On Saturday, December 1, 1804, Master Betty appeared at Covent Garden in the character of Selim. Soon after mid-day the old theatre—the one which Rich had built and to which he transferred his company from Lincoln’s Inn Fields—was beset by a crowd which swelled into a multitude, not one in ten of whom succeeded in fighting his way into the house when the doors were opened. Such a struggle—sometimes for life—had never been known. Even in the house strong men fainted like delicate girls; an hour passed before the shrieks of the suffering subsided, and we are even told that ‘the ladies in one or two boxes were employed almost the whole night in fanning the gentlemen who were behind them in the pit!’ The only wonder is that the excited multitude, faint for want of air, irritable by being overcrowded, and fierce in struggling for space which no victor in the struggle could obtain, ever was subdued to a condition of calm sufficient to enable them to enjoy the ‘rare delight’ within reach. However, in the second act Master Betty appeared—modest, self-possessed, and not at all moved out of his assumed character by the tempest of welcome which greeted him. From first to last, he ‘electrified’ the audience. He never failed, we are told, whenever he aimed at making a point. His attention to the business of the stage was that of a careful and conscientious veteran. His acting denoted study. His genius won applause—not his age, and youthful grace. There was ‘conception,’ rather than ‘instruction’ to be seen in all he did and said. His undertones could be heard at the very back of the galleries. The pathos, the joy, the exultation of a part (once so favourite a part with young actors), enchanted the audience. That they felt all these things sincerely is proved by the fact that—as one newspaper critic writes—‘the audience could not lower their minds to attend to the farce, which was not suffered to be concluded.’
The theatrical career of his ‘Young Roscius’ period amounted to this. He played at both houses in London from December 1804 to April 1805, in a wide range of characters, and supported by some of the first actors of the day. He then played in every town of importance throughout England and Scotland. He returned to London for the season 1805-6, and acted twenty-four nights at each theatre, at fifty guineas a night. Subsequently he acted in the country; and finally, he took leave of the stage at Bath in March 1808. Altogether, London possessed him but a few months. The madness which prevailed about him was ‘midsummer madness,’ though it was but a short fit. That he himself did not go mad is the great wonder. Princes of the blood called on him, the Lord Chancellor invited him, nobles had him day after day to dinner, and the King presented him to the Queen and Princesses in the room behind the Royal box. Ladies carried him off to the Park as those of Charles II.’s time did with Kynaston. When he was ill the sympathetic town rushed to read his bulletins with tremulous eagerness. Portraits of him abounded, presents were poured in upon him, poets and poetasters deafened the ear about him, misses patted his beautiful hair and asked ‘locks’ from him. The future King of France and Navarre, Count d’Artois, afterwards Charles X., witnessed his performance, in French, of ‘Zaphna,’ at Lady Percival’s; Gentleman Smith presented him with Garrick relics; Cambridge University gave ‘Roscius’ as the subject for the Brown Prize Medal, and the House of Commons adjourned, at the request of Pitt, in order to witness his ‘Hamlet.’ At the Westminster Latin Play (the ‘Adelphi’ of Terence) he was present in a sort of royal state, and the Archbishop of York all but publicly blest him. Some carping persons remarked that the boy was too ignorant to understand a word of the play that was acted in his presence. When it is remembered how Latin was and is pronounced at Westminster, it is not too much to say that Terence (had he been there) would not have understood much more of his own play than Master Betty did.
The boy reigned triumphantly through his little day, and the professional critics generally praised to the skies his mental capacity as well as his bodily endowments. They discovered beauty in both, and it is to the boy’s credit that their praise did not render him conceited. He studied new parts, and his attention to business, his modesty, his boyish spirits in the green room, his docility, and the respect he paid to older artists, were among the items of the professional critic’s praise.
Let us pass from the professional critics to the judgment of private individuals of undoubted ability to form and give one (we have only to premise that Master Betty played alternately at Covent Garden and Drury Lane). And first, Lord Henley. Writing to Lord Auckland, on December 7, 1804, he says, ‘I went to see the Young Roscius with an unprejudiced mind, or rather, perhaps, with the opinion you seem to have formed of him, and left the theatre in the highest admiration of his wonderful talents. As I scarcely remember Garrick, I may say (though there be, doubtless, room for improvement) that I never saw such fine acting, and yet the poor boy’s voice was that night a good deal affected by a cold. I would willingly pay a guinea for a place on every night of his appearing in a new character.’
Even Fox, intent as he was on public business, and absorbed by questions of magnitude concerning his country, and of importance touching himself, was caught by the general enthusiasm. There is a letter of his, dated December 17, 1804, addressed to his ‘Dear Young One,’ Lord Holland, who was then about thirty years old. The writer urges his nephew to hasten from Spain to England, on account of the serious parliamentary struggle likely to occur; adding, ‘there is always a chance of questions in which the Prince of Wales is particularly concerned;’ and subjoining the sagacious statesmanlike remark: ‘It is very desirable that the power, strength, and union of the Opposition should appear considerable while out of office, in order that if ever they should come in it may be plain that they have an existence of their own, and are not the mere creatures of the Crown.’ But Fox breaks suddenly away from subjects of crafty statesmanship, with this sentence: ‘Everybody here is mad about this Boy Actor, even Uncle Dick is full of astonishment and admiration. We go to town to-morrow to see him, and from what I have heard, I own I shall be disappointed if he is not a prodigy.’
On the same day Fox wrote a letter from St. Anne’s Hill to the Hon. C. Grey (the Lord Grey of the Reform Bill). It is bristling with ‘politicks,’ but between reference to party battles and remarks on Burke, the statesman says: ‘Everybody is mad about this Young Roscius, and we go to town to-morrow to see him. The accounts of him seem incredible; but the opinion of him is nearly unanimous, and Fitzpatrick, who went strongly prepossessed against him, was perfectly astonished and full of admiration.’
We do not find any letter of Fox’s extant to tell us his opinion of the ‘tenth wonder.’ We can go with him to the play, nevertheless. ‘While young Betty was in all his glory,’ says Samuel Rogers, in his ‘Table Talk,’ ‘I went with Fox and Mrs. Fox, after dining with them in Arlington Street, to see him act Hamlet; and, during the play scene, Fox, to my infinite surprise, said, “This is finer than Garrick!”’ Fox would not have said so if he had not thought so. He did not say as much to Master Betty, but he best proved his sympathy by sitting with and reading to him passages from the great dramatists, mingled with excellent counsel.
Windham, the famous statesman, who as much loved to see a pugilistic fight as Fox did to throw double sixes, and to whom a stroll in Leicester Fields was as agreeable as an hour with an Italian poet was to Fox—Windham hurried through the Fields to Covent Garden. His diary for the year 1804 is lost; but in that for 1805 we come upon his opinion of the attractive player, after visits in both years. On January 31, 1805, there is this entry in his diary;—‘Went, according to arrangement, with Elliot and Grenville to play; Master Betty in Frederick’ (‘Lovers’ Vows’). ‘Lord Spencer, who had been shooting at Osterley, came afterwards. Liked Master B. better than before, but still inclined to my former opinion; his action certainly very graceful, except now and then that he is a little tottering on his legs, and his recitation just, but his countenance not expressive; his voice neither powerful nor pleasing.’
The criticisms of actors were generally less favourable. Kemble was ‘riveted,’ we are told, by the acting of Master Betty; but he was contemptuously silent. Mrs. Siddons, according to Campbell, ‘never concealed her disgust at the popular infatuation.’ At the end of the play Lord Abercorn came into her box and told her that that boy, Betty, would eclipse everything which had been called acting, in England. ‘My Lord,’ she answered, ‘he is a very clever, pretty boy; but nothing more.’ Mrs. Siddons, however, was meanly jealous of all that stood between her and the public. When Mrs. Siddons was young, she was jealous of grand old Mrs. Crawford. When Mrs. Siddons was old, and had retired, she was jealous of young Miss O’Neill. She querulously said that the public were fond of setting up new idols in order to annoy their former favourites. George Frederick Cooke who had played Glenalvon to Master Betty’s Norval—played it finely too, at his very best—and could not crush the boy, after whom everybody was repeating the line he made so famous,
The blood of Douglas can protect itself!