The preceding anecdote leads me to give another of the same description, respecting Moody, a very valuable performer, one of Garrick's company.
In the beginning of the year 1763, very considerable riots took place in Drury-Lane, in consequence of an effort on the part of Garrick to abolish a shabby practice that had prevailed in London from time immemorial. This was, to admit persons into the theatre after the third act, at half price. Great devastation was committed on every thing that could be destroyed in the theatre. A wicked villain took a light, and was deliberately setting fire to the scenes, which might have caused the death of a portion of the misguided agents in this disgraceful outrage. Moody fortunately perceived him, resolutely interposed, and prevented the perpetration of his nefarious design. The next night that he appeared, he was instantly called upon to beg pardon, for an act which merited the highest gratitude. Moody addressed the audience—"Gentlemen, if by hindering the house from being burned, and saving many of your lives, I have given you cause of displeasure, I ask your pardon." This exasperated them still further, and there was an universal outcry that he should beg pardon on his knees. Moody had too much spirit, and too high a sense of his own dignity, to comply—and resolutely addressed them once more—"Gentlemen, I will not degrade myself so low, even in your opinion. By such an act, I should be an abject wretch, unfit ever to appear before you again." This said, and having made his bow, he retired. Garrick "received him with open arms," and applauded him for his spirited conduct. The riot still continued, and the manager being called for, he went before the audience, and a loud clamour having been made to dismiss Moody for what was unjustly styled his insolence, Garrick assured them that he should not perform on that stage while he remained under their displeasure. He then went behind the scenes; and, once more embracing Moody, pledged himself to pay his salary, notwithstanding his temporary exile.
Theatrical Licenses.
Although it is generally known that no new dramatic performance can be introduced on the stage in England, without the previous license of the Lord Chamberlain, it is not by any means equally well known to what cause this regulation owes its origin. Henry Fielding composed a theatrical representation to which he gave the name of Pasquin, the object of which was to satirize some of the most conspicuous characters in England, and among the number were the minister and many of his friends. This satirical performance became very popular, and was exhibited to crowded audiences for fifty successive nights. The exasperated minister, Robert Walpole, was determined to repress the licentiousness of the stage, and accordingly had a bill brought into parliament to prohibit the representation of any dramatic performance whatever, unless it had received the permission of the Lord chamberlain. This act, which was carried in spite of the utmost opposition, took from the crown the power of licensing any more theatres, and inflicted considerable penalties on those who should violate its restrictions.[E]
Mrs. Centlivre. The Busy Body.
The theatrical history affords numberless instances of the fallacy and folly of dogmatic decisions, and premature judgments. It were endless to relate the cases of dramatic performances, which, previous to their being acted, were regarded by managers and actors as execrable, and certain of condemnation—and yet have lived a century beyond the existence of their judges. And the instances are at least as numerous of managers forming the most flattering anticipations of the success, and the consequent emoluments of performances which were, to use the technical term of the theatre, damned by the unanimous consent of the audience.
The Busy Body, by Mrs. Centlivre, is a very remarkable case in point. It was decried before its appearance by all the players—Mr. Wilkes, the Garrick of his day, for a time absolutely refused to take a part in it—And the audience went to the theatre, so far prejudiced against it, as to contemplate its condemnation. Yet it was so favourably received, that it had a run of thirteen nights; and, after a lapse of an entire century, for it was first represented in 1709, it is still received with applause, and ranks deservedly high among the stock plays.
Gay.——Beggar's opera.
There is a still more striking illustration of the position I laid down in the preceding paragraph, than that afforded by the Busy Body. The Beggar's opera was offered to Cibber and the other managers of Drurylane theatre, and after examination was rejected by them, as not likely to prove successful. The managers of the other theatre had a more correct anticipation of the issue of this production, and hailed it with joy and gladness. The event justified their opinion—for never was there a more extraordinary degree of success than attended this rejected performance. It had the unprecedented run of fifty three nights, I believe successively, the first season in London—It spread into every town in the three kingdoms, where there was a theatre, and was every where received with unbounded applause. The songs were printed on ladies' fans—and Miss Fenton, who performed the part of Polly, and who, previous to her appearance in that character was in an inferior grade, became a first rate favourite, and was so high in the public opinion, that she was finally married to a peer of the realm. Gay's profits by this piece were above two thousand pounds sterling, or nearly nine thousand dollars.[F]