servants and rustic maidens dressed as finely as their mistresses, and it was impossible to distinguish by costume the mistress from the maid."

Under the management of our triumvirate of actors, a period of prosperity was inaugurated unknown to the stage, at least since the early years of the Restoration. "For more than twenty years," says Victor, "their green-rooms were free from indecencies of every kind, and might justly be compared to the most elegant drawingrooms of the prime quality; no fops, or coxcombs, ever shewed their monkey tricks there; but if they chanced to thrust in they were awed into respect, even persons of the first rank and taste, of both sexes, would often mix with the performers without any stain to their honour or understanding."

CHAPTER V.

COLLEY CIBBER AND HIS ASSOCIATES.

Dogget―Robert Wilks-His Extraordinary Diligence-A Sketch of the Triumvirate-The Managers in Council-Barton BoothHis Success as Cato-Proposed as a Sharer-His MarriageHis Characters-Cibber's Quarrel with Pope-His Retirement -His Justice Shallow-His Death-Theophilus Cibber-Joe Miller-Mrs. Oldfield-Mrs. Porter-" Polly Peachem."

EFORE proceeding farther with Cibber's in

BEFO

dividual career, let us turn to his associates in management, with whom he is now so closely connected. DOGGET was of humble origin; had strolled the provinces before his talents procured him a foremost position upon the London stage, where he made his first appearance in 1691. "He was the most original, and the strictest observer of Nature of all his contemporaries," says Cibber. "He borrowed from none of them; his manner was his own; he was a pattern to others, whose greatest merit was, that they had sometimes tolerably imitated him. In dressing a character to the greatest exactness, he was remarkably skilful; the least article of whatever habit he wore seemed in some degree to speak and mark the

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different humour he presented. He could be extremely ridiculous, without stepping into the least impropriety to make him so. His greatest success was in characters of lower life, which he improved from the delight he took in his observations of that kind in the real world. In songs and particular dances too, of humour, he had no competitor. Congreve was a great admirer of him, and found his account in the characters he expressly wrote for him. In those of Fondlewife, in "The Old Bachelor," and Ben, in "Love for Love," no author and no actor could be more obliged to their mutual masterly performances. He was very acceptable to several persons of high rank and taste, though he seldom cared to be the comedian but among his more intimate acquaintance."

He could paint his face to exactly represent any age, seventy, eighty, ninety. Sir Godfrey Kneller told him one day at Button's that he excelled him in painting; for that he could only copy nature from the originals before him, but that he (Dogget) could vary them at pleasure, and yet keep a close likeness. No temptation could ever induce him to step out of his own line of characters, by which prudence he always appeared equally excellent. His great passion was stock-jobbing, and no man was better known upon 'Change, for every moment he could spare from his professional duties was passed there. He was one of the most thoroughgoing Whigs of the day; and he left in his will a