CHAPTER XXXIX.
Betty’s imitators—Miss Mudie, “The Young Roscia”—Her first appearance in London—Reception by the audience—Her fate—Ireland’s forgery of “Vortigern and Rowena”—Fires among the theatres—Destruction of Covent Garden and Drury Lane.
BETTY’S success raised up, of necessity, some imitators—there were other Roscii, who soon disappeared; and, as ladies deny the sterner sex the sole enjoyment of all the good things of this world, a Roscia sprang into existence—a Miss Mudie, who entered on her theatrical career, even earlier than Master Betty. Morning Post, July 29, 1805: “The Young Roscia of the Dublin Stage (only seven years old), who is called the Phenomenon, closed her engagement there on Monday last, in the part of Peggy, in the Country Girl, which she is stated to have pourtrayed with ‘wonderful archness, vivacity, and discrimination.’”
Children, such as this, however precocious, are, of course simply ridiculous, and we are not astonished to find fun being made of them. Says the Morning Post, October 21, 1805: “A young Lady was the other day presented by her nurse and mamma to one of our managers for an engagement. She came recommended by the testimony of an amateur, that she was a capital representative of the Widow Belmour. The manager, after looking at her from head to foot, exclaimed, ‘But how old is Miss?’ ‘Seven years old, sir, next Lammas,’ answered the nurse, ‘bless her pretty face.’ ‘Oh! Mrs. Nurse,’ replies the manager, gravely, ‘too old, too old; nothing above five years will now do for Widow Belmour.’”
Old playgoers had not quite lost all their wits, although they had been somewhat crazy on the subject of young Roscius; but he was then fourteen, whilst this baby was only seven. However, the Phenomenon appeared, and duly collapsed, the story of which I should spoil did I not give it in the original. Here it is, as a warning to ambitious débutantes—Morning Post, November 25, 1805:
“Covent Garden. The play of the Country Girl was announced at this house, on Saturday evening, for the purpose of introducing to a London audience, a very young lady, a Miss Mudie, in the character of Miss Peggy. Miss Mudie has played, as it has been reported, but we doubt the truth of the report, with great success at Dublin, Liverpool, Birmingham, &c., where she has been applauded and followed nearly as much as Master Betty. The people of London seem to have been aware that these reports were unfounded, for no great degree of curiosity prevailed to see her on Saturday.
“The audience received this child very favourably on her entrance. She is said to be ten years of age, but in size she does not look to be more than five. She is extremely diminutive, and has not the plump, comely countenance of an infant: her nose is very short; her eyes not well placed; she either wants several teeth, or is, perhaps, shedding them; and she speaks very inarticulately. It was difficult to understand what she said. When she attempts expression of countenance, her features contract about the nose, and eyes, in a way that gives reason to suppose she is older than her person denotes. She seems to have a young body with an old head.
“In the first passages of her part, she appeared to give some satisfaction, and was loudly applauded; an indulgent audience wishing, no doubt, to encourage her to display her full powers; but when she was talked of as a wife, as a mistress, and an object of love, the scene became so ridiculous that hissing and horse laughing ensued. She made her début before Miss Brunton, a tall, elegant, beautiful woman, and looked in size just as if Miss Brunton’s fan had been walking in before her; Miss Mudie the married woman, and Miss Brunton the maiden! When she was with her husband, Mr. Murray, no very tall man, she did not reach higher than his knee, and he was obliged to stoop even to lay his hand upon her head, and bend himself down double to kiss her; when she had to lay hold of his neckcloth to coax him, and pat his cheeck, he was obliged to stoop down all fours that she might reach him! The whole effect was so out of nature, so ludicrous, that the audience very soon decided against Miss Mudie. At first they did not hiss when she was on the stage, from delicacy; but, in her absence, hissed the performance, to stop the play, if possible. But as she persevered confidently they hissed her, and at last called vehemently, Off! off! Miss Mudie was not, however, without a strong party to support her; but the noise increased to that degree in the latter scenes that not a word could be heard, on which Miss Mudie walked to the front of the stage with great confidence and composure, not without some signs of indignation, and said:
“‘Ladies and Gentlemen,
“‘I know nothing I have done to offend you, and has set (sic) those who are sent here to hiss me; I will be very much obliged to you to turn them out.’
“This speech, which, no doubt had been very imprudently put into the infant’s mouth, astonished the audience; some roared out with laughter, some hissed, others called Off! off! and many applauded. Miss Mudie did not appear to be in the slightest degree chagrined or embarrassed, and she went through the scene with as much glee as if she had been completely successful. At the end of it the uproar was considerable, and a loud cry arising of Manager! Manager! Mr. Kemble came forward. In substance he said:
“‘Ladies and Gentlemen,
“‘Miss Mudie having performed at various provincial theatres with great success, her friends thought themselves authorised in presenting her before you. It is the duty, and the wish, of the proprietors of this House to please you; and to fulfil both, was their aim in bringing forward Miss Mudie. ‘The Drama’s laws, the Drama’s patrons give’—Miss Mudie intends to withdraw herself from the stage; but I entreat you to hear her through the remainder of her part.’”
She came on the stage again, but the audience would not listen to her, and Miss Searle had to finish her part. What became of this self-possessed child I know not; according to the Morning Post, April 5, 1806, she joined a children’s troupe in Leicester Place, where, “though deservedly discountenanced at a great theatre, she will, no doubt, prove an acquisition to the infant establishment.”
Late in the last century, the literary and theatrical world had been thrown into a state of high excitement, by the announcement of the discovery of an original play by Shakespeare, called “Vortigern and Rowena,” which was acted at Drury Lane, and condemned, as spurious, the first night; but belief in it lasted for some time, and the question was of such importance, that the Morning Post, in 1802, took the suffrages of the fashionable world, as to its authenticity. The question was set at rest in 1805 by the forger himself, one William Henry Ireland, who had the audacity to publish a book[56] in which he unblushingly details all his forgeries, and his method of doing them. It is an amusing volume, and has recently been utilized by a novelist.[57] The absolute forgeries are still in existence, including the pseudo-lock of Shakespeare’s hair; and they changed owners some few years since, when they were sold by auction at very low prices.
There was a great fatality among theatres; there were but few of them, and they were continually being burnt down. The Opera House in 1789; The Pantheon 1792; Astley’s Amphitheatre, September 17, 1794. This theatre was unlucky. It again fell a victim to the flames, September 1, 1803; and Astley, on this occasion, seems to have met with an accident—Times, September 7, 1803: “Fortunately for Mr. Astley, almost the whole of his plate was at Lower Esher, from which place he reached the Amphitheatre in one hour and a quarter. It was not till he came to Vauxhall that his horse fell; the same presentiment which foreran the former conflagration of his property, the moment he heard the gate bell ring, he exclaimed to Mrs. Astley, ‘They come to tell me that the Theatre is on fire.’”
The Surrey Theatre, or, as it was then called, the Royal Circus, was destroyed by fire August 12, 1805; and Covent Garden was burnt down September 20, 1808—the fire being supposed to have been caused by a piece of wadding from a gun fired during the performance of Pizarro. It was, of course, a tremendous conflagration, and unfortunately resulted in loss of life, besides the loss of many original scores of Handel, Arne, and other eminent composers, together with Handel’s organ.
Plans for a new theatre were soon got out, and Mr. Smirke (afterwards Sir Robert, to whom we owe the beautiful British Museum, and the General Post Office) was the architect. The first stone was laid, with much Masonic pomp, on the 31st of December, 1808, by the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Sussex, and a distinguished circle of guests, being present. The weather was unpropitious, but immense crowds of people were present; and it is curious to learn, as showing the defective police of the time, that “The Horse Guards patrolled the streets, and several of the Volunteer Corps did duty on the occasion.”
Within two months from the above date, Drury Lane Theatre was totally destroyed by fire. On the 24th of February, about 11 p.m., it was discovered, and it did not take long before the whole was in a blaze; not for want of precautions, for it seems they had adopted the best accepted preventitives of a great theatrical conflagration known to modern architects, viz., an iron curtain, and a huge reservoir of water on the top of the building—the latter being described as “a mere bucket full to the volume of fire on which it fell, and had no visible effect in damping it,” which may be comforting for modern playgoers to remember. Nor was it long in burning; by 5 a.m. “the flames were completely subdued”—that is, there was nothing left to burn. Very little was saved, only a bureau and some looking-glasses, from Mrs. Jordan’s dressing-room, and the “Treasury” books and some papers. Sheridan took his loss, outwardly, with great sang froid, one anecdote affirming that, on a remark being made to him that it was a wonder he could bear to witness the destruction of his property, he replied, “Why! where can a man warm himself better than at his own fire-side?” However, by his energy, he soon found temporary premises for his company, and, having obtained a special license from the Lord Chamberlain, he took the Lyceum and opened it on the 25th of September, or, within a week of the fire.
