First Theater in America / When was the drama first introduced in America? An inquiry, including a consideration of the objections that have been made to the stage.

by Charles P. Daly

“‘Virginia Company of Comedians,’” he read, “‘by permission of his worship the Mayor—in the old theatre near the capitol, on Thursday evening—a tragedy called ‘The Merchant of Venice,’ by Mr. William Shakespeare, boxes seven shillings sixpence’—‘Vivat Rex et Regina’—here it is, ‘Shylock, Mr. Rigby; Portia, Miss Beatrice Hallam.’ The part of Portia is to be performed by Miss Beatrice Hallam—I have never seen or heard of her.”

“Which means,” said Henrietta, laughing, “that Miss Beatrice cannot be very well worth seeing, as Mr. Champ Effingham, just from London, and conversant with all the celebrities there, has never heard of her existence.”

“My dear Cousin Henrietta,” said Mr. Effingham, languidly, “you really seem to sit in judgment on my wearisome conversation. I do not profess to know anything about celebrities. True, I very frequently lounged into the theater in London, but I assure you took very little interest in the plays or performers. Life itself is enough of a comedy for me, and I want nothing more. I know nothing of Miss Hallam. She may be a witch of Endor, or as beautiful as Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, for all that I know. That I have not heard of her proves nothing. The best actors and actresses are often treated with neglect and indifference.”

“Well,” said Clara, smiling, “we soon shall see for ourselves, for there is papa coming, all ready dressed to go, and I hear the wheels of the chariot.”

Upon which they go to the play-house, which the novelist thus describes:

The “old theatre near the capitol,” discoursed of in the manifesto issued by Mr. Manager Hallam, was so far old that the walls were well browned by time, and the shutters to the windows of a pleasant neutral tint between rust and dust color. The building had, no doubt, been used for the present purpose in bygone times, before the days of the “Virginia Gazette,” which is our authority for many of the facts here stated, and in relation to the “Virginia Company of Comedians”—but of the former companies of “players,” as my Lord Hamlet calls them, and their successes and misfortunes, printed words tell us nothing, as far as the researches of the present “Chronicle” extend. That there had been such companies before, however, we repeat, there is some reason to believe; else why that addition “old” applied to the “theatre near the capitol.”

Within, the play-house presented a somewhat more attractive appearance. There was “box,” “pit,” and “gallery,” as in our own day; and the relative prices were arranged in much the same manner. The common mortals—gentlemen and ladies—were forced to occupy the boxes raised slightly above the level of the stage and hemmed in by velvet-cushioned railings—in front a flower-decorated panel extending all around the house—and for this position they were moreover compelled to pay an admission fee of seven shillings and sixpence. The demigods—so to speak—occupied a more eligible portion in the “pit,” from which they could procure a highly excellent view of the actors’ feet and ankles, just on a level with their noses; to conciliate the demigods this superior advantage had been offered, and the price for them was further still reduced to five shillings. But “the gods,” in truth, were the real favorites of the manager. To attract them he arranged the high upper “gallery” and left it untouched, unencumbered by railing, velvet cushions, or any other device; all was free space and liberal as the air; there were no troublesome seats for “the gods,” and three shillings and ninepence all that the manager would demand. The honor of their presence was enough.

From the boxes a stairway led down to the stage, and some rude scenes, visible at the edges of the curtain, completed the outfit.

When Mr. Lee and his daughters entered the box, which had been reserved for them next to the stage, the house was nearly full, and the neatness of the edifice was lost sight of in the sea of brilliant ladies’ faces and showy forms of cavaliers which extended, like a sea of glittering foam, around the semicircle of the boxes. The pit was occupied by well-dressed men of the lower class, as the times had it, and from the gallery proceeded hoarse murmurs and the unforgotten slang of London.

Many smiles and bows were interchanged between the parties in the different boxes and the young gallants, following the fashion of the day, gathered at each end of the stage, and often walked across, to exchange some polite speech with the smiling dames in the boxes nearest.