Previous to the Restoration of Charles II., it may be remembered, no woman was allowed on the stage, in connection with which Colley Cibber gives this anecdote: The King coming to the house rather before his usual time, found the dramatis personæ not ready to appear, whereupon he sent one of his attendants to ascertain the cause of the delay. The manager at once went to the royal box, and informed the merry monarch that “the queen was not yet shaved.” Charles good-humouredly accepted the explanation, and laughed heartily, until the male queen was effeminated and the curtain drew up.
At the time of James II. playhouses, and players, were constantly anathematised by the clergy, and the Duchess of York had a strong moral objection to the coarse comedies of the era. But she liked a good play, and was wont to remark that “there was no sin, she believed, in going to theatres, provided the pieces selected for representation were not of an objectionable character; but that the stage might and ought to be rendered a medium of conveying moral instruction to the people, instead of flattering and inculcating vice.”
Mary II. was a patron of the drama, and, in 1689, she expressed a wish to see Dryden’s “Spanish Friar” performed, which had been forbidden by James II. because its licentious comic scenes held up the Romish Church to ridicule. But her Majesty was disappointed, for, to quote the words of her friend Nottingham, “the only time she gave herself the diversion of a play has furnished the town with discourse for a month. Some unlucky expressions confused her, and forced her to hold up her fan, often look behind her, and call for her palatine or hood, or anything she could contrive to speak of to her woman. Every speech in that play seemed to come home to her, as there was a strong report about town that her father, James II., was dead in Ireland; and when anything applicable was said, every one in the pit turned their heads over their shoulders, and directed their looks most pointedly at her.” “Nor,” as Miss Strickland writes, “could this be wondered at; for a daughter sitting to see a play acted, which was too free for the morals of that age, at the moment when reports were prevalent that her own father was dead, was indeed a sight to be gazed upon with consternation.”
George I. was fond of seeing the play of “Henry VIII.,” and on one occasion when it was being acted at Hampton Court, he paid particular attention to that part of the play where Henry VIII. commands his minister, Wolsey, to write circular letters of indemnity to every county where the payment of certain heavy taxes had been disputed—
“Let there be letters writ to every shire
Of the King’s grace and pardon. The grieved commons
Hardly conceive of me. Let it be noised
That through our intercession, this revokement
And pardon comes. I shall, anon, advise you
Further in the proceeding.”
The story goes that on one occasion when the above lines were spoken, the King said to the Prince of Wales, who had not yet been expelled from Court, “You see, George, what you have one day to expect.”
George II. has been censured for encouraging the representation of immoral dramas, “a perverted taste,” which, it is said, “was strong upon him from the first.”[139] When Prince of Wales he witnessed the acting of Otway’s “Venice Preserved,” but, on discovering afterwards that certain scenes had been omitted, he commanded them to be restored. In the later part of his life, George II. took advantage of his position to make loud remarks on the performances at which he was present, a recorded instance of which occurred at Drury Lane, when his Majesty commanded Farquhar’s “Beaux Stratagem” and Fielding’s “Intriguing Chambermaid” to be performed. But the representation does not appear to have given satisfaction, for Walpole, writing to Mann, says: “A certain king that, whatever airs you may give yourself, you are not at all like, was last week at the play. The intriguing chambermaid in the farce says to the old gentleman, ‘You are villainously old, you are sixty-six; you cannot have the impudence to think of living above two years.’ The old gentleman on the stage here turned about in a passion and said, ‘This is d—d stuff!’ and the royal critic was energetically right.”
One of the greatest honours ever rendered to a dramatist by royalty was conferred by Queen Caroline, wife of George II., on Mottley, an obscene playwright. But when his benefit night was announced “as to take place soon after the Queen’s drawing-room had been held, the Queen herself, in that very drawing-room, sold Mottley’s tickets, delivering them with her own royal hand to the purchasers, and condescending to receive gold for them in return.”[140]
Frederick Prince of Wales, father of George III., was fond of private theatricals, and endeavoured to instil his taste for dramatic performances into his children.
More than once we find the little princes and princesses “fretting their hour upon the stage,” their instructor being the celebrated actor, James Quin, who was also the stage manager. In after years the old actor took a pride in speaking of the days when he was a Court favourite, and when the first speech of George III., delivered from the throne, was much commended for the graceful manner in which it was spoken; “Ay!” said Quin, “it was I who taught the boy to speak.”