In every freeborn heart, that strain
Concordant echoes roused again!
THEATRICAL RECOLLECTIONS.
The author’s early visits to Crow-street Theatre—Interruptions of the University men—College pranks—Old Mr. Sheridan in “Cato” and in “Alexander the Great”—Curious scene introduced, by mistake, in the latter tragedy—Mr. Digges in the Ghost of Hamlet’s father—Chorus of cocks—The author’s preference of comedy to tragedy—Remarks on Mr. Kean and the London moralists—Liston in “Paul Pry”—Old Sparkes—The Spanish débutante—Irish Johnstone—Modern comedy—The French stage.
From my youth I was attached to theatrical representations, and have still a clear recollection of many of the eminent performers of my early days. My grandmother, with whom I resided for many years, had permanent silver tickets of admission to Crow-street Theatre, whither I was very frequently sent.
The playhouses in Dublin were then lighted by tallow candles, stuck into tin circles hanging from the middle of the stage, which were every now and then snuffed by some performer; and two soldiers, with fixed bayonets, always stood like statues on each side the stage, close to the boxes, to keep the audience in order. The galleries were very noisy and very droll. The ladies and gentlemen in the boxes always went dressed out nearly as for court; the strictest etiquette and decorum were preserved in that circle; whilst the pit, as being full of critics and wise men, was particularly respected, except when the young gentlemen of the University occasionally forced themselves in, to revenge some insult, real or imagined, to a member of their body; on which occasions, all the ladies, well-dressed men, and peaceable people generally, decamped forthwith, and the young gentlemen as generally proceeded to beat or turn out the residue of the audience, and to break every thing that came within their reach. These exploits were by no means uncommon; and the number and rank of the young culprits were so great, that (coupled with the impossibility of selecting the guilty,) the college would have been nearly depopulated, and many of the great families in Ireland enraged beyond measure, had the students been expelled or even rusticated.
I had the honour of being frequently present, and (as far as in mêlée,) giving a helping hand to our encounters both in the play-houses and streets. We were in the habit of going about the latter, on dark nights, in coaches, and, by flinging out halfpence, breaking the windows of all the houses we rapidly drove by, to the astonishment and terror of the proprietors. At other times, we used to convey gunpowder squibs into all the lamps in several streets at once, and by longer or shorter fuses contrive to have them all burst about the same time, breaking every lamp to shivers and leaving whole streets in utter darkness. Occasionally we threw large crackers into the china and glass-shops, and delighted to see the terrified shopkeepers trampling on their own porcelain and cut-glass, for fear of an explosion. By way of a treat, we used sometimes to pay the watchmen to lend us their cloaks and rattles: by virtue whereof, we broke into the low prohibited gambling-houses, knocked out the lights, drove the gamblers down stairs, and then gave all their stakes to the watchmen. The whole body of watchmen belonging to one parish (that of the round church, St. Andrew’s) were our sworn friends, and would take our part against any other watchmen in Dublin. We made a permanent subscription, and paid each of these regularly seven shillings a week for his patronage. I mention these trifles, out of a thousand odd pranks, as a part of my plan, to show, from a comparison of the past with the present state of society in the Irish metropolis, the extraordinary improvement which has taken place in point of decorum within the last half century. The young gentlemen of the University then were in a state of great insubordination;—not as to their learning, but their wild habits: indeed, the singular feats of some of them would be scarcely credible now; and they were so linked together, that an offence to one was an offence to all. There were several noblemen’s sons with their gold-laced, and elder sons of baronets with their silver-laced gowns, who used to accompany us, with their gowns turned inside out: yet our freaks arose merely from the fire and natural vivacity of uncontrolled youth: no calm, deliberate vices,—no low meannesses,—were ever committed: that class of young men now termed “dandies” we then called macaronies; and we made it a standing rule to thrash them whenever we got a fair opportunity: such also as had been long tied to their “mothers’ apron-strings” we made no small sport with when we got them clear inside the college: we called them milk-sops, and if they declined drinking as much wine as ordered, we always dosed them (as in duty bound) with tumblers of salt and water till they came to their feeding, as we called it. Thus generally commenced a young man of fashion’s novitiate above fifty years ago. However, our wildness, instead of increasing as we advanced in our college courses, certainly diminished, and often left behind it the elements of much talent and virtue. Indeed, there were to the full as good scholars, and certainly to the full as high-bred, and much more talented gentlemen educated in the Dublin University then, than in this wiser and more cold-blooded era. But it has utterly degenerated.
I remember, even before that period, seeing old Mr. Sheridan perform the part of Cato at one of the Dublin theatres; I do not recollect which: but I well recollect his dress, which consisted of bright armour under a fine laced scarlet cloak, and surmounted by a huge, white, bushy, well-powdered wig (like Dr. Johnson’s), over which was stuck his helmet. I wondered much how he could kill himself without stripping off the armour before he performed that operation! I also recollect him particularly (even as if before my eyes now) playing Alexander the Great, and throwing the javelin at Clytus, whom happening to miss, he hit the cup-bearer, then played by one of the hack performers, a Mr. Jemmy Fotterel. Jemmy very naturally supposed that he was hit designedly, and that it was some new light of the great Mr. Sheridan to slay the cup-bearer in preference to his friend Clytus, which certainly would have been a less unjustifiable murder, and that he ought to tumble down and make a painful end, according to dramatic custom time immemorial. Immediately, therefore, on being struck, Mr. James Fotterel (who was the ugliest cup-bearer ever employed by any monarch) reeled, staggered, and fell very naturally, considering it was his first death; but being determined on this unexpected opportunity to make an impression upon the audience, when he found himself stretched out on the boards at full length, he began to roll about, kick, and flap the stage with his hands most immoderately; falling next into strong convulsions, exhibiting every symptom of exquisite torture, and at length expiring with a groan so loud and so long that it paralysed even the people in the galleries, whilst the ladies believed that he was really killed, and cried aloud at the misfortune.
Though then very young, I was myself so terrified in the pit that I never shall forget it. However, Mr. Jemmy Fotterel being dragged off by the legs, soon re-entered in rude health, and was more applauded than any Clytus had ever been;—even the slayer himself could not help laughing most heartily at the incident.