ACT THE THIRD.
Enter Severn and Humber.
Sev. I have often begged you to let me shift for myself, let my character sink or swim. Every man who attempts any new thing must allow mankind to talk of him as they please. I do not regard what the world says, but what they should say.
Hum. It is very odd that we have never happy moments but at midnight, so different are our tempers; and we are made to keep together from no other rule, but that we never expostulate upon past mistakes; to meet again after a misunderstanding, contains in itself all manner of apology, all expostulation; but, if I might, I would complain that the business of the house is neglected while you are attending your amours.
Sev. No; there is a present leisure to attend anything of that kind, to hear any person or persons that pretend to the stage, to examine scenes or goods to be shown or exhibited there, and give them their answers.—Let us take our places accordingly.
Hum. It is wondrous to consider the folly of mankind, that think so lightly and so meanly of the faculties of a player.—Roscius had three thousand scholars, and but one only fit for the purpose.
Sev. There's no arguing mankind out of their humour or their taste; they may be gained upon by skill and labour, but that must be felt before it's seen.
Hum. Now you begin to philosophise: but let us hear the people, in spite of vernacular dialect or tone, attempting to represent the most difficult characters of state. Mr. Duntaxat, if you please, we will now sit down and hear them. [They sit down at table accordingly.] Mr. Severn, you see he consents to take out places. [Rings the bell.] Who waits?
Enter Servant.
Servant. A great many people, sir; but none so importunate to be admitted as the Welsh gentleman, who offers to act the character of Hamlet for his own pleasure.
Hum. Plague on him, whose pleasure will it be besides?
Sev. Oh, all the world will like him; let us admit him by all means.
Hum. He, in his vernacular tone, will disparage a scene forever by repeating it; but do as you will.
Sev. Pray desire the gentleman to walk in: pray, gentlemen, keep your countenance, for he is no fool; or if he is, he is a valiant one, and hath a great estate half-way up the atmosphere.
Enter Mr. Gwillyn.
[They all rise from their seats.]
Sir, we understand the high obligation you lay upon us (pray sit down, sir) in condescending to tread the stage in the character of the Prince of Denmark; in which, sir, you are so far right, that he was a prince of a very ancient family, and not unworthy a gentleman of your character to represent.
Gwil. I have a respect for him, both for his plutt and his prains, and think I could do him justice.
Sev. There is no doubt of it, good sir; and if you please to pronounce the sentence, "To be and not to be," you'll mightily raise these gentlemen's expectations and gratitude to you for the favour you intend them.
Gwil. Sir, that will I do, if the gentlemen please to hear it. [They all rise, and come forward with him.
Gwil. "To pee and not to pee," &c.[138]
Sev. Most admirably spoke, sir. Be pleased to give us time to concert measures what day to act this play. Let our tailor wait upon you to adjust the shape and all things necessary. [Exit Gwillyn.
Hum. It's well we have got well clear of this humorous exceptious gentleman; but I was in terrible pain lest he should have observed your inclination to laugh.—But let us not lose time, but go on to answer other persons. [Rings the bell.
Enter Servant.
Hum. Who waits without?
Servant. Very many people, sir; but the lady with her daughter says she has been here so often that she will be next admitted.
Sev. She will! she insists to see us altogether and makes a difficulty even to show her daughter's face. Now that is so preposterous and humourous, that I could not answer her civilly and in general, and so put her off.
Hum. Let her come in, however, and have her answer from us all.
Enter Mrs. Fennell, with her Daughter.
Hum. Madam, what are your commands here?
Mrs. Fen. Gentlemen, I am a gentlewoman of a very ancient family.
Sev. Very likely, madam; but, indeed, madam, we sit here to provide for the stage, and not to hear pedigrees. If you are of a house of yesterday, and please to-day—you'll pardon me, madam—-that is what we are to mind chiefly; but pray, madam, break into your business.
Mrs. Fen. Why, gentlemen, this young lady in a mask with me is my daughter, and I propose her for the stage; for I am reduced, and starve or beg we must not.
Sev. But, madam, please to show us how your daughter will help to keep us from wanting. Madam, we have a great charge already.
Mrs. Fen. Why, you see, gentlemen, her height is very well; she is neither tall nor short.
Sev. We allow it, madam; but that is not all: she must speak with a good air and grace.—Won't she unmask? Must not we see more than thus much of her?
Mrs. Fen. No, no, gentlemen, we must come to some manner of agreement before you see any further. To be a maid of honour, a waiting lady on your Statiras and Roxanas,[139] or any of your theatrical princesses, she'll deserve twenty shillings a week for mere dumb show—and I'll have assurance of that in case you like her face; or else it shan't be said she was offered to the playhouse.
Sev. Well, but, madam, that is not all; for let her be for dumb show only, her face is not all; she must be well limbed [They whisper and confer.]—she may sometimes be in a boy's dress—a Cupid, a young heir to a great family, a page, or a gentleman-usher.
Mrs. Fen. Why, I was aware of the objection, and have had a model taken of her legs, which you shall see, gentlemen. There they are; as fine a straight leg and as proper a calf—you shall seldom see a woman's leg so well made.—I don't question, gentlemen, but you have seen great choice, gentlemen, in your posts; are well acquainted with the symmetry of parts, and correspondence of limbs.
Sev. Well, madam, you speak of your goods so advantageously, and set them off so reasonably, that if the lady pleases to show her face, we shall give twenty shillings a week, certain.
Mrs. Fen. She is your servant, and shall constantly attend rehearsals. [Daughter unmasks.
Sev. On my word, a very surprising face.—Pray, madam, may I beg the favour to see those pretty lips move?
Daughter. Yes, sir.
Sev. Pray, madam, raise your voice a note higher.
Mrs. Fen. Gentlemen, I beg she may be kept wholly for tragedy, for she takes prodigiously after me. She can act only an haughty part; I was prodigiously haughty in my youth. She will never act naturally anything but what's cruel and unnatural, as the men call it.
Sev. But, madam, can't she repeat any verses, any parts of a play? It's strange she should have an inclination to the stage, and yet nothing by heart.
Mrs. Fen. Oh, I have inured her to get as many things as possible to arm her against the wiles of men; as those concerning Sir Charles Sedley—Say on, good Betty.
Daughter. "Sedley has that prevailing gentle art,
That can with a resistless charm impart
The loosest wishes to the chastest heart."[140]
Sev. "The loosest wishes!"—I fancy somebody or other has seen her legs otherwise than by a model—she speaks so sensibly! [Aside.
Daughter. "Raise such a conflict, kindle such a fire
Between declining virtue and desire,
Till the poor vanquish'd maid dissolves away,
In dreams all night, in sighs and tears all day."
Sev. Well, madam, pluck up a spirit; and let us hear you grace it, and do it with an air. Speak it politely, with a side face; you are to imagine an audience though there is none; and pray speak it with courage—
"Sedley has that prevailing," &c.
Hum. Madam, you may be sure of all the encouragement and care your beauty and merit deserve. [Exeunt Mrs. Fennell and Daughter.
Well, now, let us look into some scenes that are under examination, whether proper to be exhibited or not. Let the scene of Mr. Buskin come on.
[Trumpets sound, and drums beat a march.]
Enter Buskin.
Busk. "In vain has conquest waited on my sword,
In vain th' obedient waves have wafted o'er
The bark in which I sailed; as if the gods
Had ordered nature to preserve her course
With gentle clime and season, to convey
In safety me, their instrument of fate."
Hum. Ho! brave, ho! brave. What's to come after that?
Busk. "All this was vain, since Clidiamira's eyes
Have met with mine—and stopped my race of glory.
Oh, Clidiamira—Oh! oh! oh! let all
The elements break loose—"
Hum. Ay, ay, to be sure, they can do no less, if Clidiamira's really angry; but not so fast, not so fast, if you please.
Busk. Pray, sir, give me leave—Oh, Mr. Humber, is it you? Your humble servant.—I submit—I know you are a critic.
Hum. To be free, sir, you must know this way of blustering is a stage legerdemain; a trick upon the eyes and ears of the audience. Look you, sir, this is a time of licentiousness; and we must examine things, now we are setting up to strip you, to know whether what you say is good or not.
Busk. How, strip me!
Hum. Ay, strip you—for if it be not sense in your doublet, it is not in your long robe. High heels on your shoes, or the feathers on your beaver, cannot exalt you a tittle. No; you must know, good folks, this is all a cheat. Such stuff as this is only a tragedy of feathers—it is only lace and ribbon in distress; undress the actor, and the speech is spoiled.
All. Strip him—strip him! [They pull off his clothes.
Hum. Now speak, now speak.
Busk. Give me my truncheon at least; I got it by heart with a stick in my hand.
Many. Ha, ha, ha; let him have his truncheon—let him have his truncheon.
Busk. Nay—pray, gentlemen and ladies, let me come on the same board.—Nay—
Hum. You shall do that.—Well, but begin.
Busk. "In vain has conquest"—shan't I have a little of the trumpet?
All. No, no, no.
Busk. Then the drum only?
All. No, no.
Busk. "Oh, Clidiamira—oh! oh! oh!"—It won't do; one can't follow either love or honour without some equipage.
Hum. Well then, master, to keep you in countenance, you shall take up your things, and in your doublet speak that sentiment in the play called The Patriot,[141] wherein the great lord speaks to his friend, who applauds the bestowing of his bounty. The friend, taking notice of his conveying secretly relief to a distress'd person of great merit, and thinking to please him, tells him that the man obliged has found out who sent it, and said it was a God-like action. To which the answer:
"God-like indeed, could one bestow unseen!
Thanks are too large returns, from soul to soul,
For anything that we can handle thus:
Heaven has no more for giving us our all.
The means of sustenance man owes to man,
As angels give each other thought for thought."
Mr. Buskin, your most humble servant; mingle with the company.—Take your things. Say that in a doublet, cap, or waistcoat, with or without shoes, and make it little if you can. [The crowd takes in Buskin.
Hum. But I see you grow uneasy, to be diverted from your main design; I'll only trouble you with two circumstances, which to me appear very magnificent, tragical, and great: the one is a great favourite in a court, a man of consummate honour, who was surrounded with many difficulties and enemies. They got the better of him so far, as that he must be sacrificed unless he would open a letter which came by an error into his hand, but was directed to his enemy. He comes on in a soliloquy, but chooses to preserve his honour and abstain from opening it, and goes on to his ruin. He says but a word or two; but let him come.
Enter a Tragedian, with a letter in his hand.
Tragedian. "Here is my fate: 'tis put into my hands;
'Tis in my hands to take or to refuse;
I cannot open it but with loss of honour—
Be it for ever closed.
I cannot escape death; that will come soon or late;
'Tis in my power to make it find me innocent." [Exit.
Hum. You observe, Mr. Severn, here's no noise, no eclat, no bustle, but simple and calm greatness.—The next circumstance for which I beg your patience is that of a great English general, who, observing the confederate horse seized with a panic fear, and all, to a man, in the utmost disorder, assumes himself and mounts an eminence, and says he would stand there to revive the army. He did so; the enemies soon observed so remarkable an object, and cannonaded it. He stood the fury of their cannon while the army marched—But he comes on.
[Drums and trumpets to precede his march.]
Enter General.
Gen. "Nothing, but seeing me meet all they fear,
Can avert the same contagion from the troops.
Let them behold me die; or, what is more,
Let them behold how I expect to die!" [Exit.
Hum. It is allowable to help great thoughts, and alarm the audience with warlike instruments, to give the inattentive a sense of what is truly sublime. But I won't detain you longer; let us go in; but as we are going off a stage, let me repeat to you a couple of verses.
Would you reform an heedless guilty age,
Adorn with virtuous characters the stage.