Mary Cromwell, modestly masked, was a prettier sight than what Pepys on other occasion describes as "all the pleasure of the play;" meaning thereby, the presence of Lady Castlemaine, or of Miss Stewart, her rival in royal favour, but not her equal in peerless beauty. With these, but in less exalted company than they, we now meet with Nell Gwyn, in front of the house. She is seen gossiping with Pepys, who is ecstatic at the condescension; or she is blazing in the boxes, prattling with the young and scented fops, and impudently lying across any three of them, that she may converse as she pleases with a fourth. And there is Sir Charles Sedley looking on, smiling with or at the actors of these scenes, among the audience, or sharply and wittily criticising the players on the stage, and the words put into their mouths by the author, or flirting with vizard masks in the pit. Altogether, there is much confusion and interruption; but there is also, occasionally, disturbance of another sort, as when, in June 1664, a storm of hail and rain broke through the roof of the Kings House, and drove the half-drowned people from the pit in a disorder not at all admired.
Like Evelyn, Pepys was often at the Court plays, but, except with the spectacle of the Queen's ladies, and the King's too, for that matter, he found small delight there,—the house, although fine, being bad for hearing. This Court patronage, public and private, increased the popularity of the drama, as the vices of the King increased the fashion of being dissolute; and when Charles was sadly in need of a collecting of members of parliament to throw out a bill which very much annoyed him, and was carried against him, he bade the Lord Chamberlain to scour the play and other houses, where he knew his parliamentary friends were to be found, and to send them down to vote in favour of their graceless master.
Ladies of quality, and of good character, too, could in those days appear in masks in the boxes, and unattended. The vizard had not yet fallen to the disreputable. Such ladies as are above designated entered into struggles of wit with the fine gentlemen, bantering them unmercifully, calling them by their names, and refusing to tell their own. All this was to the disturbance of the stage, but this battle of the wits was so frequently more amusing than what might be passing for the moment on the stage, that the audience near listened to the disputants rather than to the actors. Sir Charles Sedley was remarkable as a disputant with the ladies, and as a critic of the players. That the overhearing of what was said by the most famous of the box visitors was a pleasant pastime of many hearers, is made manifest by Pepys, who once took his place on "the upper bench next the boxes," and described it as having "the advantage of seeing and hearing the great people, which may be pleasant when there is good store."
To no man then living in England did fellowship with people of quality convey such intense delight as to Pepys. "Lord!" he exclaims, in May 1667, "how it went against my heart to go away from the very door of the Duke's playhouse, and my Lady Castlemaine's coach, and many great coaches there, to see 'The Siege of Rhodes.' I was very near making a forfeit," he adds, "but I did command myself."
He was happiest with a baronet like Sir Philip Frowd at his side, and behind him a couple of impertinently pretty actresses, like Pierce and Knipp, pulling his hair, drawing him into gossiping flirtations, and inducing him to treat them with fruit. The constant presence of lively actresses in the front of the house was one of the features of the times, and a dear delight to Pepys, who was never weary of admiring their respective beauties.
Proud as he was of sitting, for the first time in his life, in a box, at four shillings, he still saw the pit occupied by greater men than any around him, particularly on the first night of a new piece. When Etherege's comedy, "She Would if She Could," was first played, in February 1668, to one of the most crowded, critical, and discontented audiences that had ever assembled in the Duke's House, the pit was brilliant with peers, gallants, and wits. There, openly, sat Buckingham, and Buckhurst, and Sedley, and the author, with many more; and there went on, as the audience waited till the pelting rain outside had ceased to fall, comment and counter-comment on the merits of the piece and of the actors. Etherege found fault with the players, but the public as loudly censured the piece, condemning it as silly and insipid, but allowing it to possess a certain share of wit and roguishness.
From an entry in the Diary for the 21st of December 1668, we learn that Lady Castlemaine had a double, who used to appear at the theatre to the annoyance of my lady and the amusement of her royal friend. Indeed, here is a group of illustrations of the "front of the stage;" the house is the Duke's, the play "Macbeth." "The King and Court there, and we sat just under them and my Lady Castlemaine, and close to a woman that comes into the pit, a kind of a loose gossip that pretends to be like her, and is so, something. The King and Duke of York minded me, and smiled upon me, at the handsome woman near me, but it vexed me to see Moll Davies, in a box over the King's and my Lady Castlemaine's, look down upon the King, and he up to her; and so did my Lady Castlemaine once, to see who it was; but when she saw Moll Davies, she looked like fire, which troubled me."
To these audiences were presented dramatic pieces of a very reprehensible quality. Charles II. has been more blamed than any other individual because of this licentiousness of the stage. I have before ventured to intimate, that the long-accepted idea that the court of Charles II. corrupted English society, and that it did so especially through patronising the licentiousness of poets and the stage, seems to me to be untenable. From of old there had been a corrupt society, and a society protesting against the corruption. Before Charles made his first visit to the theatre, there was lying in Newgate the ex-Royalist, but subsequently Puritan poet, George Wither. In the dedication of his Hallelujah, in 1641, he thus describes the contemporary condition of society:—"So innumerable are the foolish and profane songs now delighted in, to the dishonour of our language and religion, that hallelujahs and pious meditations are almost out of use and fashion; yea, not at private only, but at our public feasts, and civil meetings also, scurrilous and obscene songs are impudently sung, without respecting the reverend presence of matrons, virgins, magistrates or divines. Nay, sometimes in their despite they are called for, sung, and acted, with such abominable gesticulations, as are very offensive to all modest hearers and beholders, and fitting only to be exhibited at the diabolical assemblies of Bacchus, Venus, or Priapus."
In the collection of hymns, under this title of Hallelujah, there is a hymn for every condition in and circumstance of life, from the King to the Tailor; from a hymn for the use of two ardent lovers, to a spiritual song of grateful resignation "for a Widower or a Widow deprived of a troublesome Yokefellow!" There is none for the player; but there is this hit at the poets, who supplied him with unseemly phrases, and the flattering friends who crowned such bards:—