For some years, however, actors' benefits did not extend beyond the case of Mrs. Barry. But in 1695 the patentees of the theatres were so unfortunately situated that they could not satisfy the claims of their actors, and were compelled to pay them "half in good words and half in ready money." Under these circumstances certain of the players compounded for the arrears of salary due to them by taking the risk of benefit performances. After
a season or two these benefits were found to be so advantageous to the actors that they were expressly stipulated for in their agreements with the managers. On the other hand, the managers, jealous of the advantages secured in this wise by the players, took care to charge very fully for the expenses of the house, which were of course deducted from the gross receipts of the benefit-night, and further sought to levy a percentage upon the profits obtained by the actors. In 1702 the ordinary charge for house expenses, on the occasion of a benefit at Drury Lane, was about £34. In Garrick's time the charge rose to £64, and was afterwards advanced considerably. Still the actors had special sources of profit. Their admirers and patrons were not content to pay merely the ordinary prices of admission, but bought their tickets at advanced rates, and often sent presents of money in addition. Thus Betterton—whose salary, by-the-bye, was only £4 per week—took a benefit in 1709, when he received £76 for two-thirds of the receipts upon the ordinary scale—one-third being deducted by the manager for expenses—and a further sum of £450 for the extra payments and presents of his friends. The boxes and pit were "laid together," as it was called, and half-a-guinea was charged for admission. "One lady gave him ten guineas, some two, and most one guinea. Further, he delivered tickets for more persons than the boxes, pit, and stage could hold, and it was thought that he cleared £450 at least over and above the £76." Certainly the great actor enjoyed on this occasion of his benefit what is popularly known as "a bumper."[3]
The system of actors' benefits having thus become thoroughly established, was soon extended and made applicable to other purposes, for the most part of a charitable kind. Thus, in 1711, a benefit performance was given in aid of Mrs. Betterton, the widow of the late famous tragedian, who had herself been an actress, but had for some time ceased to appear on the stage owing to age and other infirmities. The "Tatler," after an account of Betterton's funeral, describes feelingly the situation of his widow: "The mention I have here made of Mr. Betterton, for
whom I had, as long as I have known anything, a very great esteem and gratitude, for the pleasure he gave me, can do him no good; but it may possibly be of service to the unhappy woman he has left behind him, to have it known that this great tragedian was never in a scene half so moving as the circumstances of his affairs created at his departure. His wife, after a cohabitation of forty years in the strictest amity, has long pined away with a sense of his decay, as well in his person as in his little fortune; and in proportion to that she has herself decayed both in health and reason. Her husband's death, added to her age and infirmities, would certainly have terminated her life, but that the greatness of her distress has been her relief by her present deprivation of her senses. This absence of her reason is her best defence against age, sorrow, poverty, and sickness."[4] Indeed, Steele constantly testifies his fondness for the theatre and kindly feeling towards the players, by calling attention to the benefit performances, and bespeaking the public favour for them, adding much curious mention and humorous criticism of the comedians who were especially the objects of his admiration—Pinkethman, Bullock, Underbill, Dogget, and others.
Other benefits, however, less urgently laid claim to the goodwill of the public. At the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields, in the year 1726, a performance was announced "for the benefit of an author whose play is deferred till next season." How far the efforts of this anonymous gentleman to raise money upon a sort of contingent reversion of literary distinction were encouraged by the playgoers, or whether his play ever really saw the light of the stage-lamps, can hardly now be discovered. By-and-by performances are given on behalf of objects wholly unconnected with players or playwrights. In 1742 a representation was advertised, "For the entertainment of the Grand Master of the Ancient and Honourable Society of Free and Accepted Masons—for the benefit of a brother who has had great misfortunes." A season or two later there was a benefit at Drury Lane "for a gentleman under misfortunes," when Othello was played by an anonymous actor, afterwards to be known to fame as Mr. Samuel Foote. In subsequent years benefits were given "for the sufferers by a late fire;" on behalf
of the soldiers who had fought against the Pretender in the year '45; for "Mrs. Elizabeth Forster, the granddaughter of Milton, and his only surviving descendant,"[5] when "Comus" was performed, and a new prologue, written by Dr. Johnson, was spoken by Garrick; for "the Lying-in Hospital in Brownlow Street;" while in the success of the production of Dr. Young's tragedy of "The Brothers," played at Drury Lane in 1753, the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel was directly concerned—the author having announced that the profits would be given in aid of that charity. Nevertheless, the receipts disappointed expectation; whereupon the author generously, out of his own resources, made up the sum of £1000. A special epilogue was written for the occasion by Mallet at Garrick's request; but this was so coarsely worded, and so broadly delivered by Mrs. Clive, that Dr. Young took offence, and would not suffer the lines to be printed with his play.
Among the curiosities of benefits may be recorded a performance that took place at Drury Lane in 1744 on behalf of Dr. Clancy, the author of one or two plays, who published his memoirs in Dublin in 1750. Dr. Clancy was blind, and the playbill was headed with the line from Milton, "The day returns, but not to me returns." The play was "Oedipus," and the part of Tiresias, the blind prophet, was undertaken by Dr. Clancy. The advertisements expressed a hope that "as this will be the first instance of any person labouring under so heavy a deprivation performing on the stage, the novelty as well as the unhappiness of his case will engage the favour and protection of a British audience." The performance, which must certainly have been of a painful kind, attracted a very numerous audience: and the fact may be regarded as proof that an appetite for what is now designated "the sensational" was not wholly unknown to the playgoers of the last century. It does not appear that Dr. Clancy's representation of the blind prophet was repeated, nor is it stated that as an histrionic effort it was particularly distinguished. It was enough perhaps that the part was played by a man who was really blind, instead of by one merely simulating blindness. Ultimately Dr. Clancy's case moved the pity
of George II., and he was awarded during his life a pension of £40 a year from the privy purse.
Other authors have from time to time appeared on the stage to speak prologues, or to sustain complete characters; for instance, Tom Durfey, Otway, Farquhar, Savage, Murphy, and, to jump to later days, Sheridan Knowles. Their appearances, however, cannot be simply connected with benefits. In many cases they, no doubt, contemplated the adoption of the stage as a profession, though, as a rule, it must be said success was denied them in such respect. They played on their benefit-nights, of course, but their performances were not limited to those occasions.
It is not to be supposed that a benefit could be taken by an actor, or, at an earlier date, by an author, without his incurring much trouble in regard to preliminary arrangements. The mere issue of a list of entertainments, however attractive, was by no means sufficient. He was required to call at the houses of his patrons and friends, personally to solicit their support on the occasion, and to pay his respects to them. Any failure of attention on his part in this matter he was bound to make the subject of public explanation and apology. It must be remembered that the playgoers of a century ago were rather a family than a people. They were limited in number, returned to the theatre night after night, naturally demanding that constant change of programme which so distinguished the old stage, and has been so completely omitted from modern theatrical arrangements, and were almost personally known to the actors. This, of course, only refers to the visitors to the pit and boxes; the galleries were always presumed to be occupied by footmen and apprentices, and persons of no consideration whatever, while stalls were not yet in existence. Strangers from the country were few—those from foreign parts fewer still. The theatre was regarded, as it were, from a household point of view; was in some sort supplementary to a man's home, and he therefore considered himself entitled to be heard and to take a personal interest in regard to its concerns and proceedings. Necessarily this feeling diminished as London grew in size and the audience increased in numbers, and finally became impossible. An actor knew at last his admirers only in the mass; while they lost inevitably all individual and private interest in his