Charles Macklin

liBRAR> X.

UiWvcrstty of CaWonwS

IRVINE

EMINENT ACTORS

EDITED BY WILLIAM ARCHER

CHARLES MACKLIN

EMINENT ACTORS.
Edited by William Archer.

Crown 8vo, 2s. 6c/. each.

WILLIAM CHARLES MACREADY.

By the Editor.

"The first complete biography of Macready that has yet been
published. No 'series' of eminent men has made a more excellent
beginning." — St. James's Gazette.

"A full and accurate biography." — Graphic.

" Ought to be acceptable." — Morning Post.

II.

THOMAS BETTERTON. By Robert
W. Lowe.

III.

CHARLES MACKLIN. By E. A. Parry.

London : Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co., Lt"

£H AR LES

M A C K L I N

BY

EDWARD ABBOTT PARRY

LONDON

KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., Li.'?
1891

EMINENT ACTORS.

Edited by William Archer.

Crown 8vo, 2s. dd. each.

WILLIAM CHARLES MACREADY.

By the Editor.

"The first complete biography of Macready that has yet been
published. No 'series' of eminent men has made a more excellent
beginning." — St. y antes' s Gazette.

"A full and accurate biography." — Graphic.

" Ought to be acceptable." — Morning Post.

II.

THOMAS BETTERTON. By Robert
W. Lowe.

III.

CHARLES MAC KLIN. By E. A. Parry.

London : Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co., Lt"*

£H ARLES

M A C K L I N

BY

EDWARD ABBOTT PARRY

LONDON

KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., Lt??
i8qi

{The rights of traitsiation and of repromiction are reserz'ed.)

PREFACE

In writing a biography of a man like Charles Macklin,
one should, as it seems to me, endeavour to collect from
the various records of the time contemporary portraits
and criticism of the man and his fellows. These should
be given in their own language and without paraphrase,
wherever the scope and nature of the extracts make
quotation possible. I must admit that the following
out of this plan is apt to make a book appear, to a great
extent, a work of paste and scissors, to which a kindly
critic would perhaps add — and research. Be this as it
may, I am still of opinion that the research, the scissors,
and the paste, in the order named, are of greater value
to the reader than the biographer's pen. And it is for
this reason that I have endeavoured, wherever possible,
to find and use the words of others instead of my own.

EDWARD A. PARRY.

Manchester,
1890.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Early Days ... ... ... ... i

II. First Appearances (to 1735) ••• '5

III. James Quin (1693-1766) ... ... 31

IV. Shylock (1741) ... ... ... 52

V. An Actors' Strike (1743) ... ... 69

VI. The British Inquisition (1754) ... 85

VII. The Irish Stage ... ... ... 100

VIII. Macklin the Playwright ... ... 127

IX. Conspiracy (1773) ••• ••• ... 159

X. The Seventh Age ... ... ... 178

CHARLES MACKLIN.

CHAPTER I.

EARLY DAYS,

When Charles Macklin, comedian, passed quietly away
on the morning of the nth of July, 1797, it is doubtful
if the world — even the metropolitan world — troubled its
head much about the matter. He had tottered off the
stage eight years before, and from that time had haunted
the theatres and the coffee-houses, a mere specimen of
human decay, waiting for his release. And the day of
his respite from earthly ills was so long in coming, that,
when it did come, only a few intimate friends knew or
cared to know that Charles Macklin had gone to his last
account. Very soon, however, the world began to con-
sider, with not unnatural curiosity, about the man who
had at length passed away; and before long memoirs
began to be written, anecdotes to be remembered, and
reminiscences to be recalled.

Macklin was the contemporary of the eighteenth cen-
tury. He lived to some extent side by side with Cibber
and Booth, he was the companion and rival of Quin and
Garrick, and was still upon the stage of life when the
Kembles played in London. Such a life was unique in

B

2 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

the annals of the stage, and it would have been curious
indeed if writers of the day had refrained from stories
and anecdotes of such a man. These, then, abound,
vague and uncircumstantial after their kind, but never-
theless, supplemented by facts, they give one a passable
portrait of a remarkable man, and a not unsatisfactory
history of an extraordinary career.

At his death, Macklin was believed to be ninety-seven
years of age ; but, not content with a life prolonged to
these years, his biographers have endeavoured to show
that he was at least a hundred and seven. The evidence
for and against these positions is by no means important
or conclusive ; but the question has occupied so much
space in theatrical and other records, that it cannot
now be lightly cast aside. So bewildering, however, do
I find the warfare of histrionic antiquarians which con-
tinuously rages round this knotty point, that I feel disin-
clined to pronounce a definite opinion upon the matter,
or indeed do more than sum up the testimony upon
which the two assumptions are based, and leave the
decision to a jury of readers.

The main lines of the controversy are to be found in
the three biographies of Macklin by Congreve, Kirkman,
and Cooke. The memoir by Francis Aspey Congreve
was published in 1798, and is a pamphlet of some sixty
pages, containing an interesting and accurate account of
the actor. With regard to the date of his birth, Con-
greve states that the matter is involved in some doubt,
but mentions the year 1699, at the same time telling us
that his birthplace was " the Barony of Quinshoven,
one of the northernmost districts of Ireland." James
Thomas Kirkman, of the Honourable Society of Lincoln's
Inn, published a second and somewhat inflated biography
of Macklin in 1799. Kirkman describes himself as "a

EARLY DAYS. 3

near relative, bred up and living for upwards of twenty-
years" with the actor; and John Taylor, in his "Records,"
explains the relationship by hinting that he was, in fact,
Macklin's son. Be this as it may, he is the first person
who publicly asserted that Macklin was a centenarian,
in which he was followed by the actor's third biographer,
William Cooke.

William Cooke was a well-known amateur of the drama,
as the old playgoers were called, a lover of the stage, a
frequenter of the pit, and a keen critic. He was born at
Cork, but his father was of English family. He came to
London somewhat late in life, and was called to the
bar in 1776. While a student at the Temple, he became
acquainted with Dr. Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds,
Garrick, Murphy, Macklin, and Foote, and was one of
the members of the Essex-Head Club. He published
several tracts on the French Revolution, a treatise on
" The Elements of Dramatic Criticism," and the memoirs
of both Foote and Macklin. His Life of Macklin, first
published anonymously in 1804, is an entertaining and
comparatively reliable volume, though we must not
accept with implicit confidence all he has to say about
Macklin's early years. Though less profuse and vague
than Kirkman, he does not seem to me, in this part of
his book, more trustworthy than his fellow-biographer.
The fact is, that at the time of his death, very little was
known of Macklin's early life. He had been born at a
time and in a country where registers and records were
almost unknown, and no one can read the complete
details of his early life, as given by Kirkman, without a
suspicion that the writer was a man of considerable
inventive genius. Nevertheless, the statements of Kirk-
man and Cooke should be set down, in order that every
one may form his own opinion as to Macklin's age.

4 CHARLES MACKLIN.

Kirkman tells us that Charles Macklin, whose real
name was Charles M'Laughlin, was descended from one
Terence M'Laughlin, a landowner of County Down,
whose son William married Miss Alice O'Flanagan, the
daughter of John O'Flanagan, a proprietor of large estates
in Westmeath. The M'Laughlins considered themselves
to be descendants of the ancient kings of Ireland, and
once a year the head of the family held a solemn court,
which the relations attended.

" I have myself been once at this meeting," said Macklin,
in after years, "and could not help being exceedingly im-
pressed with the ceremony of my introduction to our Chief,
who, as a relation, received me most generously. I there
beheld the union of state and simplicity, for which former
ages were so remarkable ; and observed, that the Chief had
all the great officers and every other appendage to a court.
These meetings, Sir, ^yere known to Government ; but, as
they were perfectly innocent, and their proceedings inoflFen-
sive, they were tolerated."

William M'Laughlin, continues Kirkman, commanded
a troop of horse in the army of James II., and was
greatly distinguished for his valour, loyalty, and zeal.
He had one daughter, named Mary, and one son,
Charles, who was bom two months previous to the battle
of the Boyne — that is to say, in April or May of 1690.
This is the date that Kirkman and Cooke seek to
establish beyond doubt, and the following are some of
the proofs put forward in support of their assertion.
Kirkman revels in his self-appointed task, and it would
be impossible to set down at length all the irrelevant
conjectures and suppositions which he substitutes for
evidence. In the first place, we are asked to remember
that there were no registers of births, deaths, and
marriages kept in Ireland in 1690, and that it was no

EARLY DAYS. 5

uncommon custom in Irish families to engrave the date
of a child's birth upon brass or horn, or, for want of that,
with gunpowder upon the child itself, that evidence of its
age might be forthcoming. Unfortunately for us, and
happily for Mr. Kirkman, who makes at least one good
chapter of the matter, no such steps were taken about
the birth of Charles Macklin. " Nevertheless," says the
sanguine Kirkman, " the most satisfactory oral testimony
can be brought forward."

" Mrs. Elizabeth Macklin, relict of the late inimitable
Shylock (under whose immediate auspices this work is given
to the public), has assured the author, and is ready to testify
the fact upon oath (were it necessary), that the actual
circumstance of his having been born two months previous
to the memorable battle of the Boyne, has been repeatedly
communicated to her by a person of the name of Mary
Millar^ who lived servant with the mother of Charles, during
his minority, and who had her own age marked in her arm
by gunpowder, which mark, or register, of birth Mrs. Macklin
had frequent opportunities of seeing during the time Mary
Millar lived servant with her in Dublin. And this circum-
stance is the more accurate and remarkable, because the
difference between the age of Charles and Mary Millar was
known to be exactly ten years."

No harm can be done by setting down Mr. Cooke's
account of the same evidence, which is, perhaps, a little
more explicit, though hardly less unsatisfactory than
Kirkman' s. Cooke tells us that —

"There was living in the city of Cork, about the year
1750, a woman of the name of Ellen Byrne, the wife of a
journeyman printer, who was a first cousin of Macklin's
mother, and who lived in the family at the time of his birth ;
and this woman, who always bore a decent and respectable
character, has often declared to many people (and in par-
ticular to the late Mr. Charles Rathband, editor of the

6 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

General Evening Post, a man of some research and unques-
tionable veracity), that her cousin, Charles Macklin, was two
months old at the battle of the Boyne, July i, 1690. And
that, a few days previous to that celebrated battle, his
mother, one of her brothers, and herself, travelled six miles,
from Drogheda to a neighbouring village, for safety, carrying
with them young Charley (as she called him) in a kish ; *
and that they resided in this village some years afterwards."

Besides this, there is a story that a strolling player
named Ware, who was born about 1702, said, in his old
age, that he remembered Macklin as a full-grown man
when he himself was a boy, and this wretched hearsay,
coupled with an anecdote about Dr. Berkeley, Bishop
of Cloyne, is all that Kirkman and Cooke can produce
in support of their theory. Cooke tells the Berkeley
anecdote as follows : —

"When Mr. Geo. Monk Berkley, grandson to the famous
Dr. Berkley, Bishop of Cloyne, was a student in the Middle
Temple, from the celebrity of Macklin's character as an
actor and writer, he expressed a wish to be acquainted with
him. Macklin fixed on an evening, and at the meeting thus
accosted him : * Young man, I am happy to see you. I knew
your famous grandfather very well. We were at college
together, and he was always reckoned the cleverest lad in our
university ; but alas ! alas ! he has long since gone, and I
am here still.'

" When Mr. Berkley visited his father in the long vaca-
tion, he told this anecdote to him, at which he was much
surprised, and said it was almost impossible, as the
bishop, his father, had been dead near forty years, and was
then turned of seventy ! ' He indeed might be a fellow
when Macklin was a youngster, but not, I should think,
otherwise.' ' I don't know,' said the son, ' Macklin's age ;
but this I know, that his manner of calling him a pretty
lad, and his often repeating it, struck me so forcibly that I

* Wicker basket.

EARLY DAYS. f

could not but believe it, and at the same time, filled me
with so much surprize that it brought me back to the days
of Noah.' "

Of these two stories the one about Ware is quite
worthless, unless there is some proof of his age, and
the Berkeley anecdote helps us very little, unless one
knows the date at which it is supposed to have taken
place. Bishop Berkeley was bom in 1685, and died
in. 1 753; so this meeting with Mr. Berkeley ought,
according to the text, to have taken place about 1793,
when Macklin's memory was not in its best condition.
Then, too, if we are to consider the story as anything
more important than the pleasant invention of some society
gossip, it is worth remembering that Macklin never was
at college, except in the menial capacity of badgeman,
and Kirkman suggests that this was somewhere about
the year 17 10. Now, Berkeley was M.A. and Fellow of
Trinity College, Dublin, in 1707, so that, even if we
accept the anecdote as a faithful and accurate account
of what Macklin said, we must convict him of romancing
when he boasted that "we were at college together," and
spoke of remembering the bishop as a " pretty lad." I
confess that I regard the anecdote as of very little value.
Its pedigree and history are too obscure to inspire one
with confidence in its accuracy. The repetition of
spoken words does not lead to exactness or precision,
and, even when two parties enter a witness-box with the
most faithful desire to repeat a conversation, one finds
their stories coloured and altered by their own knowledge
of outlying facts. I do not believe for a moment that
Macklin, if he spoke of Berkeley at all, ever used the
phrase " pretty lad." Whatever he did say, that, at
least, is a gloss on the original anecdote. An old man,
looking back to the time when he was a youth of, say,

8 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

fourteen or fifteen, does not remember his college seniors
of nineteen or twenty as "pretty lads," but rather as
grown men, giants whose shapes and actions look large
indeed across the intervening space of years.*

If it was generally believed in Macklin's later years
that he was a centenarian, how came the enterprising
publishers of Opie's portrait of the actor in 1792 to

* It is possible to put a more favourable construction upon this
anecdote. The date of Macklin's connection with Trinity College
is purely conjectural. Kirkman, placing his birth in 1690, states
that he remained a badgeman until he was twenty-one — that is,
until 171 1. But he probably entered upon service as a mere boy,
say at thirteen. Even supposing him to have been fifteen, his
connection with Trinity College would date from 1705, when
Berkeley was a youth of twenty, and was still two years short of
his degree. The fact that Macklin spoke of him as a " pretty lad "
seems to me the strongest (indeed the only considerable) piece of
evidence in favour of the 1690 theory. Berkeley was noted for his
beauty ; but, as the actor and the bishop moved in very different
circles in later life, Berkeley's personal appearance would scarcely
be known to Macklin, except as a reminiscence from early days.
At any rate, we can scarcely suppose that when young Berkeley
was presented to Macklin, the old actor set to work with deliberate
ingenuity to tell a circumstantial lie. Can we conceive him saying
to himself, " I never saw this young gentleman's grandfather, but
I want to make it appear that we were at college together. Now,
I know that Bishop Berkeley was a handsome man, so I shall be
quite safe in saying that I remember him as a ' pretty lad ' at
college"? This process of thought would imply an inconceivable
alertness in the old man's faculties, as well as an incredible devotion
to mendacity as a fine art. It is much simpler to suppose that
Macklin actually remembered Berkeley as a "pretty lad," of from
eighteen to twenty-two, at Trinity College. His use of the phrase,
" We were at college together," implies a desire to leave his own
academic status in the vague, but does not necessarily mean that
he was simply romancing. Of course this argument proceeds
entirely on the somewhat rash assumption that the interview between
old Macklin and young Berkeley really occurred, and was correctly
reported, so far as the phrase " pretty lad " is concerned. — W. A.

EARLY DAYS. 9

speak of him as "in his 93rd year"? What is even
more astonishing is that, though Kirkman was one of
the chief mourners at MackUn's funeral, his hterary
executor, and a man of some authority, according to
his own account, in the household of the deceased, he
should yet have suffered the coffin-plate to be engraved :

Mr. Charles Macklin,

Comedian,

Died I ith July,

1797.
Aged 97 years.

This coffin-plate was a great stumbling-block to those
who wished to believe in MackUn's hundred years ; and
a story was current, told with more of less circumstance,
of the mistake being discovered, and the plate hastily
rectified before the coffin was placed in the grave. How-
ever, in 1859, when alterations were being made at St.
Paul's, Covent Garden, a copy was made of the inscrip-
tion on the plate, which still contained the original
words, wholly unaltered, "Aged 97 years."

The fact is, the centenarian theory, whatever it may
be worth, was clearly not started in MackUn's lifetime,
and his friends seem to have been satisfied with his own
statement, " that he was born in the last year of the last
century." The all and sundry reasons given by his
biographers, why Macklin at some period of his life put
back the hands of time ten years, seem to show their
little belief in their own conjecture. It was to please a
mistress, to hide his want of education, or " for the
accommodation of his daughter," who was becoming
older than she cared to own. Any reason would do,
and the biographers take no pains to agree upon an
identical one. Nor do they attempt to meet what is in

lo CHARLES MACKLIN.

itself the main objection to their theory, that it makes
Macklin — who was, from all accounts, a youth of a rest-
less, energetic nature — content to remain at school until
he is nineteen, to commence strolling player at the some-
what cold-blooded age of thirty, and not to get any
engagement in London until he is forty-three. All this
is, to say the least of it, improbable, and nearly every
anecdote that I have read of his early life accentuates
the improbability. Indeed, it is upon a close considera-
tion of the general probabilities of the case, rather than
upon any destructive analysis of his biographers' hearsay
evidence, that I see no reason for rejecting Macklin's
own statement already quoted, " that he was born in the
last year of the last century."

It may be well to follow briefly Kirkman's statement
of the early life and adventures of his hero and his
family's history, without, however, placing a too implicit
credence in all its details. It appears that William
M'Laughlin, Charles's father, having commanded a troop
of horse in James's army at the battle of the Boyne, still
remained faithful to the losing side after that disastrous
conflict, and was accordingly persecuted with the utmost
rigoiu-, and his estates duly confiscated. Thereupon he
seems to have retired to Westmeath, living there in
obscurity, but, ultimately emerging with a view of better-
ing his condition, he came to live in Dublin. Life in a
town was, however, to his broken spirit even more diffi-
cult and impossible than life in the country. " And
although," says Kirkman, in a somewhat contradictory
panegyric, " he was a man of extraordinary strength of
body and equal vigour of mind, yet he never recovered
his spirits after the battle of the Boyne. He died in
December, 1704, literally of a broken heart — a victim to
misapplied loyalty and mistaken generosity." I might

EARLY DAYS. li

here interject the statement of Cooke, that Macklin
remembered his father as a rank Presbyterian, and his
mother as a bigoted papist, doing so rather to call atten-
tion to the difficulties one is placed in by some of these
so-called recollections of Macklin than for any other
reason. For it is hard to understand why a rank Presby-
terian should command a troop of horse in James's army,
and suffer afterwards for the Catholic cause. Be this as
it may, Mrs. M'Laughlin having lost her husband, Kirk-
man now tells us, with all the apologies of a genteel
lodging-house keeper, how this poor but aristocratic
lady, " to better the condition of her children, which was
her darling object," condescended in 1707 to marry
honest Luke O'Meally, the landlord of The Eagle in
Werburgh Street, Dublin. Macklin, in after life, bore
testimony to his having been a kind and tender father to
him ; and though he seems to have caused the death of
Mary M'Laughlin, the actor's only sister, by storming at
her in a fit of ungovernable passion, there is no reason
to believe that, when he restrained himself from these
violent fits of temper, he was anything but a decent and
kindly man.

Young Charles, who was eight or eighteen, as the
reader pleases, was now sent to board at an academy in
Island Bridge, a small village about a mile west of
Dublin. He had, perhaps, previously been taught to
read in Irish or bad Enghsh by his mother's brother,
who was a priest. The school at Island Bridge was kept
by a Scotchman named Nicholson ; and Kirkman tells
us that " it was from the cruelty of a pedagogue that
Mr. Macklin, almost in infancy, imbibed that invincible
prejudice against the Scotch which adhered to him
through a long life." There may be some truth in this,
though Macklin, in some manuscript notes, published

13 CHARLES MACKLIN.

after his death in the Monthly Mirror, mentions a prin-
ciple of justice that Nicholson constantly enforced,
which was, "Never offend or injure without making
atonement." And Macklin remembers, with approval,
that Nicholson took care that the. weakly boys were
defended from the strong.

But I can understand that Nicholson found Master
M'Laughlin a tough subject to educate. He must have
been something of a hero at that Island Bridge academy,
and certainly a thorn in the flesh of the Scotch peda-
gogue, who seems to have flogged him for six days in
the week, and begged his mother to take him away on
the seventh. For Charley M'Laughlin could not only
box and cudgel, and swim like a duck, diving off the
masts of ships, or leaping off the old bridge into the
Liffey, but he had a nasty habit — " talent," Kirkman
calls.it — of mimicry, "which he exercised to the con-
tinual annoyance of the pedant, by counterfeiting alter-
nately the voices of him and his wife Harriet, and calling
aloud upon either, in the voice of the other so exactly, as
to baffle all their vigilance in guarding against his pranks."
He even gave the parrot hints in mimicry, and at length
became so noted for all manner of hardiment and devilry,
that he gained the nickname of " Charles a Molluchth,"
or in English, "Wicked Charley," which is really the
most important and luminous fact that I have at present
learned of his early history.

It would be pleasant, however, to think that one might
except the anecdote of his performance of Monimia from
among the myths that surround his early life. Kirkman
sets this performance down as occurring in 1708, but I
have a shrewd suspicion that he arranges his earlier dates
merely to suit his own theory of Macklin's age, and
does not derive them from any more worthy sources of

EARLY DAYS. 1 3

information than his own imagination. Cooke's account
of the incident is, in any case, preferable to Kirkman's,
and the exact date of its occurrence is unimportant.

" In the neighbourhood of Mrs. Macklin," says Cooke,
"there Hved a near relation of the Besborough family, a
widow lady of considerable fortune, taste, and humanity,
who, seeing young Macklin running about her grounds, and
observing him to be a boy of some spirit, sharpness, and
enterprise, hospitably took him under her roof, in order to
rescue him from those vices and follies which a life of idle-
ness, particularly in young minds, is but too apt to produce.
Here he was further instructed in reading and writing ; and
here it was that Macklin (who often expressed his gratitude
to his benefactress for this kindness) felt the first necessity
of attending in some respect to education and the order of
civilized life, by being under the example and restriction of
a regular family, and the awe of a woman of her rank and
kindness.

"While he was under the protection of this lady, the tragedy
of The Orphan was got up during the Christmas holidays,
amongst some young relations of the family ; when, in cast-
ing the parts (however strange to tell), the character of
Monimia was assigned for young Macklin. To those who
recollect the figure and the cast of countenance of the veteran,
it must be difficult to reconcile the possibility of his perform-
ing this part at any time of life with the smallest degree of
propriety ; however, if we are to take his own word for it
(which is all the authority that can be adduced), he not only
looked the gentle Monimia, but performed it with every
degree of applause and encouragement. The play was
repeated three times with great applause before several of
the surrounding gentry and tenants, and every time he felt
himself acquire additional reputation."

Kirkman gives much the same account of the perform-
ance, except that he sets the scene of it at Mr. Nicholson's
school, and gives us the lady's name as Mrs. Pilkington.

14 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

It was this first success, perhaps, that led Macklin to
turn his attention to the theatre, and planted in his young
mind that lasting ambition, which enabled him to con-
quer, one by one, the obstacles, that nature and the
accidents of his life placed between him and the highest
honours of his chosen profession.

( 15 )

CHAPTER II.

FIRST APPEARANCES (tO 1735).

We may pass lightly over the youthful adventures of
Charles Macklin. They are neither well accredited, nor,
indeed, are some of them altogether creditable to their
hero. But we must remember that in those early years
he lived a wild, roving, hand-to-mouth life, full of scrapes
and disasters, but tending not unnaturally towards the
footlights. He seems, after his debut as Monimia, to
have run away from home with two scapegrace companions,
and made for London, the adventurers' Eldorado, with a
small capital, the bulk of which (;^9) Macklin had
stolen from his mother. The runaways lived magnifi-
cently in London for nearly a month, visiting all the
places of entertainment, until they found their purse empty,
their hopes at zero. One of his companions entered the
army ; the second took to the road, which in due course
led him to the Tyburn scaffold ; while Macklin entered
the service of a buxom widow, who kept a public-house
in the Borough. This house was frequented by a
company of mountebanks, who exhibited low drolls,
pantomimes, tumbling, etc.

" Here," says Kirkman, " Macklin, by dint of genius and
a high flow of spirits, became the delight of all who fre-
quented the house. He sung for them, he danced, he
mimicked, he spouted, and he played the droll, insomuch

i6 CHARLES MACKLIN.

that his fame spread abroad, and the house was every night
filled with respectable opulent dealers. Clubs and meetings
were instituted for the purpose of enjoying the entertainment
he afforded. In short, he became a most pleasing and
popular character in that circle, and more than trebled the
income of the house by his talents."

So valuable was the lad to the proprietress of the
house, that she is said to have contracted a marriage with
him at one of those '' Beggar-making shops," as they
were called, which flourished at this time. A Fleet-
marriage may have been performed, but we may doubt
if Macklin was ever the legal husband of the buxom
widow. Some friends of his family appear to have heard
of his situation, and by threats and entreaties made him
break away from the attractions of the Borough, and
return to Dublin. Here, it is said, he for a time took a
situation as badgeman at Trinity College, and maybe
used the opportunities thus afforded him to pick up
some crumbs of learning that were scattered about his
master's table. Here it is possible he may have seen
Berkeley, who did not leave Ireland until 17 13, even if
he did not know him as a " pretty lad," as the story goes.
It is a pleasant trait in Macklin's character, that he was
never too proud to remember the menial position in which
he then served, and in " Macready's Reminiscences " a
story is told which seems to show that he did undoubtedly,
at some period of his life, act as badgeman or scout * at
Trinity College, and that the fact was well known in
Dublin.

" The custom was for these servants to wait in the courts
of the college, in attendance on the calls of the students. To
every shout of 'Boy!' the scout first in turn replied, 'What

* I believe the modern name for a badgeman at Trinity College
is a skip.

FIRST APPEARANCES. 17

number ? ' and, on its announcement, went up to the room
denoted for his orders. After Mackhn, by his persevering
industry, had gained a name as author and actor, in one of
his engagements at the DubHn Theatre, some unruly young
men caused a disturbance, when Mackhn, in very proper
terms, rebuked them for their indecent behaviour. The
audience applauded, but one of the rioters, thinking to put
him down by reference to his early low condition, with
contemptuous bitterness shouted out, 'Boy!' Poor Macklin
for a moment lost his presence of mind, but, recollecting
himself, modestly stepped forward, and with manly com-
placency responded, ' What number ? ' It is unnecessary
to add that the plaudits of the house fully avenged him on
the brutality of his insulters."

How long he remained at Trinity College I do not
know. Kirkman says that, after a short period of this
servitude, he made a second excursion to London, play-
ing Harlequin and such-like parts with a strolling company
of tumblers, wire-dancers, and mummers, at Hockley-
in-the-Hole, near Clerkenwell Green. Throughout the
eighteenth century Hockley-in-the-Hole was famous for
bull-baiting, bear-baiting, sword and cudgel playing, and
all kinds of rough and brutal sport. It Avas the home
of the lowest class of women, who, with the rowdies
and bullies of the city, frequented its neighbourhood.
From this place Macklin was, it is said, again rescued
by his friends, and restored to Dublin and his position
of badgeman — a story which seems scarcely credible when
one comes to know the independent character of the
man. Kirkman wants us to believe that after this he
refused an honourable position in the German army,
which he might have obtained through a relation who
was a captain in that service. I confess that I can
place little or no reliance upon the alleged order of
these events. For our purpose it is perhaps sufficient

e

l8 CHARLES MACKLIN.

that, after some years of wild riotous youth, he found
himself arrived at Bristol, probably early in the seventeen
twenties, at a time when a company of strolling players
had recently opened a small theatre there with permis-
sion of the mayor.

At this time there was certainly no regular theatre
in Bristol, and, indeed, as late as 1773 we find the
sober inhabitants of the city ineffectually petitioning
the House of Commons not to grant a licence to the
Bristol Theatre Royal. The earliest theatre in Bristol
about which anything is known seems to have been
the theatre at St. Jacob's Well, though Mr. Richard
Jenkins, in his "Memoirs of the Bristol Stage" (1826),
nientions the localities of some previous ventures in
theatrical building. The erection of the St. Jacob's
Well Theatre seems to have taken place about 1726,
and it was built for Mr. John Hippisley, the original
Peachum in The Beggars' Opera.

" Mr. Hippisley's theatre," says Jenkins, " was situated at
the foot of a pleasant hill, called Brandon, which is on the
north-west side of this city (the boon, as it is said, of Queen
Elizabeth to the fair maidens of Bristol). . . . Behind the
theatre was another hill called Clifton, a field belonging to
which was only separated from the back courtyard of the
playhouse by a hedge and low wall. Here many curious
but economic persons of both sexes stood for whole hours
to catch a glimpse, however transient, of some favourite
actor or actress as he or she went along the said yard,
which (such was the inconvenience of the building) the
performer was obliged to do on passing from the right-hand
side of the stage to the left."

This theatre was situated a quarter of a mile from the
city, and, there not being any lamps in that direction,
the audience had to trudge their way on dark nights
along a dirty road called Limekilns-lane. When there

FIRST APPEARANCES. 19

was a benefit of a favourite performer, the stage (accord-
ing to the general custom at that date) was partly fitted
up with benches, scenery was an impossibility, and the
actors played their parts on a few square yards of boards.
Such was the state of the Bristol theatre about 1727,
when, as a local satirist sings —

" Av'rice sat brooding in a whitewashed cell,
And Pleasure had a htit at Jacob's Well."

The first Bristol playbill of which I have seen any
record is dated 1743, and that refers to Mr. Hippisley
as playing at Bristol. It is, therefore, more than probable
that Macklin, when he first came to Bristol, had not
even so good a theatre as that of St. Jacob's Well in
which to exhibit his powers, and that Kirkman is right
in suggesting that Macklin's company of strollers played
in some convenient barn or temporary building.

Macklin — who had not at that time given up his
father's name, M'Laughlin — soon made the acquaintance
of the players on his arrival at Bristol, and is said to
have made '' his first appearance on any stage " as
Richmond in Richard III. Kirkman, who is now
approaching the region of facts and dates, gives the
following extraordinary, but not perhaps over-coloured,
picture of Macklin's life as a strolling player : —

" Sometimes," he says, " he was an architect, and knocked
up the stage and seats in a bam ; sometimes he wrote an
opening Prologue, or a parting Epilogue, for the Company :
at others, he wrote a song, complimentary and adulatory to
the village they happened to play in, which he always
adapted to some sprightly popular air, and sung himself ;
and he often was champion, and stood forward to repress
the persons who were accustomed to intrude upon and be
rude to the actors. His circle of acting was more enlarged
than Garrick's ; for, in one night, he played Antonio and

ao CHARLES MAC KLIN,

Belvidera in Venice Preserved, Harlequin in the entertain-
ment, sung three humorous songs between the acts, and
indulged the audience with an Irish jig between the play
and the entertainment."

These talents soon made him famous in Bristol,
Wales, and the surrounding country. From 1725 to
1730 he must have been continually adding to his
renown in those districts, and taking possession of all
the leading parts. He was already a "star," but he
shone in a lonely and obscure corner of the world.
Then, as now, an actor's ambition made him careless
of the applause of country localities, except in so far
as it paved the way to the metropolis, where alone glory
and gold were to be won.

The history of his first essays on the London boards
is involved in obscurity. He may have appeared as
early as 1725 at Lincoln's Inn Fields, in the part of
Alcander in Dryden and Lee's CEdipus. Again in Sep-
tember, 1730, he is said to have acted Sir Charles Free-
man in The Beaux^ Stratagem, at Lee and Harper's great
booth in the Bowling Green, Southwark. This was a
noted place for theatrical entertainments situated behind
the Marshalsea. During the annual fair time, which
lasted about a fortnight in September, continuous per-
formances were held there. Victor remembers Boheme,
the actor, making his first appearance there in the part
of Menelaus, "in the best droll I ever saw, called The
Siege of Troy."

" Harper and Lee their Trojan horse display,
Troy's burnt, and Paris killed, nine times a day."

Nine performances a day do not suggest a high class
of drama, but no doubt the actors were glad of any
engagement that brought them within the neighbourhood

FIRST APPEARANCES. 21

of the London theatres. From Southwark Macklin went
to Lincoln's Inn Fields, where we know for certain that he
played on December 4, 1730, in Fielding's Coffee House
Politician. Cooke tells us that Macklin in his old days
used to say that he made the play. Here I cannot but
think that his memory must have been failing, or, rather,
that he remembered with advantages the part he had
taken in the success. In the printed edition of the play,
his name — spelt Maclean — is put to Poser, a part of four
and a half lines ; but his biographer, Congreve, says that,
" Poser being over in the first act, he appeared again
in the fifth, in the other part, Brazencourt." This was
a similarly short part, but one containing some good
lines, through which Macklin may perhaps have gained
applause. From this time, however, we hear nothing
more of Mackhn on the London stage until 1733, which
seems to show that his share in the success of The Coffee
House Politician cannot have been as great as he after-
wards imagined.

The fact is, Macklin was not a man to attract the
ordinary manager. He was eminently a reformer, and
the average stage-manager is, and always has been, a a
red-tape Tory of a pronounced type. Already Macklin /
had attempted, in the provinces, something more akin to
nature than the style of acting that was current in his
early days, and Rich, the London manager, had given
him little encouragement. " I spoke so familiar, sir,"
says Macklin, in remembering those days, " and so little
in the hoity-toity tone of the Tragedy of that day, that
the manager told me I had better go to grass for another
year or two." So he strolled away to his old haunts of
Bristol and South Wales, until a theatrical revolution re-
called him to London in 1733.

During his apprenticeship in the provinces he seems

22 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

to have taken considerable pains with his education.
There is httle doubt that he took great trouble to get rid
of his natural brogue, and, this great step to English
favour accomplished, he turned his serious attention to
the practice of elocution. No man has ever been more
respected for his good judgment in all technical matters
of staging and elocution, and it is very probable, as
Kirkman says, that, observing the deficiency of English
actors in these matters, he, early in his career, gave them
his most earnest consideration.

It was probably during these years, too, that Macklin
assumed the name by which he is always known. His
family name of M'Laughlin was obtrusively Irish, and
as the Irish were unpopular in England at that time,
he found it advisable to assume the name Macklin.
Some of the early playbills, 1733-35, spell his name
Mecklin, or Mechlin ; but the name M'Laughlin appears
to have been wholly abandoned before his arrival in
London in 1733.

At some time in his early career — Cooke places it at
about the age of forty — he became a convert to Protes-
tantism, and it is from the statement of the fact of his
conversion, rather than from any more satisfactory evi-
dence, that we gather that he was once a Roman Catholic.
His father was a Presbyterian, and his mother a Catholic,
and there is a suggestion that he received some educa-
tion at an early age from his uncle, who was a Catholic
priest. It is said that he grew up in his mother's religion,
and continued in the same until the following accident
converted him from a Catholic, careless of the ceremonies
and injunctions of his faith, to a Protestant as keen and
militant as any in the north of Ireland. He was strolling
one day in Lincoln's Inn Fields, when he saw on a book-
stall a little book entitled " The Funeral of the Mass."

FIRST APPEARANCES. 33

This he bought for the small sum of ninepence, and, says
Cooke, " took it home with him and read it two or three
times over very attentively ; the consequence of which
was, that he deserted his mother Church, and became a
convert to the Protestant religion," After which he used
to boast that he was a Protestant " as staunch as the
Archbishop of Canterbury, and on as pure principles."
From this we may gather that the orthodoxy of "The
Funeral of the Mass " was convincing and without
reproach.

The date of Macklin's marriage, like all the rest of the
early Macklin chronology, is involved in obscurity, but
it seems to me that Kirkman is probably right in his
suggestion, that it was a year or two prior to his arrival
in London in 1733. Cooke, however, says it was prob-
ably between 1734 and 1736. Kirkman tells us that
the lady was a Mrs. Ann Grace, the widow of a very
respectable hosier in DubUn. Cooke, on the other hand,
says her maiden name was Grace Purvor, that she was
the friend of Mrs. Booth, and that at the time Macklin
was paying his court to her, he came into jealous contact
with His Grace John, Duke of Argyle, who had been
powerfully attracted by her beauty. However this may
be, Macklin found a thoroughly praiseworthy helpmate
in his wife, and the theatre gained an actress of consider-
able merit. The Nurse in Romeo and Juliet ; Lady
Wronghead, Lady Wrangle, Lappet, in The Miser ; and,
above all, the Hostess in Henry V. ; — these were parts in
which, for a considerable number, of years, Mrs. Macklin
was, in the public estimation, almost without a rival.

After their marriage in Dublin, if we take Kirkman's
account of the matter, they went to Chester, Bristol, and
Wales, and ultimately settled for a time in Portsmouth.
Here Miss Macklin was born, a lady whose abilities we

24 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

must discuss hereafter ; and it was from this place that
Macklin was sent for to recruit the forces of Drury Lane.

This year, 1733, saw the death of the great Booth,
whose acting MackUn had had an opportunity of admiring
in his early visits to London. Macklin used to speak
with great delight of his performance of the Ghost in
Hamlet, and notes that Booth used ** cloth shoes (soles
and all), that the sound of his step should not be heard
on the stage." Mrs. Oldfield, immortal in tragedy and
comedy, had died in 1730, but Macklin was present, in
1728, at her first representation of Lady Townly. Wilks,
Norris, and Boheme he had known, and Colley Gibber,
who retired in 1732. Quin and Theophilus Gibber were
soon to know him as a rival, and it was in a measure
through the instrumentality of Gibber that Macklin
secured firm standing-ground upon the London stage.

It appears that a man named Highmore, who had once
had the misfortune to make a hit as Lothario in The Fair
Penitent, and who was manager of Drury Lane at this
period, had had a quarrel with Theophilus Gibber, which
had ended in a revolt of the players to the Haymarket,
headed by young Gibber. Highmore was shamefully
treated in this transaction. He had bought from Golley
Gibber his third of the patent at an exorbitant sum
(;^3i5o), and now young Gibber, with all the actors and
actresses, except Bridgewater, Mrs. Horton, and Mrs.
Glive, opened the Haymarket in opposition to him.
However, this action on Gibber's part was useful to
Macklin, who, with his wife, joined the company at
Drury Lane under very favourable circumstances. He
made his first appearance on October 31, as Gaptain
Brazen in The Recruiting Officer, and, during the five
months which elapsed before the return of the seceders,
he played several leading comedy parts, such as Marplot

FIRST APPEARANCES. 25

in The Busybody, Clodio in Love makes a Man, Teague
in The Committee, and Brass in The Confederacy. Thus
by the time that Highmore, impoverished and weary of
the struggle, had sold his share of the patent to Charles
Fleetwood, Macklin's position as an actor was established.
On Fleetwood's advent to power, Gibber and the seceders
returned to Drury Lane, reappearing on March 12, 1734.

Macklin was, for the moment, ousted from Drury Lane
by the return of the seceders, and joined a company
with which Fielding opened the Haymarket in the spring
of 1734. Here he is known, in April of that year, to
have played Squire Badger, a rudimentary Squire Western,
in Fielding's Don Quixote in England, At the beginning
of the season 1734-35, however, he returned to Drury
Lane, and devoted himself to the affairs of that theatre,
soon becoming a firm favourite with the manager.

Fleetwood was at first disposed to rely on the judg-
ment of Gibber, but discovered this revolutionary to be
by no means a safe adviser, and therefore displaced
him, says Victor, " for Macklin, a man at that time of
seemingly humble pretensions, but of capabilities suffi-
cient to raise him to the office of lord high cardinal.
This minister continued long in the highest favour with
the manager, and the business of the theatre was
conducted for some years, under his influence and direc-
tion, with very considerable success." Thus, from an
unknown stroller Macklin was now raised to the position
of confidential adviser to the manager of Drury Lane.

Fleetwood and Macklin seem to have devoted such
of their time as could be spared from the toils of
theatrical management to gaming, and they were both
constant visitors to White's gambling-house, where they
lost large sums of money. Fleetwood had inherited
a patrimony of ;^6ooo, which he managed to squander

26 CHARLES MACKLIN.

very readily, and he then proceeded to borrow from his
friends, not sparing his humble henchman Macklin.
Fleetwood seems to have had the person, address, and
manners of an accomplished borrower ; and in " one of
those irresistible hours of solicitation," Macklin is said
to have become his bondsman for no less a sum than
;^3ooo. From this bond he escaped by a clever ruse.
He somewhat meanly allowed the good-natured poet,
Paul Whitehead, to take his place, the result being that
when Fleetwood found his embarrassments too many for
him and fled the country, Whitehead was forced to spend
several years in prison. Macklin seems to have regretted
this unavoidable misfortune of Whitehead. " But, sir,"
said he, in telling the story, " every man will save himself
from ruin if he can, and I was glad of any opportunity
to accomplish it."

Meanwhile from 1734 to 1735 several pieces were
produced, among which were Lillo's Christian Hero,
Fielding's Universal Gallant, and a revival of Colley
Gibber's amusing comedy. Love makes a Man; or, the
Fofs Fortune, which was the chief success of the season.
Quin now left Rich to come to Drury Lane, and although
Macklin was in no sense his rival, he was already
becoming a popular favourite.

We have spoken of Macklin's wild, impetuous dis-
position, and a painful instance of the effects of his
uncontrollable temper is chronicled in the criminal
records of this year. On May 10, 1735, he had the
misfortune to kill Thomas Hallam, a fellow-actor, in the
scene-room at Drury Lane Theatre. Both actors were
playing in a farce entitled Trick for Trick, when they
quarrelled about the possession of a wig. Hallam gave
up the wig to Macklin, but continued to grumble at him ;
Macklin, in a passion, thrust a stick he was holding

FIRST APPEARANCES. 27

through his eye, and the unfortunate Hallam died within
twenty-four hours. Macklin was advised by his friends
to keep out of the way, but, acting upon wiser and more
honourable counsel, he wrote a letter to the manager of
Drury Lane, expressing his deep sorrow, and his intention
to surrender himself at the Old Bailey. There he was
tried for the murder of Thomas Hallam, and as the
depositions of the witnesses give a wonderful insight
into the life and manners of the scene-room, I cannot
do better than give one of these at length, choosing the
evidence of Thomas Ame, which is the story of an eye-
witness of the whole scene.

" I have the honour to be the numberer of the boxes of
Drury Lane playhouse, under Mr. Fleetwood. On Saturday
night I delivered my accounts in at the property office ; and
then, at eight at night, I came into the scene-room, where
the players warm themselves, and sat in a chair at the side
of the fire. Fronting the fire there is a long seat, where five
or six may sit. The play was almost done, and they were
making preparations for the entertainment, when the prisoner
came into the scene-room and sat down next me, and high
words arose between him and the deceased about a stock
wig for a disguise in the entertainment. The prisoner had
played in the wig the night before, and now the deceased

had got it. ' D n you for a rogue,' says the prisoner ;

' what business have you with my wig?' *I am no more a
rogue than yourself,' says the deceased. ' It's a stock wig,
and I have as much right to it as you have.' Some of the
players coming in, they desired the deceased to fetch the
wig and give it to the prisoner, which he did, and then said
to him, ' Here is your wig. I have got one I like better.'
The prisoner, sitting by me, took the wig, and began to comb
it out, and all seemed to be quiet for about half a quarter of
an hour ; but the prisoner began to grumble again, and said

to the deceased, ' G d d n you for a blackguard, scrub,

rascal, how durst you have the impudence to take this wig ? '

28 CHARLES MACKLm.

The deceased answered, ' I am no more a rascal than your-
self.' Upon which the prisoner started up out of his chair,
and, with a stick in his hand, made a lunge at the deceased,
and thrust the stick into his left eye, and, pulling it back
again, looked pale, turned on his heel, and, in a passion,

threw the stick into the fire. ' G d d n it ! ' says he ; and,

turning about again on his heel, he sat down. The deceased
clapped his hand to his eye, and said it was gone through
his head. He was going to sink, but they set him in a
chair. The prisoner came to him, and, leaning upon his left
arm, put his hand to his eye. ' Lord ! ' cried the deceased,
' it is out.' ' No,' says the prisoner ; ' I feel the ball roll
under my hand.' Young Mr. Gibber came in, and imme-
diately sent for Mr. Goldham, the surgeon."

Other witnesses were called, who gave substantially
the same account of the matter. Among them, Mr.
Coldham, the surgeon, who admitted that " the prisoner
shewed much concern, and desired me to take all possible
care of the deceased." Macklin, who, as a man on his
trial, had no right in those days to be represented by
counsel, conducted his own defence, cross-examining
the various witnesses to show the necessity of the wig for
his own part, and tiie insulting and aggravating demeanour
of the deceased. At the close of the case for the
prosecution, Mr. Macklin addressed the court as follows : —

"My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, — I played Sancho
the night before, and the wig I then used was proper for the
new farce, and absolutely necessary for my part, as the whole
force of the poefs wit depends on the leaft, meagre looks of
one that is in want of food. This wig being, therefore, so fit
for my purpose, and hearing that the deceased had got it, I
said to him, ' You have got the wig that I played in last
night, and it fits my part this nights ^ I have as much right
to it as you^ says he. I told him that I desired it as a favour.
He said I should not have it. 'You are a scoundrel,' says I,
* to deny me when I only ask you that as a favour which is

FIRST APPEARANCES. 29

my right.' * I am no more a scoundrel than yourself,' says
he ; and so he went out of the room, and I went to the
prompter's door to look for Mr. Cibber. Meanwhile the
deceased went into the scene-room, and said I had used him
like a pickpocket. The author persuaded him to let me have
the wig, and the property-man brought him another wig.
Upon this, he threw the first wig at me. I asked why he
could not have done that before. He answered, ' Because
you used me like a pickpocket.' This provoked me, and,

rising up, I said, ' D- n you for a puppy ! get out.' His

left side was then towards me ; but he turned about, unluckily,
and my stick went into his eye. * Good God ! ' said I, ' what
have I done ? ' and I threw the stick into the chimney.
*****

" I begged of the persons who were present to take the
deceased to the bagnio ; but Mrs. Moor said that she had
a room where he should be taken care of. I had then no
idea that it would prove his end, but feared that his eye was
in danger. But the next morning I saw Mr. Turbtitt, who
advised me to keep out of the way, or I should be sent to
gaol. I begged of him to get the advice of a physician, and
gave him a guinea, which was all the money I had about me.
From the beginning of the quarrel to the end it was but ten
minutes, and there was no intermission."

After this speech, the prisoner called Richard Turbutt,
one of the players, and an eye-witness of the scuffle, who
gave a very similar account of the matter to that sworn
to by Thomas Ame. He then called Mr. Rich, Mr.
Fleetwood, Mr. Quin, Mr. Ryan, Mr. Mills, and several
others, to depose that he was a man of quiet and peace-
able disposition, and the case was then left to the jury.

At this time there was no such certainty on the subject
of manslaughter and murder as there is to-day, though
there was a great deal of learned writing in relation to
killing per infortunium or se defendendo. In Hale's time,
it was necessary for a jury to find the facts specially, if

30 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

they acquitted a man on either of these grounds. " Such
a finding," says Mr, Justice Stephen, "still involved
forfeiture, besides which the court might give judgment
upon it that the prisoner was guilty of manslaughter."
Sir Michael Foster, who published his discourses in
1762, says that the practice of forfeiture did not in fact
exist for a long period of time, and intimates that special
verdicts had fallen into disuse, and that judges had " taken
general verdicts of acquittal in plain cases of death per
infortunium." Manslaughter was at this time a felony,
punishable with burning in the hand, and imprisonment
for not exceeding a year.

These few legal facts are worth calling to mind, because
of the somewhat extraordinary result of Macklin's trial.
"The jury," says Kirkman, "found the prisoner guilty of
manslaughter," and, as we find no record of his undergoing
any punishment whatever, the court probably took a
lenient view of the matter, and imposed no sentence upon
the prisoner, or perhaps he was burned in the hand and
discharged. Of this, however, there is no record ; all we
know is that he was acquitted of the grave charge of murder,
and was soon afterwards received at Drury Lane with
affectionate applause, when he reappeared as Ramilie in
Fielding's Miser.

( 31 )

CHAPTER III.

JAMES QUIN (1693-17 66).

QuiN was the immediate predecessor of Macklin, and
the last of that old school of actors which Macklin did
so much to abolish. Some slight sketch of his career as
a man, and his methods as an actor, will throw light
on Macklin's difficulties, and exhibit more clearly the
reforms Macklin made in elocution and stage manage-
ment, by showing what was the accepted stWdard of
perfection, which he helped to alter and replace by
better things.

It is to be regretted that no one has seen fit to compile
a good biography of James Quin. A volume, published
in 1766, reported by some to have been written by
Goldsmith, is wholly unworthy of reference, and so dull
and defective in picturesque qualities, that we may safely
acquit the poet of having had any hand in its compila-
tion. From what I can gather from various sources, not
without fear, however, of further consolidating errors,
the following is set down as an accepted outline of his
life.

James Quin was the descendant of an Irish family of
good position. His grandfather, Mark Quin, was Lord
Mayor of Dublin in 1676, and his father, after receiving
his education at Trinity College, Dublin, removed to
London, where he was called to the bar by the Honour-

32 CHARLES MACKLIN.

able Society of Lincoln's Inn. James Quin is often
spoken of as an Irishman by birth, but the better opinion
seems to be that he was born in King Street, Covent
Garden, on February 24, 1693, and that shortly after-
wards, on his grandfather's death, he was taken to Ireland
by his father, who then came into possession of a very
considerable fortune. In Dublin young Quin was
educated by Dr. Jones, a teacher celebrated for his
learning, and, being destined by his father for the bar,
remained under his tuition until 17 10, when his father
died. Whether he now came over to England and
squandered his fortune in gaiety and dissipation, or
whether, on the other hand, his legitimacy was challenged
and his patrimony wasted in a Chancery suit, it is difficult
to say. The probability is that his mother had two
husbands at once, and that, in consequence, James Quin
was illegitimate, and his father's heirs, knowing this,
asserted their legal claims to what should have been
young Quin's estate. Different authorities give different
accounts of the matter; what is certain is that from
some cause or other he lost his fortune, and was turned
adrift upon the world at an early age, a well-educated
adventurer. At this time he is described as having " an
expressive countenance, an inquisitive eye, a clear voice
full and melodious, an extensive memory, a majestic
figure, and, above all, an enthusiastic admiration of
Shakespeare." It is said that the study of Shakespeare's
plays had, with Quin, been pursued in Temple Chambers,
when he should have been poring over the crabbed folios
of Coke upon Littleton ; but, however this may be, his
tastes were formed, his talent was undeniable, and his
opportunity soon presented itself. His first appearance
upon any stage was made at the old Smock Alley
Theatre in Dublin, in the part of Abel in the CommUtee.

JAMES QUIK 3 J

W. R. Chetwood, for twenty years the prompter at
Drury Lane, tells us this in his " History of the Stage,"
with the following further details of his early career.
He played, in his first season, Cleon in Shadwell's
adaptation of Timon of Athens, and the Prince of Tanais
in Rowe's Tamerlane. Chetwood saw and admired his
genius; and at his suggestion Quin moved up to
. London, where it is said he was introduced by Ryan to
the managers of Drury Lane. His first recorded ap-
pearance in London is as Vultur in Charles Johnson's
Country Lasses, February 4, 17 15. Progress in this day
was very much a matter of seniority, but Quin, by what
was for him a lucky accident, received very rapid
promotion. On November 5, 17 16, a grand revival of
Tamerlane took place, in which Quin was cast for the
small part of the Dervise. On the third night of its run.
Mills, the Bajazet, was taken ill, and Quin was allowed
to read the part. Probably not one of the older actors
saw what an opportunity this was for Quin, who was
then in the condition of a " faggot," as novice performers
were called, and had in all probability never before had
a chance of doing more than speak a few unimportant
lines. His reading of the part was received with the
greatest applause. Before the next night he made him-
self perfect in the words, and his accidental triumph
was ratified by large and enthusiastic audiences. The
company, however, was at this time too strong in leading
actors, and there was no room for Quin, who transferred
his allegiance to John Rich, and almost at once undertook
leading parts.

His first appearance at Lincoln's Inn Fields was on
January 7, 17 18, as Hotspur, and he remained with Rich
from this date until 1734. In 1720, it was proposed
that the company should revive The Merry Wives of

D

34 CHARLES MACKLm.

Windsor, but there was no actor who would attempt
the part of Falstaff. Rich was iaclined to give up the
revival for want of a Falstaff, when Quin offered to
undertake the part. John Rich demurred to this, at
first, very strongly. " You attempt Falstaff ! " he ex-
claimed, interjecting his remarks with expressive pinches
of snuff; " why, you might as well think of acting Cato
after Booth ! The character of Falstaff, young man, is
quite another character from what you think ; it is not
a little snivelling part that — that — in short, any one can
do." However, Quin over-persuaded the manager,
much to his own advantage, for the piece was revived,
and, thanks to Quin's Falstaff, drew crowded houses
during no less than eighteen nights of the season
1720-21. Davies tells us that —

" The great applause that Quin gained in this the feeblest
portrait of Falstaff, encouraged him to venture on the more
high-seasoned part of the character in the First Part of
Henry IV. Of this large compound of his, bragging and
exhaustless fund of wit and humour, Quin possessed the
ostensible or mechanical part in an eminent degree. In
person he was tall and bulky ; his voice strong and pleasing ;
his countenance manly, and his eyes piercing and expressive.
In scenes where satire and sarcasm were poignant, he greatly
excelled ; particularly in the witty triumph over Bardolph's
carbuncles and the fooleries of the hostess. His supercilious
brow, in spite of assumed gaiety, sometimes unmasked the
surliness of his disposition ; hpwever, he was, notwithstand-
ing some faults, esteemed the most intelligent and judicious
Falstaff since the days of Betterton."

As long as Booth lived, it was impossible for Quin to
claim the first position on the English stage, but he led
the forces with which Rich carried on the struggle at
Lincoln's Inn Fields against the more powerful and
popular company at Drury Lane. Booth retired in 1728,

JAMES QUm. 35

and during the ensuing thirteen years, until Garrick's
debut in 1741, Quin was the leading actor of the day.

When Rich moved to Covent Garden in 1732, Quin
opened the new theatre by his performance of Fainall in
Congreve's Way of the World. Here, on January 18,
1734, he challenged the memories of the old playgoers
by performing Cato — an experiment highly dangerous,
one would think, seeing in what estimation the veteran
Booth had been held in this character during his lifetime.
Quin had the wisdom, as well as the good taste, to
announce that "the part of Cato would only be attempted
by Mr. Quin;" and doubtless the audience, flattered by
this tribute to the memory of Booth, were inclined to
view the attempt graciously. His success was marked ;
and when he declaimed the line —

" Thanks to the gods, my boy has done his duty ! "

there was a universal shout of, " Booth outdone ! " And,
it is said, the audience were so excited, that they went
the length of encoring the famous soliloquy. From
that moment the part of Cato belonged to Quin as it had
formerly belonged to Booth, and it became one of his
most favourite representations.

When Fleetwood became patentee of Drury Lane, in
1734, he offered Quin the enormous salary — as it was
then considered — of ;^5oo a year. Quin was at that
time receiving only ^^300 from Rich, and offered him
his services at the higher figure, but the manager replied
that no actor was worth more them ;^3oo a year. So
Rich and Quin parted company, and Quin went across
to Drury Lane, where he appeared as Othello on Sep-
tember 10, 1734. Here he continued until the end of
the season 1740-41, when he went to Ireland for two
seasons. It was at Drury Lane that he first met Macklin,

3$ CHARLES MACKLIN.

who soon became a somewhat formidable rival. When
he returned to England in 1742, his supremacy was no
longer acknowledged. Macklin had already appeared in
Shylock, and Garrick had made his debut. The rivalry
of Garrick and Quin, and their joint performance in
1746, are matters that cannot here be dealt with at
length. Suffice it that Quin recognized the superiority
of Garrick, or, perhaps we should say, his greater popu-
larity, and withdrew to Bath. During the next year,
when Garrick was patentee of Drury Lane, Quin was
desirous once more of playing against him, and, thinking
that Rich would jump at the suggestion, wrote as
follows : —

" Dear Rich,

" I am at Bath.

" Yours,

" James Quin."

To which Rich replied —

" Dear Quin,

" Stay there and be damned.
" Yours,

" John Rich."

In 1748, however, Quin returned to Covent Garden,
where he played for three seasons, receiving in 1750-51
a salary of ;^iooo a year, the largest amount ever
known to have been paid up to this time. Here he
struggled against Garrick, who, once at least, made him
offers to come over to Drury Lane, although he can
never at this time have been a very serious rival. At
length, recognizing that without doubt his day was over,
Quin withdrew from the contest without any ceremonious
farewell to the stage, playing for the last time as a

JAMES QUIN. 37

salaried actor the part of Horatio in The Fair Penitent,
on May 15, 1751.

During Fleetwood's management Macklin and Quin
had many bitter quarrels, which were crystallized in
epigram and anecdote, of which the following is a
specimen : —

" ' Your servant, sir,' says surly Quin.
' Sir, I am yours,' replies Macklin.
' Why, you're the very Jew you play,

Your face performed the task well.'
' And you are Sir John Brute, they say,

And an accomplished Maskwell.'
Says Rich, who heard the sneering elves,

And knew their horrid hearts,
' Acting too much your very selves.

You over do your parts.' "

The epigrammatist hit them off not kindly, but well.
They were both rough and surly, self-opinionated and
sarcastical. Quin loved good living and the aristocracy ;
Macklin pretended to literary tastes. They were con-
temporaries and rivals, hating each other not a little,
and, I dare say, exhibiting some of the qualities of
their favourite parts when they spoke of each other to
strangers.

Quin, with his sharp tongue, had given Macklin plenty
of cause for offence. When he was playing Antonio to
Macklin's Shylock, he had said of his brother actor, " If
God Almighty writes a legible hand, that man must be a
villain." And when some one observed that Macklin
might make a good actor, having such strong lines in his
face, Quin replied, " Lines, sir ! I see nothing in the
fellow's face but a d — n'd deal of cordage ! " Then there
was the bon mot when Macklin accepted the part of Pan-
dulph, the Pope's legate, in a revival of King John, that

38 CHARLES MAC KLIN,

he was " a cardinal who had originally been a parish
clerk ;" and I dare say a hundred other good things that
Quin said of Macklin, which the latter's friends had
repeated to him, and which he had treasured up in his
mind, swearing never to take the fellow's hand in friend-
ship as long as he lived.

The original quarrel, however, took place early in
Macklin's career, probably about 1738, and is best told
in his own language as he used to recall it in old age
to his broken memory. Sitting in the Rainbow Coffee
House in King Street, Covent Garden, in the year 1787,
some one asked old Macklin if he and Quin had ever
quarrelled. Very possibly the questioner had heard the
old gentleman tell the story before, and asked the ques-
tion for the benefit of the bystanders, who quickly
crowded round to listen to the story, and help the old
man's failing memory when he paused in his narrative.

*' Yes, sir ; I was very low in the theatre, as an actor, when
the surly fellow was the despot of the place. But, sir, I had
— had a lift, sir. Yes, I was to play — the — the — the boy
with the red breeches. You know who I mean, sir — he whose
mother is always going to law ; you know who I mean ! "

" Jerry Blackacre, I suppose, sir ? "

" Ay, sir, Jerry. Well, sir, I began to be a little known
to the public, and, egad ! I began to make them laugh. I
was called the Wild Irishman, sir, and was thought to have
some fun in me ; and I made them laugh heartily in the boy,
sir — in Jerry.

" When I came off the stage, the surly fellow who played

the scolding Captain in the play. Captain — Captain

You know who I mean."

" Manly, I believe, sir ? ''

"Ay, sir, the same — Manly. Well, sir, the surly fellow
began to scold me ; told me I was at my damned tricks, and
that there was no having a chaste scene for me. Everybody,
nay, egad ! the manager himself, was afraid of him. I was

JAMES QUIN. 39

afraid of the fellow, too ; but not much. Well, sir, I told
him that I did not mean to disturb him by my acting, but
to show off a little tnyself. Well, sir, in the other scenes I
did the same, and made the audience laugh incontinently,
and he scolded me again, sir. I made the same apology ;
but the surly fellow would not be appeased. Again, sir,
however, I did the same ; and when I returned to the green-
room, he abused me like a pickpocket, and said I must leave
off my damned tricks. I told him I could not play otherwise.
He said, I could, and I should. Upon which, sir, egad ! I
said to him flatly, ' You lie ! ' He was chewing an apple at
this moment ; and, spitting the contents into his hand, he
threw them in my face."

" Indeed ! "

"It is a fact, sir ! Well, sir, I went up to him directly
(for I was a great boxing cull in those days), and pushed him
down into a chair and pummelled his face damnably."

" You did right, sir."

" He strove to resist, but he was no match for me ; and I
made his face swell so with the blows, that he could hardly
speak. When he attempted to go on with his part, sir, he
mumbled so, that the audience began to hiss. Upon which
he went forward and told them, sir, that something very
unpleasant had happened, and that he was really very ill.
But, sir, the moment I went to strike him, there were many
noblemen in the greenroom, full dressed, with their swords
and large wigs (for the greenroom was a sort of stateroom
then, sir). Well, they were all alarmed, and jumped upon
the benches, waiting in silent amazement till the affair was
over.

" At the end of the play, sir, he told me I must give him
satisfaction ; and that, when he changed his dress, he would
wait for me at the Obelisk in Covent Garden. I told him I
would be with him, but, sir, when he was gone, I recollected
that I was to play in the pantomime (for I was a great
pantomime boy in those days). So, sir, I said to myself,
' Damn the fellow, let him wait ; I won't go to him till my
business is all over. Let him fume and fret, and be damned.'
Well, sir, Mr. Fleetwood, the manager, who was one of the

40 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

best men in the world — all kindness, all mildness, and gracious-
ness and aflfability — had heard of the affair, and, as Ouin
was his great actor, and in favour with the town, he told me
I had had revenge enough ; that I should not meet the surly
fellow that night, but that he would make the matter up
somehow or other.

" Well, sir, Mr. Fleetwood ordered me a good supper and
some wine, and made me sleep at his house all night, to
prevent any meeting. Well, sir, in the morning he told me
that I must,7^r his sake^ make a little apology to Quin for
what I had done. And so, sir, having given him a bellyfui,
I, to oblige Mr. Fleetwood (for I loved the man), did, sir,
make some apology to him, and the matter dropped."

This story, with all its extravagance, undoubtedly
represents a serious quarrel between Quin and Macklin,
which, with its attendant insults on both sides, would long
embitter one against the other ; but it is pleasant to
believe that the two were ultimately reconciled. There
had for many years been an avoidance of all unnecessary
intercourse between them. When they met at rehearsal,
it was " Mr. Quin," " Mr. Macklin ; " and they treated
each other with the studied courtesy of strangers. It is
said that this was broken through when they were both
attending the funeral of a brother player, and, after the
interment, met again at a tavern in Covent Garden.
Neither man was an early riser from the supper-table,
and six a.ra. came to find the rest of the company gone,
and the two actors alone sitting at the table with the
bottle between them. Quin broke ground and drank
Macklin's health, and Macklin returned it. After a pause,
Quin said to his companion, " There has been a foolish
quarrel between you and me, sir, which, though accom-
modated, I must confess, I have not been able entirely
to forget till now. The melancholy occasion of our
meeting, and the circumstance of our being left together,

JAMES QVLV. 41

I thank God, have made me see my error. If you can,
therefore, forget it, give me your hand, and let us live
together in future Uke brother performers." This was a
long speech for Quin at this hour in the morning, and
Macklin was ready at the conclusion with outstretched
hand. There was a reconciliation, and another bottle,
and the curtain falls on Macklin trying to carry Quin
upon his shoulders to his lodgings in the Piazzas in
Covent Garden.

The two men were naturally and professionally antago-
nistic. Quin, as an actor, was the last of the orthodox
conventional school ; while Macklin, in all his parts,
and especially in his Shylock, made some steps towards
natural acting. He was, as it were, the connecting link
between Quin and Garrick, the first and greatest of
natural actors. Quin was an exponent of the grandi-
loquent or artificial style, exhibiting the form rather than
the soul of tragedy. He was successful in the more
solid characters, such as Coriolanus and Cato, but
not in emotional and complicated parts, such as Lear,
Richard, and Macbeth. Cumberland, in his memoirs,
gives us a capital picture of Quin in tragedy, who
"presented himself, upon the rising of the curtain, in a
green velvet coat embroidered down the seams, an
enormous full-bottom periwig, rolled stockings, and high-
heeled square-toed shoes. With very little variation of
cadence, and in a deep full tone, accompanied by a saw-
ing kind of action, which had more of the senate than
of the stage in it, he rolled out his heroics with an air of
dignified indifference that seemed to disdain the plaudits
that were bestowed upon him." His great parts in tragedy
were Cato, Brutus, Pyrrhus in the Distressed Mother,
Pierre in Venice Preserved, Horatio in The Fair Penitent
Ventidius, Rowe's Tamerlane, and Bajazet. Davies

42 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

agrees with other critics that, although he was "a very
natural reciter of plain and familiar dialogue, he was
utterly unqualified for the striking and vigorous characters
of tragedy ; could neither express the tender nor violent
emotions of the heart ; his action was generally forced
or languid, and his movement ponderous and sluggish.
But it must be confessed that he often gave true weight
and dignity to sentiment, by a well-regulated tone of
voice, judicious elocution, and easy deportment." Earl
Conyngham, in speaking of the quarrels between Brutus
and Cassius, when Quin and Garrick were playing
together, used the following expressive simile : " Quin
resembled a solid three-decker, lying quiet and scorning
to fire, but with the evident power, if put forth, of sending
its antagonist to the bottom ; Garrick, a frigate turning
round it, attempting to grapple, and every moment
threatening an explosion that would destroy both."
Smollett gives an excellent account of the same scene
from his own modern point of view in " Peregrine Pickle,"
putting his criticism into the mouth of the Knight of
Malta, whom Peregrine meets in Paris :

" Yet one of your graciosos^^ says the Knight, referring to
Quin, " I cannot admire in all the characters he assumes.
His utterance is a continual sing-song, like the chanting of
vespers ; and his action resembles that of heaving ballast
into the hold of a ship. In his outward deportment, he seems
to have confounded the ideas of dignity and insolence of mien ;
acts the crafty, cool, designing Crookback, as a loud, shallow,
blustering Hector ; and in the character of the mild patriot
Brutus, loses all temper and decorum ; nay, so ridiculous is
the behaviour of him and Cassius at their interview, that,
setting foot to foot and grinning at each other, with the
aspect of two cobblers enraged, they thrust their left sides
together with repeated shocks, that the hilts of their swords
may clash for the entertainment of the audience ; as if they

JAMES QUIN. 43

were a couple of merry-andrews, endeavouring to raise the
laugh of the vulgar, on some scaffold at Bartholomew Fair.
The despair of a great man, who falls a sacrifice to the
infernal practices of a subtle traitor that enjoyed his confi-
dence, this English iEsopus represents by beating his own
forehead, and bellowing like a bull ; and, indeed, in almost all
his most interesting scenes, performs such strange shakings
of the head, and other antic gesticulations, that when I first
saw him act, I imagined the poor man laboured under that
paralytical disorder, which is known by the name of St.
Vitus's dance. In short, he seems to be a stranger to the
more refined sensations of the soul, consequently his expres-
sion is of the vulgar kind, and he must often sink under the
idea of the poet ; so that he has recourse to such violence of
affected agitation as imposes upon the undiscerning spectator ;
but to the eye of taste, evinces him a mere player of that
class whom your admired Shakespeare justly compares to
nature's journeyman tearing a passion to rags. Yet this
man, in spite of all these absurdities, is an admirable Falstaff,
exhibits the character of the eighth Henry to the life, is
reasonably applauded in the Plain Dealer, excels in the part
of Sir John Brute, and would be equal to many humorous
situations in low comedy, which his pride will not allow him
to undertake. I should not have been so severe upon this
actor, had I not seen him extolled by his partisans with the
most ridiculous and fulsome manifestation of praise, even in
those very circumstances wherein, as I have observed, he
chiefly failed."

Peregrine himself roasts poor Quin in grand style in a
later passage, giving in ludicrous detail an account of his
performance of Zanga ; but this is less worthy of quotation
as a critical estimate of the actor, as it is purposely written
in the extravagant language that Smollett so often puts
into the mouth of his lively young hero.

Quin's excellence in Falstaff and other comic characters
was undenied. He had a great command of facial
expression, was happy in his stage business, keeping it,

44 CHARLES MACKLIN.

however, well within bounds, and never descending to
grimace and buffoonery. Davies speaks especially of
the " impudent dignity " of his Falstaff, which suggests
that he was successful in the essential characteristics of
the part. He had a great contempt, however, for the
extraneous aids of make-up and costume, and is reported
to have played young Bevil, in Steele's Conscious Lovers,
in the same suit in which he acted the Old Bachelor.
One of his favourite characters, after Falstafif, was Sir
John Brute in The Provoked Wife; but Davies does not
speak of his performance of this part in terms of un-
qualified praise. He "seemed to have forgotten," says
Davies, " that Sir John Brute had ever been a gentleman,
of which part of the character Gibber and Garrick
retained the remembrance through every scene of riot
and debauchery. Quin, besides, in this part, wanted
variety, and that glow and warmth in colouring the ex-
travagance of this merry rake, without which the picture
remains imperfect and unfinished." At the same time,
Horace Walpole, no mean critic, preferred his performance
of this character to that of Garrick. Among his other
important characters were Henry VHI., Jacques — in
which his admirable elocution and somewhat monotonous
manner must have stood him in good stead — Thersites,
Apemantus, Volpone, Manly, Heartwell, Maskwell, and
Old Knowell in Every Man in his Hu7nour. In his time
he played a wide range of characters, was undoubtedly
a great comedian, 'and a successful tragedian of the con-
ventional school.

I confess that I cannot in any way share the belief
that Quin was, in character, a harsh, unkindly man.
True, his jokes were often coarse and brutal enough, but
he was a licensed wit, and doubtless thought more about
the force and point of his jest than about its humanity.

JAMES QUIN. 45

But it is absurd to suppose that he was in any way a
surly man. He was handsome, popular, witty, " beloved
by his friends, and always on joyous terms with himself.
Few understood the inclinations of men better, and
none could be more indulgent to unpremeditated error.
While he cherished a little affectation in himself, to
conceal the warmth and mildness of his disposition, he
discerned every degree of it in others with a shrewd eye.
I think he was an accomplished specimen of a man of
the world of the right sort, for he was more amiable than
he really seemed to be." This is the estimate of a
warm admirer, but one who seems to have been a sound
judge of his character. Perhaps the broils and quarrels
in which he was engaged may have given him a bad
name among his contemporaries, though it is hard to
say how far he was to blame in some of these adventures.
On two occasions he had the misfortune to kill a brother
actor. In 1718, he caused the death of William Bowen
in a kind of duel. It is said that Bowen, who was very
jealous of his reputation, was driven to fury by Quin's
assertion that some other actor played Jacomo in The
Libertine better than Bowen did. Enraged at this, he
got Quin into a room in a tavern alone, set his back
against the door, and insisted on satisfaction for the
insult. He then assailed Quin with such blind fury that
he ran upon his sword and was killed — generously, with
his dying words, acquitting Quin of all blame in the
matter. The coroner's inquest found se defendendo,
but the Old Bailey jury returned a verdict of man-
slaughter, and it is said Quin was burnt in the hand.
This was the statutory punishment for manslaughter,
which was not abolished until 19 Geo. III. c. 74. A T
was burnt with a hot iron in the brawn of the thumb of
the left hand. This was often done by the executioner,

46 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

in open court, before the prisoner was discharged.
The sentence, in Quin's case, was at least nominally
executed; but, perhaps, as was not infrequent with
favoured offenders, a cold iron was used. On another
occasion he was perhaps more to blame. He was
playing Cato at Drury Lane, and a Welshman named
Williams was cast for the part of the Messenger. This
man pronounced Cato Keeto, and when he gave the line
" Caesar sends health to Keeto," Quin somewhat
brutally retorted on the public stage and with tragic
accent, " Would he had sent a better messenger." Poor
Williams was greatly affronted by this indignity, and
followed Quin into the greenroom, demanding satisfac-
tion. Quin, with his usual nonchalance, tried to laugh
the matter off as a good jest, but only succeeded in
making the Welshman still more furious. In the end
Williams waited for him under the piazza, where he drew
his sword and insisted on fighting Quin, who, in the
scuffle that ensued, for a second time killed one of his
fellow-actors. Again he was tried, and this time seems
to have been wholly acquitted.

These stories may perhaps have raised a prejudice
against his good nature that ought not to exist. No one,
with his extravagance of humour, could help making
enemies, and, in that age, being brought into quarrels
more or less disreputable. But I cannot set these down
as outweighing the many well-known but less picturesque
acts of kindness with which he is credited. His affection
for and generosity to Thomson the poet, who has im-
mortalized his benefactor in the Castle of Indolence,
where he hails him as " the ^sopus of the age ; " his
fatherly kindness to Miss Bellamy, when, a mere girl, she
first appeared upon the Covent Garden stage; these,
and many other pleasant traits in his character, deserve

JAMES QUm. 47

consideration as well as its rougher and less pleasing
characteristics.

Even his love of good eating and drinking is not an
unpleasing feature of the man, and has certainly given
us some of his best sayings. It is said that he thought
angling a very barbarous diversion; for, said he, "sup-
pose some superior being should bait a hook with
venison and go a Quinning, I should certainly bite, and
what a sight I should be, dangling in the air ! " Every one
knows his plaintive wish as he passed beneath West-
minster Bridge, " Oh that my mouth were that centre
arch, and that the river ran claret ! " So keen was he
about certain kinds of food, that he is reported to have
visited Plymouth on several occasions, merely for the
purpose of eating John Dories. He was once staying
at an inn in Plymouth which happened to be much
infested with rats. "My drains," said the landlord,
"run down to the quay, and the scents of the kitchen
attract the rats." " That's a pity," said Quin. " At some
leisure moment before I return to town, remind me of
the circumstance, and perhaps I may be able to suggest
a remedy." In the mean time he lived expensively, and
at the end of eight weeks he called for his bill. "What ! "
said he, " one hundred and fifty pounds for eight weeks
in one of the cheapest towns in England ! " However,
he paid the bill, and stepped into the chaise. "Oh, Mr.
Quin," said the landlord, " I hope you have not forgot
the remedy you promised me for the rats." " There's
your bill," replied Quin ; " show them that when they
come, and if they trouble your house again, I'll be
damned ! " Garrick, who wrote epigrams on the foibles
of all his friends and contemporaries, has a capital mock
soliloquy of Quin, " On Seeing the Embalmed Body of
Duke Humphrey at St. Albans' : "

48 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

" O plague on Egypt's arts, I say !
Embalm the dead ! On senseless clay

Rich wines and spices waste !
Like sturgeon, or like brawn, shall I
Bound in a precious pickle, lie,

Which I can never taste !

" Let me embalm this flesh of mine
With turtle-fat, and Bordeaux wine,
And spoil the Egyptian trade !
Than Humphrey's Duke more happy I —
Embalmed alive, old Quin shall die,
A mummy ready made."

Quin's epicurean propensities were a great theme for
Garrick's jokes. When Lord Halifax had sent Garrick
a turkey, which his health did not permit him to enjoy,
Garrick, in writing to thank him, told his lordship he
would take it with him to Bath, saying, " When our old
friend Quin was on one occasion ill and had received a
present, I believe from the same bounteous hand that
has sent m& mine, his doctor told him that he would not
be fit to touch such a thing for a fortnight. * Shan't I ? '

says Quin ; ' then, by G d ! it shall travel with me till

I am fit.' "

Of his gallantry, too, there are many excellent stories.
He may be credited with having said some of the
prettiest things to women, and some of the coarsest things
^them. When a lady asked him why there were more
women in the world than men, he promptly replied,
" It is in conformity with the arrangements of Nature,
madam ; we always see more of heaven than of earth."
Again, when discussing the doctrine of Pythagoras with
some lady of his acquaintance who was famed for the
beauty of her neck, she put the question to him, " What
creature's form would you hereafter prefer to inhabit ? "

JAMES QUIN. 4^

Quin was equal to the occasion when he answered softly,
" A fly's, madam ; then I might have the pleasure of
sometimes resting on your ladyship's neck." But his
jests were not all of this frivolous nature. Walpole, in
writing to George Montagu on April 5, 1765, tells us of
some of his best sayings, and we can only regret that
Quin was not troubled with some Boswell-minded
companion, who could have handed down to posterity
all his witty sayings, wild, wise, and otherwise.

" Though I have little to say, it is worth while to write
only to tell you two bon-niots of Quin, to that turncoat,
hypocrite, infidel. Bishop Warburton. That saucy priest was
haranguing at Bath in behalf of prerogative. Quin said,
' Pray, my lord, spare me ; you are not acquainted with my
principles. I am a republican ; and perhaps I even think
that the execution of Charles I. might be justified.' .'Ay,'
said Warburton, ' by what law ? ' Quin replied, ' By all
the laws he had left them.' The Bishop would have got off
upon judgments, and bade the player remember that all the
regicides came to violent ends ; a lie, but no matter. ' I
would not advise your lordship,' said Quin, ' to make use
of that inference ; for, if I am not mistaken, that was the
case of the twelve apostles.' There was great wit ad
hominetn in the latter reply, but I think the former equal to
anything I ever heard. It is the sum of the whole con-
troversy couched in eight monosyllables, and comprehends
at once the king's guilt and the justice of punishing it. The
more one examines it the finer it proves. One can say
nothing after it ; so good-night ! "

It was on a similar occasion, when Quin was dining
with his great friends, that some dunder-headed peer, in
the midst of the laughter, exclaimed, " What a pity it is,
Quin my boy, that a clever fellow like you should be a
player ! " Quin flashed his eye, and replied, " What
would your lordship have me to be — a lord ? " The

E

50 CHARLES MACKLIN.

actor was fond of fine company, but proud of his pro-
fession nevertheless.

After he had retired to Bath, he twice returned to the
stage to play Falstaff for his old friend Ryan's benefit,
and his appearance on one of these occasions, on March
19, 1753, was the last time he ever trod the boards.
Next year, when Ryan asked him to play Falstaff again,
Quin had lost his front teeth, and wrote to Ryan —

" My dear Friend,

" There is no person on earth whom I wou'd
sooner serve than Ryan ; but, by God, I will whistle
Falstaff for no man."

It was soon after this that he gave Ryan ;!£'iooo,
saying he had left him that sum in his will, but Ryan
might cheat the Government of the legacy duty if he
liked. During his last years he was on terms of friendly
intimacy with Garrick, and spent some days every year
at his villa at Hampton. His last excursion was in 1765.
The next year he was suffering from an eruption which
appeared on his hand, which the doctors feared would
turn to mortification. Perhaps if he had been a more
obedient patient, things might have gone better with him ;
but anxiety and good living brought on a fever. The
day before he died he is said to have drunk a bottle
of claret, and expressed a wish that the last tragic scene
was over, and a hope that he should be able to go
through it with becoming dignity. He died in his own
house at Bath, on January 21, 1766, and was buried in
the Abbey Church. Garrick, his former rival, then his
friend, wrote the epitaph, which is engraved upon his
monument :

JAMES QUIN. SI

That tongue which set the table in a roar,

And charmed the public ear, is heard no more !

Closed are those eyes, the harbingers of wit,

Which spake before the tongue what Shakespeare writ :

Cold is that hand which, living, was stretched forth

At Friendship's call, to succour modest worth.

Here lies James Quin. — Deign, reader, to be taught,

Whate'er thy strength of body, force of thought ;

In Nature's happiest mould, however cast.

To this complexion thou must come at last."

CHARLES MACKLIN.

CHAPTER IV.

SHYLOCK (1741).

This year, 1741, was indeed a red-letter year in the
history of the English stage. Garrick was to make his
first appearance in London, at Goodman's Fields, on
October 19, as Richard III. ; and on February 14,
Macklin introduced Shylock to the public as a serious
character. The theatre in England has, perhaps, never
seen such golden days as those. The Licensing Act,
1737, was scarcely yet in force ; it had not, as yet, closed
the smaller theatres at Goodman's Fields and the Hay-
market, nor had it taken any very active part in destroy-
ing the freedom of contemporary authors. There was a
large and critical race of theatre-goers, who knew by long
experience a good actor from a bad. And already the
old conventional, strength-of-lung delivery, that had
found favour for so many years, was to give way to a
more natural art, in the introduction of which Macklin
may fairly be considered the forerunner of the greater
artist Garrick.

During the years preceding his performance of Shy-
lock, Macklin had grown a strong favourite with the
public. His Shakespearian parts had, however, been few
and unimportant. Poins in Henry IV., the Second
Gravedigger and Osric in Hamlet, a Sailor in The Tefnpest,
a Witch in Macbeth, a Citizen m Julius Ccesar, Sir Hugh

SHYLOCK . 53

Evans, Trinculo, and, in the beginning of 1741, Malvolio,
were the only Shakespearian characters he had attempted.
But he had been cast for many important comedy parts
in his years of apprenticeship in London. Mrs. Taylor,
John Taylor's mother, remembers him at this time as
" a smart-looking dark man, and a very sprightly actor,
even in juvenile parts, but hard in his manner and apt
to resort to his pauses." These pauses became very
famous in after-years. For the present, however, it is
sufficient to remember that he was rapidly coming to the
front, and adding popular parts to his repertory.

In 1737, he and his wife had played Peachura and
Mrs. Peachum, in the ever-popular Beggar's Opera, and
in the same year, he played Lord Froth in TAe Double
Dealer. In 1738, he "got another lift," to use his own
expression, when he played Jerry Blackacre in The Plain
Dealer, in which, as we have seen, he gained the applause
of the audience and earned the resentment of infallible
Pope Quin, by his manner of " throwing off a little."
The same year he played Lord Foppington in The Relapse,
the character of the same name in The Careless Husband,
Tattle in Love for Love, and Scrub in Farquhar's Beaux
Stratagem. Scrub is a capital low-comedy part, " simple,
yet cunning ; forward, though timid ; a tatler affecting
secresy, and a fool assuming wisdom." The fact that
he was allotted such characters as Jerry Blackacre and
Scrub, shows that Macklin was, as early as 1738, con-
sidered a low comedian of the front rank. Before 1739,
he also played Ben in Love for Love, and Trappanti in
She Would and She Would Not, " in which," says Cooke,
" though he wanted the flippancy with which it is now
generally played, he exhibited that low arch comedy and
intrigue which belong to the original." The next year
he played Marplot in Mrs. Centlivre's comedy, The Busy

54 CHARLES MACKLIN.

Body. His interpretation of this character must have
been especially successful, and is said to have excelled
that of Garrick, who, as Mr. Fox said of him, " could not
look foolish enough for the part," and soon relinquished it.
In the same season he played Gregory (the Mock
Doctor) in Fielding's version of Le Medecin Malgre Lui ;
and, in 1740, was cast for such important parts as Fondle-
wife in The Old Bachelor, Lovegold (the Miser) in
Fielding's version of L'Avare, and Sir Francis Wrong-
head in Gibber's adaptation of Vanbrugh's comedy, The
Provoked Husband. Of his performance of Lovegold,
Cooke writes, that it gained him a considerable part of
his early reputation, that he was to the last well received
in it, and that it was always one of the stock pieces with
which he engaged himself to perform in his articles with
town and country managers. Of his Sir Francis Wrong-
head, the same biographer says : " It was by far the best
of modern times, because Macklin could remember the
manners from which the original was composed. Fas-
tidious critics, it is true, sometimes said the portrait was
rather too coarse ; but they did not consider the differ-
ence of the times, when country gentlemen were almost
a distinct race of being from what they are now — their
manners, their dress, their ideas, and conversation, all
smelt of the honest plain sort they sprung from." Kirk-
man describes him in the same part in the words of a
" late excellent (but anonymous) critic," who says that
" Consequential stupidity sat well painted in his counte-
nance, and wrought laughable effects, without the paltry
resource of grimace ; where he affected to be very wise,
a laborious, emphatic slyness marked the endeavour
humorously 3 while the puzzles between political and
domestic concerns occasioned much food for merriment."
It would be a matter of surprise to us nowadays if a

SHYLOCK. 55

comedian of so pronounced a type should be cast for
Shylock. But when we consider the career of Shylock
from the time of Shakespeare to the year 1741, it will be
manifest that the present conception of the part was
undreamt of, and the fact that Macklin was allowed by
the manager to attempt it will not be very astonishing.
To understand the position of Shakespeare's Merchant of

Venice, it is necessary to say a few words about Lord
Lansdowne's adaptation of the play, which had super-
seded it.

George Granville, Viscount Lansdowne, was only
thirty-four years of age when he published The Jew of

Venice in 1701. The restoration of Shakespeare's plays
was at this date no uncommon pastime with men of
letters. But, by way of excuse for what we must now-
adays regard as acts of Vandalism, we may remember
that Rowe, the first serious editor of Shakespeare, did
not publish his edition of the plays until 1709, and it was
many years before they were approached with that spirit
of reverence to which we are accustomed to-day. The
lofty patronage extended to the unfortunate poet by
his aristocratic editor is well seen in George Granville's
Advertisement to the Reader.

"The foundation of the following Comedy," he writes,
"being liable to some objection, it may be wondered that
any one should make choice of it to bestow so much labour
upon ; But the judicious reader will observe so many Manly
and Moral Graces in the Characters and Sentiments, that he
may excuse the Story for the sake of the Ornamental parts.
Undertakings of this kind are justified by the Examples
of those Great Men, who have employed their Endeavours
in the same Way. The only dramatique Attempt of Mr.
Waller was of this Nature, in his Alteration of The Maid's
Tragedy ; To the Earl of Rochester we owe Valentinian ;
To the Duke of Buckingham, The Chance; Sir William

.S6 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

Davenantand Mr. Dryden united in restoring The Tetnpest;
Troilus and Cressida, Tiinon^ and King Lear, were the
works of the three succeeding Laureates," etc., etc.

The Jew of Venice was first performed by his Majesty's
servants at the theatre in Little Lincoln's Inn Fields in
1 701. Mr. Doggett was Shy lock; Mr. Betterton, Bas-
sanio; and Mrs. Bracegirdle, Portia. One Bevill Higgins
wrote a prologue, in the form of a rhymed duologue
between the ghosts of Shakespeare and Dryden. The
former, with a generous modesty not of this world, is
made to say of his mangled drama —

"These Scenes in their rough Nature Dress were mine.
But now improv'd with nobler Lustre shine ;
The first rude Sketches Shakspear' s pencil drew.
But all the shining Master-Stroaks are new."

But, however much we may prefer the rough nature of
the rude sketches to the improvements made upon them
by Lord Lansdowne's " Master-Stroaks," it must be
admitted that the play is not hacked about and spoiled
to so great an extent as in other cases ; nor can it be
said that the character of Shylock is materially altered
from an acting point of view. Lord Lansdowne's chief
modifications were to cut out the characters of Launcelot
and Old Gobbo, and to introduce a Masque of Peleus and
Thetis, during which Shylock, supping at a separate
table, drinks a toast to Money. These barefaced altera-
tions are modest in comparison with the butchering
that some of the plays have undergone, and Lord
Lansdowne leaves so much of the original Shylock, that
it is difficult to suppose his play suggested to the actor
a new reading of the character. Therefore, if Shylock
had been played as a serious part up to 1701, I find no
justification in Lord Lansdowne's alterations for making

SHY LOCK. 57

the part a comic one. Certainly his lordship did all in
his power to exalt Bassanio at the expense of Shylock, and
in omitting Tubal and Shylock's powerful transitions from
grief to joy upon receipt of Tubal's news, he cut away
one of Shylock's finest tragic scenes. It may be, then,
that, without intending to change the character of Shy-
lock, he forced the actor of the past to attempt a comic
or character interpretation of it, rather than allow it to
sink into utter insignificance. Little or nothing is known
of the earlier history of Shylock. Richard Burbadge,
who died in 1618, is said to have played the part in
a red wig, and posterity, jumping to a hasty and some-
what illogical conclusion, suggests that therefore he
played it as a comic character. Even admitting the fact
of the red wig, I am by no means inclined to accept the
inference. But the fact itself is very questionable. The
lines from the funeral elegy on Burbadge :

" The red-haired Jew
Which sought the bankrupt merchant's pound of flesh.
By woman lawyer caught in his own mesh,"

form the whole foundation of the red wig and comic
Shylock theory; and as these lines do not appear in
either of the contemporary manuscript copies, which are
printed verbatim in the Huth Library Catalogue, it is
more than probable that they were composed by Mr.
John Payne Collier. That Doggett made Lord Lans-
downe's Shylock a comic part, in 1701, seems probable.
Downes, forty years prompter at Lincoln's Inn Fields,
in his " Roscius Anglicanus," speaks of Doggett as " the
only Comick original now extant : witness Solon, Nikin,
the Jew of Venice," etc. More convincing is Rowe's
remark, which must, I think, refer to the same actor :
" Though we have seen the Merchant of Venice received

58 CHARLES MACKLIN.

and acted as a Comedy, and Shylock acted by an
excellent comedian, yet I cannot but think that the
character was tragically designed by the author." But
the actors had drifted far away from the author's inten-
tion, aided no doubt by Lord Lansdowne's version of
the play, and when Kitty Clive came to play Portia, we
know that she used to carry her contempt for the dignity
of the character so far, as to mimic the leading lawyers
of the day in her speeches in the Trial scene.

This, then, was the state of things, when Macklin
resolved to banish Lord Lansdowne and the comic Jew
of Venice from the stage, and restore Shakespeare and
Shylock in all the majesty of his cruel but human
nature. The attempt, on the part of a low comedian
like Macklin, to overrule the judgments of his pre-
decessors, was a peculiarly bold and hazardous enterprise.
It was the more so because, at this period, audiences
were composed of men who knew the theatre well, who
had fixed ideas about the way in which leading characters
should be performed, and were outspoken and decided
in their criticism. Sometimes, too, the noisier element of
the audiences of that day, would make the disapprobation
of the critical an excuse for riot and disorder. Macklin
often spoke of these audiences in after-life, and always
with respect and gratitude. " The audiences then," he
said, " had their different complexions likewise : no
indifferent or vulgar person scarcely ever frequented
the pit, and very few women. It was composed of
young Merchants of rising eminence. Barristers and
Students of the Inns of Court, who were mostly well
read in plays, and whose judgment was in general worth
attending to. We had few riots and disturbances, the
gravity and good sense of the pit not only kept the
house in order, but the players likewise. Look at your

SHYLOCK. 59

Prologues, sir, in those days, and in the times long before
them, and they all deprecate the judgment of the pit,
where the Critics lay in knots, and whose favourable
opinion was constantly courted." Macklin was loud
in his praises of the pit as it existed in his early days.
" Sir," he said to Taylor in after-days, " you then saw
no red cloaks, and heard no pattens in the pit, but you
saw merchants from the City with big-wigs, lawyers from
the Temple with big-wigs, and physicians from the coffee-
houses with big- wigs, and the whole exhibited such a
formidable grizzle as might well shake the nerves of
actors and authors." The reason of this was that the
life of that time was favourable to constant critical and
unchanging audiences. The City and West End of the
town kept equal distances. The merchant lived in the
City, and only when he had secured great fortune did
he dare to venture as far as Hatton Garden. The
lawyers lived in their Inns of Court or about West-
minster. The players lived near the theatre. Quin,
Booth, and Wilks lived almost all their lives in or about
Bow Street, Covent Garden ; Colley Cibber in Charles
Street ; Mrs. Pritchard in Craven Buildings, Drury Lane ;
Garrick, a great part of his life, in Southampton Street.
The smaller players lived or lodged in Little Russel
Street, Vinegar Yard, and the little courts about the
Garden. " I myself, sir," said the veteran, in detailing
these circumstances to his biographer Cooke, "lived
always about James Street, or under the Piazzas, so
that," he continued, " we could all be mustered by beat
of drum, could attend rehearsals without any incon-
venience, and save coach hire." Thus at the various
ordinaries around Covent Garden, where dinner could
be had at dd. or xs. a head, there was much drinking in
mixed company, the actors and their various critics

6o CHARLES MAC KLIN.

doubtless discussing the politics of the theatre, with the
same freedom and energy, with which clubmen of to-day
discuss the politics of the more universal stage.

Inside the theatre, the men who frequented the
ordinaries would seat themselves each according to his
station.

" None but people of independent fortunes and avowed
rank and situation, ever presumed to go into the boxes, and
all the lower parts of the house laid out in boxes were sacred
to virtue and decorum. No man sat covered in a box, or
stood up during the representation, but those in the last
row, where no one's prospect could be interrupted. The
women of the town who frequented the playhouses then
were few (except in the galleries), and those few occupied
two or three upper boxes at each side of the house. Their
stations were assigned them, and the men who chose to go
and badinage with them, did it at the peril of their character.
' No boots admitted in those days, Mr. Macklin — no box-
lobby loungers 1 ' ' No, sir ! ' exclaimed the veteran, ' neither
boots, spurs, nor Worses; we were too attentive to the cunning
of the scene to be interrupted, and no intrusion of this kind
would be endured. But, to do those days common justice,
the evil did not exist ; rakes and puppies found another vent
for their vices and follies, than the regions of a theatre.' "

It is not to be supposed that the prices of the different
seats kept people in any particular place. But con-
ventional respect for rank, and the knowledge that the
small coteries in pit or boxes would readily boycott any
rash intruder, probably made these distinctions practically
regulations of the theatre.

At this time tiie regulated prices of admission to the
theatre were as follows : — boxes, 4^. ; pit, 2s. 6d. ; first
gallery, \s, 6d. ; and second gallery, is. : but upon the
first run of a new play or pantomime, the boxes were
5J. ; the pit, 3^. ; the first gallery, 2s. ; and the second, is.

SHYLOCK. 6l

Mr. Fleetwood in 1744 took occasion to raise the prices
to the higher scale, on the production of an old panto-
mime which was revived without expense. This brought
about a violent opposition for several nights. Where-
upon the manager received a deputation from the pit
in the greenroom, and terms were arranged. The
advanced prices were to be constantly paid at the door,
but the advanced portion of the money was to be
returned to such persons as did not choose to sit out
the whole of the entertainment. It need hardly be said
that by this arrangement the astute manager practically
gained his way.

This, then, was Macklin's position, and the state of
the theatre at the time when he proposed to Fleetwood
that they should revive Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice,
which for so many years had been superseded by Lord
Lansdowne's adaptation. There is no means of knowing
it for certain, but it is very probable that Macklin had
for some time desired to play Shylock, and had long
considered the high dramatic possibilities of the part.
Certain it is that his enthusiasm overbore Fleetwood's
immediate objections, and the manager gave orders for
the play to be put in rehearsal.

As deputy manager, Macklin would have to allot the
parts to the various actors and actresses, and it must
have gone to his heart to set down Kitty Clive for
Portia. But the part belonged to her as of right, and
there was no help for it. The audiences were used to
her imitations of lawyers in the Trial scene, and were
so enamoured of her acting, that they would even
tolerate her in Ophelia and Desdemona. Kitty Clive,
" a better romp than ever I saw in nature," as her old
friend Dr. Johnson said, had established her reputation
ten years before this, in an opera by Coffey, entitled

62

CHARLES MACKLIN.

The Devil to Pay, For forty years as a country girl, a
hoyden, a chambermaid, or an old woman, she was
inimitable. Johnson was full of her praises. "What
Clive did best," he said, " she did better than Garrick."
But, with the accentuated feminine perversity with which
all true artists seemed to be endowed, what she did best
she liked least, and this " charming little devil " delighted
in nothing so much as to play Ophelia or Desdemona,
though her performances in these parts can have been
little better than burlesques. Mr. Quin was, of course,
marked out for Antonio, and the rest of the cast was
not difficult to set out, with the exception of such
characters as Tubal and the Gobbos, which had been
lost to the stage for some forty years, and about which
there could be no stage traditions. The cast as a whole
stood thus :

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

Men.

Anthonio *

Bassanio

Gratiano

Shylock

Launcelot

GOBBO

Salerio *

morochius*.

Lorenzo

Prince of Arragon

Duke OF Venice ...

Tubal

Salarino

Mr. Quin.

„ Milward.

„ Mills.

„ Macklin.

„ Chapman.

„ Johnson.

„ Berry.

„ Cashell.

„ Havard.

„ Turbutt.

„ Wins tone.

„ Taswell.

,, Ridout.

* The spelling of the names follows Kirkman, who probably
copied his Dramatis Personse from a programme of the performance.

SHYLOCK. 63

Women.

Portia Mrs. Clive.

Nerissa „ Pritchard.

Jessica „ Woodman.

The play having been cast, Macklin ordered frequent
rehearsals, and doubtless intimated to Fleetwood and
some of the actors, his intention of playing Shylock as
a serious character, though it is said that in actual
rehearsal, he merely repeated his lines, and walked
through his part without a single look or gesture, and
without discovering the business which he had marked
out for himself in his interpretation of the Jew. His
friends shook their heads at his conceit; his enemies
either laughed at him, or flattered him with hopes of his
success the surer to. work his destruction. Quin bluntly
told him he would be hissed off the stage for his pre-
sumption, and many of the actors went about complaining
"that the hot-headed, conceited Irishman, who had got
some little reputation in a few parts, had now availed
himself of the manager's favour to bring himself and
the theatre into disgrace." Fleetwood at last got nervous,
and begged that he would relinquish the idea, pointing
out that he was flying in the face of an authority like
Lord Lansdowne, and that the public had testified their
admiration of the noble lord's play. Macklin, however,
stuck to his guns. He had probably learned by this
time, that it was his endeavour after natural acting that
had won him public favour, and he was clear in his own
mind that Lord Lansdowne's comic Jew of Venice was
not even a poor relation of Shakespeare's Shylock.

The 14th of February was fixed for the performance,
and, some faint echo of the greenroom discussions spread-
ing among the neighbouring coffee-houses, the frequenters
of the theatre looked forward with considerable interest

64 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

to the production of the play. The story of the course
of his triumph is best told in Macklin's own words, as
he remembered it in days to come, when he used to
fight his battles over again in the snug corner of some
Covent Garden coffee-house. It is taken from his
biography by Cooke, who was often one of Macklin's
audience in the last year of the actor's life.

" ' The long-expected night at last arrived, and the house
was crowded from top to bottom with the first company in
town. The two front rows of the pit as usual were full of
critics, who, sir,' said the veteran, * I eyed through the slit of
curtain, and was glad to see them, as I wished in such a
cause to be tried by a special jury. When I made my
appearance in the greenroom, dressed for the part, with my
red hat on my head, my piqued beard, loose black gown, etc.,
and with a confidence which I never before assumed, the per-
formers all stared at one another, and evidently with a stare
of disappointment. Well, sir, hitherto all was right till the
last bell rung ; then, I confess, my heart began to beat a little.
However, I mustered up all the courage I could, and, recom-
mending my cause to Providence, threw myself boldly on
the stage, and was received by one of the loudest thunders of
applause I ever before experienced.

'"The opening scenes being rather tame and level, I could
not expect much applause, but I found myself well listened
to. I could hear distinctly in the pit the words "Very well —
very well indeed ! This man seems to know what he is
about," etc., etc. These encomiums warmed me, but did not
overset me. I knew where I should have the pull, which
was in the third act, and reserved myself accordingly. At
this period I threw out all my fire, and, as the contrasted
passions of joy for the merchant's losses, and grief for the
elopement of Jessica, open a fine field for an actor's powers,
I had the good fortune to please beyond my warmest expec-
tations. The whole house was in an uproar of applause, and
I was obliged to pause between the speeches to give it vent,
so as to be heard. When I went behind the scenes after

SHYLOCK. 65

this act, the manager met me and complimented me very
highly on my performance, and significantly added, " Macklin,
you was right at last." My brethren in the greenroom joined
in this eulogium, but with different views. He was thinking
of the increase of his treasury ; they, only for saving appear-
ances, wishing at the same time that I had broke my neck
in the attempt. The trial scene wound up the fulness of my
reputation. Here I was well listened to ; and here I made
such a silent yet forcible impression on my audience, that I
retired from this great attempt most perfectly satisfied. On
my return to the greenroom after the play was over, it was
crowded with nobility and critics, who all complimented me
in the warmest and most unbounded manner, and the situa-
tion I felt myself in, I must confess, was one of the most
flattering and intoxicating of my whole life. No money, no
title could purchase what I felt. And let no man tell me
after this what Fame will not inspire a man to do, and how
far the attainment of it will not remunerate his greatest
labours. By G — d, sir, though I was not worth ;^5o in the
world at that time, yet, let me tell you, I was Charles the
Great for that night.'

"A few days afterwards, Macklin received an invitation
from Lord Bolingbroke to dine with him at Battersea, He
attended the rendezvous, and there found Pope and a select
party, who complimented him very highly on the part of
Shylock, and questioned him about many little particulars
relative to his getting up the play, etc. Pope particularly
asked him why he wore a r^^hat. And he answered, because
he had read that Jews in Italy — particularly in Venice — wore
hats of that colour. 'And pray, Mr., Macklin,' said Pope, *do
players in general take such pains ? ' ' I do not know, sir,
that they do ; but, as I had staked my reputation on the
character, I was determined to spare no trouble in getting
at the best information.' Pope nodded, and said it was very
laudable."

This last story is probably apocryphal, for, although
Macklin did wear a red hat as part of Shylock's costume,
he cannot have told Bolingbroke so at Battersea, as he

F

66 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

was then living in retirement at Fontainebleau. In the
same way, the well-known epigram or epitaph attributed
to Pope may or may not have been uttered by him.
But it is not impossible that Pope witnessed his perform-
ance, and if he did, any inventive wit, who was really the
author of the couplet, did well to father it upon the poet,
for Pope was an authority in the world, and the world
would like to know that he too agreed with the public
estimate of Macklin's performance. Certainly it was a
magnificent success, and Macklin had done a great work.
He had restored prosperity to the management, estab-
lished his own reputation as an actor, revived and
rescued from oblivion a great Shakespearian play, and by
his manifestation of natural acting, done much to pre-
pare the audience for the coming of Garrick. For the
moment the play was the rage of the town. It ran for
no less than twenty-one nights, and on the nineteenth,
when Macklin took a benefit, he received handsome pre-
sents of money from the noblemen who patronized the
drama. But the applause and just praises of the critics
were far dearer to his heart than these gifts of money ;
and for nearly fifty years, whenever he appeared in Eng-
land or Ireland in this character, he was sure of the
hearty welcome of his audience.

The theatrical portraits of a somewhat later date
represent Macklin, in the character of Shylock, with a
scowling countenance, the lines of his face, naturally
harsh, accentuated by art, and wearing a short wispy-
pointed beard, which adds eflfectively to the grasping,
repulsive horror of his appearance.* Every one who saw
him in this character was greatly moved by the terrible
nature of the performance, and many critics have left us

* The portrait by Zoffany, now in the National Gallery at Dublin,
bears out this description.

SHYLOCK. 67

their recollections of its effect. John Bernard, in his
" Retrospections," considers it a chef (Tceuvre that must
be classed with the Lear of Garrick, the Falstaff of
Henderson, the Pertinax of Cooke, and the Coriolanus
of John Kemble. " I have seen many actors," he adds,
"who surpassed him in passages, but none that sustained
the character throughout, and presented on the whole
such a bold and original portrait of the Jew. His suc-
cess is generally referred to his having been the original
on its revival. This is partly true ; but in any age he
must have produced the same eflfect, for he possessed
by nature certain physical advantages which qualified
him to embody Shylock, and which, combined with his
peculiar genius, constituted a performance which was
never imitated in his own day, and cannot be described
in this."

The Dramatic Censor, who was no other than Francis
Gentleman, said that Mr. Macklin, in Shylock, "looks
the part as much better than any other person as he
plays it. In the level scenes his voice is most happily
suited to that sententious gloominess of expression the
author intended, which with a sullen solemnity of deport-
ment marks the character strongly. In his malevolence
there is a forcible and terrifying ferocity. In the third-
act scene, where alternate passions reign, he breaks the
tones of utterance, and varies his countenance admirably,
and in the dumb action of the Trial scene he is amazingly
descriptive."

An amusing proof of the terrific effect of Macklin's
interpretation of Shylock upon the average mind of the
day, is recorded in the following story as told by Ber-
nard : " When he had established his fame in that cha-
racter, George II. went to see him, and the impression
he received was so powerful that it deprived him of rest

m CHARLES MACKLIN.

throughout the night. In the morning, the Premier, Sir
Robert Walpole, waited on the king, to express his fears
that the Commons would oppose a certain measure then
in contemplation. * I wish, your Majesty,' said Sir
Robert, * it was possible to find a recipe for frightening
a House of Commons.' * What do you think,' replied
the king, ' of sending them to the theatre to see that
Irishman play Shylock ? ' "

Whether the king's hint was taken or not, I cannot
say, but the jest helps us to realize how novel and
striking in that day was this interpretation of a terrible
and terrifying Jew. All who saw him were impressed
with awe and admiration at his acting, and the epigram-
matist, whether Pope or another, set down the popular
verdict quite satisfactorily, in the seven words of the
well-worn couplet —

" This is the Jew
That Shakespeare drew."

{ 69 )

CHAPTER V.

AN actor's strike (1743).

A FEW months after Macklin's extraordinary success as
Shylock, Garrick made his debut at Goodman Fields.
Macklin and he were old acquaintances, or rather
friends, Macklin delighting so greatly in his vein of
pleasantry and rich humour that he used to say, from
the commencement of their acquaintance until the year
1743, they were scarcely two days asunder. In their
views of acting there must have been much in common
between these two men. Macklin was the precursor of
Garrick in trenching on the prescribed and conventional
dignity of theatrical enunciation. But the natural style
of acting that Macklin had struggled for many weary
years to introduce, Garrick established the moment he
placed his foot upon the stage, banishing thenceforth
and for ever Quin and his mechanism and convention.
What Macaulay did for the so-called " dignity of history,"
Macklin and Garrick did for the " dignity of theatrical
enunciation," and from that time to the present day,
natural acting, meaning thereby, not the dragging down
ideal character to the vulgar level, but a representation
of ideal character with such truthfulness that it affects
the audience as real, has been the standard of perfection
upon the English stage.

Years after their disputes and quarrels, Macklin.

70 CHARLES MACKLIN.

would recall the pleasure with which he had witnessed
that first performance of Richard III. at Goodman's
Fields on October 19, 1741. " It was amazing," he
used to say, " how, without any example, but, on the
contrary, with great prejudices against him, he could
throw such spirit and novelty into the part, as to convince
every impartial person, on the very first impression, that
he was right. In short, sir, he at once directed the
public taste, and, though the players formed the cabal
against him with Quin at their head, it was a puff to
thunder. The east and west end of the town made head
against them ; and the little fellow, in this and about
half a dozen subsequent characters, secured his own
immortality."

In the spring of 1742, Garrick made an engagement
with Fleetwood, and came to Drury Lane, where he
played King Lear for the first time. Late in the same
year the management applied to Fielding for a play,
and he, harassed by the illness of his wife, gave them
the Wedding Day, which he had written about a dozen
years back, and was now in no humour to revise. This
was produced February 17, 1743, but even Garrick's
energy and prestige could not make the play go down,
though he was supported by Macklin and his wife, Peg
Woffington, and Mrs. Pritchard. Perhaps the best thing
about the Wedding Day is the prologue, which Mr.
Austin Dobson thinks was written by Macklin himself.

Mr. Frederick Lawrence attributes the prologue to
Fielding, in spite of the fact that in the Miscellanies it is
headed " Writ and Spoken by Mr. Macklin." It is by
no means certain that Mr. Lawrence is not correct in his
belief that the doggerel was the work of Fielding himself,
and in Arthur Murphy's edition of Fielding's works,
there is no hint of Macklin's supposed authorship of

AN ACTOR? S STRIKE. 71

the prologue, which is simply headed " Spoken by Mr.
Macklin." The piece seems too witty and clever a
doggerel to have been the unaided work of Macklin,
and it is at least curious that Kirkman, a great hero-
worshipper, does not attribute it to him. In any event,
it is worth quoting at length, as a good specimen of
eighteenth-century prologues, and one can imagine that,
whether or not; Macklin had written the piece, he was,
of all actors, the man to give it adequate and conspicuous
point, and it was manifestly written by one who thoroughly
understood his peculiarities and his then position on the
stage.

THE PROLOGUE.

{Spoken by Mr. Macklin)

"Gentlemen and Ladies,
" We must beg your indulgence, and humbly hope you'll not

be offended,
At an accident that has happened to-night, which was not in

the least intended,
I assure you : if you please, your money shall be returned.

But Mr. Garrick to-day.
Who performs a principal character in the play.
Unfortunately has sent word, ' 'Twill be impossible, having so

long a part.
To speak to the Prologue : ' he hasn't had time to get it by

heart.
I have been with the author, to know what's to be done,
' For, till the Prologue's spoke, sir,' says I, ' we can't go on.'
' Pshaw ! rot the Prologue ! ' says he ; ' then begin with-
out it.'
I told him 'twas impossible, you'd make such a rout

about it ;
' Besides, 'twould be quite unprecedented, and I dare say,
Such an attempt, sir, would make them damn the play.'
' Ha ! damn my play ! ' the frighted bard replies,

72 CHARLES MACKLIN.

' Dear Macklin, you must go on, then, and apologize.'
' Apologize ! not I ; pray, sir, excuse me.'

* Zounds ! something must be done ! pr'ythee, don't refuse

me ;
Pr'ythee go on ; tell them, to damn my play will be a

damned hard case.
Come, do ; you've a good long, dismal, mercy-begging face.'
' Sir, your humble servant ; you're very merry.' ' Yes,' says

he ; ' I've been drinking
To raise my spirits ; for, by Jupiter ! I found 'em sinking.'
So away he went to see the play ; oh, there he sits ;
Smoke him, smoke the author, you laughing crits.
Isn't he finely situated for a damning Oh — oh ! a — a shrill

Whihee ! Oh, direful yell !
As Falstaff says, ' Would it were bedtime, Hal, and all were

well!'
What think you now ? Whose face looks worst, yours or

mine ?
Ah ! thou foolish follower of the ragged Nine.
You'd better stuck to honest Abraham Adams, by half :
He, in spite of critics, can make your readers laugh.
But to the Prologue. What shall I say? Why, faith in my

sense,
I take plain truth to be the best defence.
I think, then, it was horrid stuff ; and in my humble appre-
hension.
Had it been spoke, not worthy your attention.
I'll give you a sample if I can recollect it.
Hip ! take courage ; never fear, man ; don't be dejected.
Poor devil ! he can't stand it ; he has drawn in his head ;
I reckon before the play's done, he'll be half dead.
But to the Prologue. It began —

* To-night the comic Author of to-day,
Has writ a — a — a something about a play.

And as the bee — the bee (that he brings by way of simile) —

the bee which roves,
Through — through ' Pshaw ! pox on my memory ! Oh,

'through fields and groves,
So comic poets in fair London town

AN ACTOR'S STRIKE. 73

To cull the flowers of characters wander up and down.'
Then there was a good deal' about Rome, Athens, and

dramatic rules,
And characters of knaves and courtiers, authors and fools ;
And a vast deal about critics, and good nature, and the

poor author's fear ;
And I think there was something about a third night, hoping

to see you here.
'Twas all such stuff as this not worth repeating.
In the old prologue cant ; and then at last concludes, thus

kindly greeting :
To you, the critic jury of the pit.
Our culprit author does his cause submit ;
With justice, nay, with candour judge his wit ;
Give him, at least a patient, quiet hearing.
If guilty, damn him ; if not guilty, clear him."

These last lines seem to me altogether outside
Macklin's scope as an author, and the origin of the
suggestion that he wrote as well as spoke the prologue,
may have arisen from the fact that it was in some sort
a joint production.

The play, however, did nothing for the treasury, and
Fleetwood, to the disgust and indignation- of the actors,
turned to his friends of Hockley-in-the-Hole and Sadler's
Wells, to furnish entertainment upon the classic boards
of Drury Lane. Mr. Fleetwood's career seems to have
been one of linked dissipation and degradation long
drawn out. He had wasted his patrimony, wearied the
aristocratic acquaintances who had allowed him to share
their vices while he had money to lose, and now he was
to be found among the pugilists, tumblers, and rope-
dancers of Hockley-in-the-Hole. He continued to borrow
money at an extravagant rate ; he farmed out the theatre
to an ignorant and narrow-minded man named Pierson j
the properties and dresses were more often in the hands

74 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

of the bailiff than in the possession of the manager ; the
actors' salaries were in arrears ; and the players themselves
displaced for the mummers of Sadler's Wells.

In these circumstances, the principal actors met and
consulted -about their grievances, sending from time to
time deputations to the patentee. These were received
by Fleetwood with smiles, courtesy, and promises of amend-
ment ; but no amendment came, and, in the summer of
1743, the players met in Mr. Garrick's rooms to agree
upon a plan of campaign. About a dozen of the actors
assembled, the chief of whom were Garrick, Macklin,
Howard, Berry, Blakes, Mrs. Pritchard, and Mrs. CUve,
with Mills and his wife. A formal agreement was
proposed by Garrick, the effect of which was that they
should all secede from Drury Lane, and that no one
should accept of any terms from the patentee without
the consent of all the seceders. Garrick at this time
entertained hopes, which he laid before the assembled
actors, that the Duke of Grafton, then Lord Chamberlain,
would, upon representation of the ill-treatment they had
undergone at Fleetwood's hands, be inclined to allow
them to set up for themselves at the Opera House or
elsewhere. Macklin at first objected to this agreement,
and urged that they should go to the manager once
more, and tell him what they intended to do if their just
demands were not complied with. Doubtless he remem-
bered the intimate terms on which he had hved with
Fleetwood, and was loth to break with him openly after
having acted for so long as his deputy and adviser. But
whatever his scruples may have been, they were over-
ruled, and a formal agreement in the terms of Garrick's
proposals was drawn up, and signed by all the actors.
The next step was to prepare a petition for the Lord
Chamberlain setting forth their grievances. This, with

AN ACTOR'S STRIKE. 1%

the facts duly attested by affidavit, was laid before the
Duke of Grafton, but his Grace turned a deaf ear to the
actors' petition. For one thing, he did not understand
what the grievances of these men were. He cross-
examined Garrick as to the amount of his salary, and, on
learning that it was ;^5oo a year, lifted up his hands in
amazement. " And this you think too little ; whilst I
have a son, who is heir to my title and estate, venturing
his life daily for his king and country at much less than
half that sum ! " A Lord Chamberlain of this kind
was not likely to prove of much assistance to actors
with grievances, and their petition was not unnaturally
rejected.

Meanwhile the manager was not idle. Paul White-
head, who, as we have seen, had a deep personal interest
in Fleetwood's welfare, drew his pen for the manager,
and William Guthrie, the historian, replied on behalf
of the actors. Fleetwood himself, rejoicing doubtless
at the snub the actors had received from the Duke of
Grafton, gathered together some sort of company from
the highways and by*-ways, and opened the theatre on
September 13, with The Conscious Lovers, Mrs. Bennet,
a useful actress, leaving the seceders to play the chief
part. The public were kind to the manager in distress,
and the performance, though bad, passed off with partial
approbation.

When the actors saw how things were tending, they
became as eager for a reconciliation as they had been
for a strike. Garrick, who, with all his genius, was
naturally somewhat mean and selfish in disposition, set
at nought the solemn agreement that he had entered
into with his fellow-actors, went privately to Fleetwood,
and sold the little garrison of players, whom he had led
to destruction, for a substantial rise in his own salary.

76 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

The actors then surrendered, with the exception of
Macklin, on Fleetwood's own terms. Garrick's salary
was raised to six or seven hundred pounds ; several of
his friends were taken back at the annual stipends they
had formerly received ; the smaller fry, rather than starve,
came back on any terms they could obtain; and Mr.
Macklin, who alone had stood out against the strike,
was doomed by Fleetwood to perpetual banishment
from the very theatre he had raised to a condition of
prosperity. This is the account of the matter which
Macklin and his friends give, and it is probably more
or less accurate. The fact is undisputed that the manager
beat the strike, and Garrick and the other actors gave
in. Garrick's friends have endeavoured to palliate his
conduct towards Macklin, who, with characteristic
obstinacy, was for fighting the thing out to the bitter
end. But these excuses are not very worthy, nor is
there any reason to suppose that Fleetwood's resentment
might not have been overcome, if Garrick had cared
as much for the honour of his word as he did for the
extra hundreds to be added to his salary.

Macklin was not the kind of man to sit down, under
an injury of this kind, in a meek and patient spirit. He
created a party against the manager and his principal
actor, and, as was the fashion of the day, pamphlets,
the ready weapons of partisans, displayed the venom of
the opposing parties to an eager and admiring public.
Garrick offered Macklin an allowance out of his own
salary, and obtained a promise of an engagement for
Mrs. Macklin from Mr. Rich; but these offers were
really only added insults, looking to the position in
which Macklin was placed, and were probably proposals
framed only to be refused, and to throw dust in the
eyes of the public. Macklin was a militant spirit, and

AN ACTOR'S STRIKE. 77

I dare say got a certain amount of pleasure out of a
struggle of this kind, where his position was a strong
one, and for a time his friends rallied round him with
eager zeal. Dr. Barrowby, a noted critic and frequenter
of the pit, headed his party, and they determined that,
come what might, Garrick should be driven from the
stage.

Dr. Barrowby was a physician of some intelligence,
but his rage for the theatre and things theatrical, his
love of wine and good company, and, above all, his own
wild imprudent humour, had done much to destroy his
general practice. At this time he had deserted Batson's
and Warwick Lane, for the purlieus of Covent Garden,
and his patients were almost entirely the performers of
the theatres and their connections. There are many
wild stories of this remarkable man, but his characteristic
reply to a Jew acquaintance, who asked him " how he
could eat pork with such a gout ? " well expresses the
recklessness of his humour. " Because I like it ! " he
replied ; " and all I'm sorry for is that I was not born
a Jew, for then I should have the pleasure of eating
pork-chops and sinning at the same time ! " A man
thoughtless, in speech, of what was wise for himself or
owing to others, a man full of biting wit and rash
humour, — this was the kind of general that headed
Macklin's forces in his struggle with Garrick and the
manager.

Garrick's appearance was announced in The Rehearsal,
and both parties prepared for warfare. Fleetwood, who
" trusted more to the arm of flesh than the ablest defence
of the greatest writer, was now determined to try the
courage of his friends of Hockley-in-the-Hole. They
and their associates were distributed in great plenty in
the pit and galleries, armed with sticks and bludgeons,

78 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

with positive orders from their commanding officers to
check the zeal of Macklin's friends by the weightiest
arguments in their power."

" As soon as Mr. Garrick entered," continues Davies,
" he bowed very low several times, and with the most
submissive action entreated to be heard. He was
saluted with loud hisses, and continual cries of ' Off !
off ! off ! '" Peas were thrown upon the stage to render
walking on it insecure and dangerous. During the first
night of this struggle for victory, nothing was heard but
hisses, groans, cat-calls, and all manner of uncommon
and outrageous clamour and uproar. All Mr. Garrick's
attempts to pacify the audience were rejected with out-
rage, Garrick himself standing at the back of the stage,
out of the way of the rotten eggs and apples, which flew
from all sides of the house across the footUghts.

This theatrical tempest lasted for two nights, and
then the manager triumphed. Macklin's friends grew
tired of rioting, the eagerness to see Garrick play pre-
vailed, and Macklin was beaten. Even Dr. Barrowby
saw that the game was hopeless, and told Macklin that
" a continuance of these riots would not only shut him
out of Drury Lane Theatre for ever, but perhaps shut
him up in a. prison, which was much worse." The riots
had failed to drive Garrick from the stage, and the fight
between Macklin and his enemies sputtered on in the
casual interchange of pamphlets, until the public, and
even the parties themselves, grew tired of the dispute.

But Macklin, though expelled from Drury Lane, did
not waste his time in idle lamentations, but set to work
to realize an idea that he had been considering for some
time. Mr. Thomas Davies, in his life of Garrick, speaks
of Macklin as " the only player I ever heard of that
made acting a science." Macklin seems, indeed, to have

AN ACTOR'S STRIKE. 79

been the first actor who set himself seriously to consider
the nature of the character he had to represent, and then
applied his wide knowledge of the technical means of
representation to the interpretation of that character.
A man of this kind, a master of technique, who at the
same time had sufficiently lofty ideals to prevent him
becoming a slave to convention, was eminently fitted
to take a position in the theatrical world as a professor
of acting, a position in which he deserved the support of
all friends of the drama.

No sooner was he expelled from Drury Lane, than he
set to work to surround himself with raw recruits, most
of them wholly unacquainted with the business of an
actor. This ragged contingent he drilled and lectured
on the practice and theory of acting, and with a company
formed from such material he commenced manager, and
was enabled to open the Haymarket Theatre on the
6th of February, 1744. The Licensing Act prevented
him taking money at the doors, but the public were
admitted by '' tickets delivered by Mr. Macklin ; " and
by advertising and beginning with a concert, the pro-
visions of the Act were sufficiently evaded. The little
company had no mock modesty about it. Othello was
the play chosen, with MackUn as lago, and " a gentle-
man," afterwards known as Samuel Foote, as Othello.
This was Foote's first appearance on the stage ; and Mr.
(afterwards Dr.) Hill also made his first appearance as
Lodovico.

This latter gentleman seems to have been the only
person who regarded the experiment as a success. In
a little volume, entitled "The Actor," published in
1750, and a sequel .published in 1755, he makes many
allusions to Macklin and his Haymarket company. No
doubt Macklin did great things, considering the difficulties

8o CHARLES MAC KLIN.

he had to contend with, and many of his actors owed
him a great deal. A man named Yorke, who played
the small part of Montano, spoke his few lines with so
much propriety of effect, that the managers engaged him
from that one performance. He had better perhaps
have remained where he was, for his merit was due to
education rather than genius. Macklin had raised him
from a scene-shifter to a very capable Montano, but he
could not climb further by his own unaided ambition.
He tried loftier parts, for which he was wholly unfitted,
and never gained any more applause. Dr. Hill has
written his epitaph in the following histrionic morality :
"It is better to be applauded in a livery than laughed
at in embroidery."

The general verdict on Foote's Othello was that it
was a failure ; but Dr. Hill says that, " tho' not without
faults, yet perhaps it had more beauties than have been
seen in it since. He owed much of the peculiar manner
in which he spoke many of the more pathetic speeches
in this character, to the instruction of Mr. Macklin, who
was then labouring at a scheme which our greatest players
have since very judiciously given in to, though they have
not very gratefully acknowledged to whom they owed it ;
we mean, that of bringing playing nearer to nature than
it used to be."

Macklin's lago had perhaps some academic virtues.
For the first time, says Dr. Hill, he gave the speech
beginning —

" If I can fasten but one cup upon him,"

in which he sets forth his plot against Cassio, " plainly
and without ornament;" though formerly it had been
the subject of " a world of unnatural contortion of face,
and absurd by-play." In this innovation he was fol-

AN ACTORS STRIKE. 8i

lowed by Garrick, who also recognized that there had
been a tendency to overdo lago, and make too much
capital out of his villainy.

There is a very pleasant picture of Macklin instructing
his pupils in John O'Keeffe's "Recollections;" and,
although it is of a later date than this, the incidents
happening about 1765, it is probably more in place here
than anywhere else. Macklin's pupils, Miss Ambrose
and Mr. Glenville, came for instruction to his house in
Dublin, in Dorset Street, far on as you go to Drum-
condra ; next to his house was a nunnery.

" In Macklin's garden there were three long parallel walks,
and his method of exercising their voices was thus : his two
young pupils with back-boards (such as they use in boarding
schools) walked firmly, slow, and well up and down the two
sidewalks; Macklin himself paraded the centre walk. At the
end of every twelve paces he made them stop ; and, turning
gracefully, the young actor called out across the walk, ' How
do you do. Miss Ambrose ? ' She answered, ' Very well, I
thank you, Mr. Glenville !' They then took a few more
paces, and the next question was, ' Do you not think it a
very fine day, Mr. Glenville?' 'A very fine day indeed,
Miss Ambrose ! ' was the answer. Their walk continued ;
and then, ' How do you do, Mr. Glenville?' ' Pretty well,
I thank you, Miss Ambrose ! ' And this exercise continued
for an hour or so (Macklin still keeping in the centre walk),
in the full hearing of their religious next-door neighbours.
Such was Macklin's method of training the management of
the voice ; if too high, too low, a wrong accent, or a faulty
inflection, he immediately noticed it, and made them repeat
the words twenty times till all was right. Soon after this
Mr. Glenville played Antonio to his Shylock, in the Merchant
of Venice J and Miss Ambrose, Charlotte, in his own Loved-
la-Mode."

Dr. Hill, writing of Macklin's educational efforts in
1744, speaks of them in strong praise. He refers to the

G

82 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

olden days, when " the gestures were forced, and beyond
all that ever was in nature ; and the recitation was a
kind of singing." The abolition of these deadening
conventionalities he attributes in great measure to
Macklin, who certainly did much to destroy the tragedy
recitative. " It was his manner," writes Dr. Hill, " to
check all the cant and cadence of tragedy. He would
bid his pupil first speak the passage as he would in
common life, if he had occasion to pronounce the same
words ; and then giving them more force, but preserving
the same accent, to deliver them on the stage." This,
we take it, means that he insisted on the nature and
character of the phrase being first ascertained, and then
taught his pupil how to retain that, while he recited his
phrase with due attention to the requirements of a theatre.
There is no reason to suppose that Macklin threw aside
convention, in so far as it is necessary for theatrical
expression, but he was living in a time of a somewhat
deadening orthodoxy, and this he did much to destroy.
Although this early experiment of Macklin soon came to
an end, he constantly, in after-Hfe, schooled young
actors for the stage — Sam Foote, Spranger Barry, Mack-
lin's own daughter, Taswell (a famous Dogberry, known
to stage students as the author of the Deviliad), and a
hundred other more or less famous actors, belong to the
MackUn school, and owe their success in a great measure
to his tuition.

It is almost to be regretted that his first school came
to so rapid a conclusion. But the public were eager to
see him at Drury Lane. Fleetwood, the bankrupt
manager, had fled the country in debt and disgrace ; his
share in the theatre had been sold to two bankers named
Green and Amber ; and Mr. James Lacy, assistant-
manager to Mr. Rich of Covent Garden, had been

AN ACTOR'S STRIKE. 83

allowed a thiid share, on condition that he managed
the theatre until the debts should be discharged. Mr.
Garrick, too, was going over to Dublin, to enter into
partnership with Sheridan, so that there was no obstacle
to the return of Macklin. On December 19, 1744, he
reappeared at Drury Lane, in the Merchant of Venice,
speaking the following prologue, which, Kirkman says,
was written by the Rev. Mr. Dunkin. Whether this is
so, or, as others say, he wrote it himself, matters little.
It was spoken by Macklin to a crowded house, who con-
stantly interrupted him with plaudits and acclamation,
and it shows us to-day the strong personal interest that
the audiences of that time took in the politics of the
stage, and the fortunes of their favourite players.

THE PROLOGUE.

" From scheming, fretting, famine, and despair.
Behold, to grace restored, an exil'd player ;
Your sanction yet his fortune must complete.
And give him privilege to laugh and — eat.
No revolution plots are mine again ;
You see, thank Heaven ! the quietest of men :
I pray, that all domestic feuds may cease ;
And, beggar'd by the war, solicit peace.
When urged by wrongs, and prompted to rebel,
I fought for freedom, and for freedom fell.
What could support me in the sevenfold flame ?
I was no Shadrac, and no angel came.
Once warn'd, I meddle not with State affairs,
But play my part, retire, and say my prayers.
Let nobler spirits plan the vast design ;
Our greenroom swarms with longer heads than mine.
I take no part ; no private jars foment.
But hasten from disputes I can't prevent :

84 CHARLES MACKLIN.

Attack no rival brother's fame or ease,

And raise no struggles — but who most shall please.

United in ourselves, by you approv'd,

'Tis ours to make the slighted muse belov'd ;

So may the Stage again its use impart,

And ripen Virtue as it warms the heart.

May Discord, with her horrid trump retreat,

Nor drive the frighted beauty from her seat ;

May no contending parties strive for sway.

But Judgment govern, and the Stage obey."

{ 85 )

CHAPTER VI.

THE BRITISH INQUISITION (1754).

The ten years of Macklin's life that followed his return
to Drury Lane in 1744 were comparatively uneventful.
Garrick and Spranger Barry were the great favourites of
the public, and, though Macklin held a very respectable
position in popular estimation, it cannot be said for a
moment, that he was, during this period, regarded as
the rival or equal of little Davy. Barry, who had
already appeared in Dublin as Othello, came to England
in 1746, and was engaged by Lacy to play the Moor with
Macklin as lago. His debut on the English stage, on
October 4 of this year^ was a considerable success. On
arriving in England, he had placed himself very wisely in
Macklin's hands, and accepted him as his theatrical
guide, philosopher, and friend. Before he made his
first appearance at Drury Lane, he used to be seen in
company with Macklin, walking in St. James's Park sind
other places of public resort ; and, his manly, noble ap-
pearance attracting the attention of the loungers, Macklin
informed them, in answer to their inquiries, that his
friend was an Irish nobleman — to wit, the Earl of
Munster. This gave the public a somewhat factitious
interest in his appearance on the stage, as the knowing
ones whispered about the theatre that the debutant was
a well-known Irish peer ; but Barry wanted no advertise-

86 CHARLES MACKLIN.

ment of this sort, and the discovery of the jest in no
way diminished the public interest in his performances.

The Rebellion of 1745 was the ruin of Messrs. Green
and Amber, the new patentees, and the theatre was,
throughout the year, almost wholly deserted. Macklin,
making his first attempt as an author, produced his
tragedy oi Henry VII.; or, the Popish Impostor in 1746.
In the same year he wrote a farce, entitled The Suspicious
Husband ; or, the Plague of Envy, by way of criticism
on Dr. Hoadley's comedy, The Suspicious Husband. Of
these dramatic ventures we shall speak more fully when
we come to treat of Macklin as an author. Messrs. Green
and Amber becoming insolvent in 1 747, the theatre passed
into the hands of Mr. Lacy and Mr. Garrick, and several
of the most notable players, including Mr. and Mrs.
Macklin, signed articles with the new patentees. On
September 15 of this year the theatre was opened under
the new management, Garrick speaking Dr. Johnson's
well-known prologue ; and at last Drury Lane was under
the direction of men who were both eager and able to do
their best for the highest interests of the stage.

It was probably at this time — though Cooke places it
at an earlier date — that Garrick, Macklin, and Mrs.
Woffington lived together in lodgings in Bow Street, and
formed a kind of social triumvirate for the improvement
of theatrical taste, and for the wider diffusion of histrionic
science. They are said to have had a common purse ;
and many curious stories of their mode of life, scandalous
and otherwise, are found in the stage anecdotes of the
day. The arrangement, such as it was, soon came to an
end, the public purse being ultimately found to contain
nothing more than a deficit of some hundred pounds.
In the spring of 1748, Macklin and his wife made a
visit to Ireland, being engaged at a salary of ;^ 800 by

THE BRITISH INQUISITION. 87

Sheridan, the manager of the Smock Alley Theatre.
Sheridan and Macklin soon quarrelled, and the latter
cancelled his agreement, returning to England in 1749.
In 1750 he engaged himself to Rich at Covent Garden,
in whose company were Barry, Quin, Mrs. Gibber, and
Mrs. Woffington. It was in this year that the famous
contest of the Romeos took place. Barry and Mrs.
Gibber played the lovers at Govent Garden, and Garrick
and Miss Bellamy — then a rising young actress with
promising powers — at Drury Lane. Every one, be he
high or low, had his say about the two performances.
Garrick had to fight against Barry's good looks ; and
the feminine verdict was doubtless that of the lady
of fashion, who said : " When I saw Garrick, if I had
been his Juliet, I should have wished him to leap up
into the balcony to me ; but when I saw Barry, I should
have been inclined to jump down to him." Macklin
played Mercutio at Covent Garden with success, and Mrs.
Macklin was doubtless an excellent Nurse ; but the audi-
ences came, during the twelve nights' run of the two
performances, mainly to form an opinion of the rival
Romeos, and we do not hear much of Macklin's inter-
pretation, which must, one would think, have been a
trifle dull and heavy. Macklin used to give his view of
the different performances in these two descriptions of
the garden scene : " Barry comes into it, sir, as great as a
lord, swaggering about his love, and talking so loud that,

by G d, sir, if we don't suppose the servants of the

Capulet family almost dead with sleep, they must have
come out and tossed the fellow in a blanket. But how
does Garrick act this ? Why, sir, sensible that the
family are at enmity with him and his house, he comes
creeping in upon his toes, whimpering his love, and
looking about Wxnjiist like a thief in the night."

88 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

Macklin, during this period of his life, added to his
income by giving lessons in elocution, not only to those
who aspired to tread the boards, but, as his biographers
note with pride, to "people of the first rank and cha-
racter." In 175 1, some of these ladies and gentlemen of
fashion "became desirous of performing in public in
order to display their own acquirements and abilities,
and at the same time to give an incontestible proof of
Mr. Macklin's eminence in theatrical instructions." "A
play performed on the common stage by persons of
distinction," says Kirkman, " is an incident that this
nation has, perhaps, the honour of having first produced
to the world." Be this as it may, the account of the
performance has a somewhat modern ring about it, and,
in these days of amateur theatricals, will doubtless have
an interest for our readers. The play chosen was Othello,
and the part of the Moor was assigned to Sir Francis
Delaval, a well-known character of the day. He was a
boon companion of Samuel Foote, and there are a
hundred extravagant and scandalous stories of their witty
orgies, and more or less disreputable jests. He was the
leading showman of the day, and his ambition desired
to be nothing better. He was an agreeable, gay com-
panion, reckless, and perhaps generous in small things,
mean and contemptible in the greater affairs of life.
Foote himself was to have played, but for some reason
did not, and the cast was as follows : —

Men.

Othello ... ... ... Sir Francis Delaval.

I AGO ... ... ... yohn Delaval, Esq.

Cassio ... ... ... ... Delaval, Esq.

Brabantio and LODOVICO ... Sim Pine, Esq.

RODERIGO Capt. Stephens.

THE BRITISH INQUISITION. 89

Women.

Desdemona Mrs. Quon.

-(Emilia Mrs. Stevens.

About a thousand tickets were issued for the notable
performance ; Drury Lane was taken for one night at
a cost of ;!^i5o, and nearly jT^xooo was spent upon
the dresses. On the night, the house was filled with
persons of the first fashion ; the Prince and Princess of
Wales, and other members of the royal family, were in
the stage-box, stars and garters glittered from the upper
galleries, diamonds and embroidery shone from every
corner of the house. Lord Orford, in his Memoirs,
says that there was so much fashionable excitement
about the performance that, though the 7th was fixed for
the Naturalization Bill, yet " the House adjourned to
attend at Drury Lane, where Othello was acted by a Mr.
Delaval and his family, who had hired the theatre on
purpose. The crowd of people of fashion was so great
that the footman's gallery was hung with ribands." So
large was the crowd outside, that the ladies and gentle-
men had to leave their coaches and chairs and wade
through dust and filth to get to the house ; and " many
stars and garters appeared in the public-houses adjacent
to the theatre, to wait for entrance with greater safety."
All this was, we must remember, in honour of Mr.
Macklin's eminence as a theatrical instructor ; and, could
we but believe the criticisms on the performance that
have come down to us, it was indeed worthy of such an
audience. " There was a force," says Kirkman, " that
no theatrical piece acted upon any private Stage ever
came up to." Sir Francis Delaval's Othello was " doubt-
less one of the finest ever produced on a stage ; " " his
expression of anguish by the monosyllable ^ OhT was

90 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

truly affecting." His manner of asking Cassio's pardon
in the last act " had something in it so Uke the man of
honour, and so unHke all imitation, that the audience
could not be easily reconciled afterwards to the hearing
it from anybody else ; " and when he embraced Desde-
mona, on their meeting at Cyprus, " he set many a fair
breast among the audience a-palpitating." All the rest
acted their parts with equal efifect ; and doubtless Mack-
lin gained a capital advertisement for his elocution
lectures by successfully exhibiting his fashionable pupils
before so splendid an assembly.

Macklin's daughter was, however, his best pupil, and
an actress of considerable merit. She made her first
appearance in a woman's part, in the character of
Athenais in Lee's tragedy of Theodosius, in 1750, and
until her death in 1781, remained in the front rank of
leading ladies. She is said to have been born at Ports-
mouth in or about 1734. Her father dedicated her to
the stage; and she played the little Duke of York in
Richard III. in 1742, and in the next year Arthur in
King John. It is recorded that she played several other
child's parts ; but she does not appear to have acted
between 1746 and 1750. During these four years her
father spared no expense to give her a good education.
French, Italian, music, dancing, and, indeed, any accom-
plishment that he considered might be useful to an actress,
she was taught by the best masters. At Macklin's bank-
ruptcy, he was found to have spent no less a sum than
;^i2oo on his daughter's education. She was talented,
and well instructed, but does not appear to have had any
real touch of genius. Her elegant figure, her taste, her
music, her just emphasis, and her melodious voice — ■
these are the qualities she is credited with, rather than
any powers of moving the feelings of her audience ; and

THE BRITISH INQUISITION. 91

it is impossible to suppose she would have been drawn
to the stage, if it had not been for her early training.
Nevertheless, she was an excellent actress, capable of
sustaining the most important parts ; and we find her
acting Monimia, OpheUa, Portia, Helena in AlVs Well
that Ends Well, Juliet, Lady Anne in Richard III.,
and Desdemona. She created several characters, the
most successful of which was Lucinda in Foote's Eng-
lishman in Paris. This was a breeches-part, written to
show off her peculiar powers of singing and dancing.
She first played this in 1752-3, and continued to play it
during the rest of her career with great success. She
often assumed men's attire, being very popular in such
parts, and indirectly this habit, it is said, led to her
death. Through " buckling her garter too tightly, a large
swelling took place in her knee, which, from motives of
delicacy, she would not suffer to be examined till it had
increased to an alarming size." An operation was then
permitted, but unfortunately it was too late, and she died
on July 3, 1781, in the forty-eighth year of her age.

She had borne through life an unblemished reputation,
and every historian of the theatre speaks with pleasure
of her excellent character. She seems to have been a
woman of religious sympathies, and to have led a careful
and quiet life. She died worth a considerable sum of
money, but left it by will away from her father, unless,
indeed, he should survive certain other legatees. Seeing
that at this time he was a man of over eighty, it seems
almost a mockery to have done this. Moreover, when
we know that Macklin was by no means well provided
for at this time, it is difficult to guess why his daughter
should have left him nothing. There are rumours of
quarrels between them, which are certainly not borne out
by Macklin's letters to his daughter, and I doubt whether

92 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

there is any foundation for them. Taylor, in his record
of Mary Macklin, says that MackUn was a severe father.

" He gave his daughter, indeed, an accomplished educa-
tion, and for some years came annually from Dublin, his
head-quarters, to play his Shylock and Sir Archy for her
benefit, but he always made her pay for the journey and his
performance, and she was always obliged to lend her gold
watch to a friend during his stay in London, lest he should
insist upon having it, as he was too austere for her to dispute
his will. Her figure was good, and her manner easy and
elegant ; but her face was plain, though animated by ex-
pression. She was a very sprightly actress, and drew from
real life. Her character throughout life was not only unim-
peached, but highly respected."

Bernard, too, a pecuharly unreliable man, knows the
origin of the quarrel between them, which, as it is amusing
enough, is best given in his own words. He was a young
strolling actor in Suffolk when he says that he met Miss
Macklin, and he wrote his retrospections in a green old
age.

" At Needham, our next remove, I became acquainted with
Miss Macklin, the actress, who had retreated to this little
haven from the troubled element of public life, to live upon
the income she had accrued by her professional labours.
She was an admirable reader (with a true Shakespearian
attachment), and her voice and figure led me to perceive
some of the grounds upon which she had founded her popu-
larity. She was not at this time upon good terms with her
father, which was owing to a domestic occurrence ; but their
original disagreement, as she informed me, grew out of a
reading in Portia. She always said that ' Mercy was
mightiest in the mightiest^ but he, maintaining it 'was
mightiest in the mightiest,' showed her no mercy, but instantly
renounced her."

I cannot but think that these rumours sprang from

THE BRITISH INQUISITION. 93

Miss Macklin's peculiar will, and that, whatever quarrel
there may have been between them, we are not able now
to learn what caused it. Certainly no daughter could
have had a wiser and kinder father than Macklin appears
to have been in many respects, and his letters to her at
different periods throughout her life, seem to us written
in a spirit that speaks of a real friendship existing between
father and daughter.

After a few more uneventful years upon the boards,
Macklin, who appears to have lectured himself into a
strong belief in his own wisdom, determined, in 1753, to
quit the stage to carry out a wild scheme for instructing
the public and making his own fortune at the same time.
He was tired of lecturing to stage aspirants and fashion-
able amateurs; he longed to teach the world. Filled
with this ambition, he closed his dramatic career (as he
thought) on December 20, 1753, ^^ ^ farewell benefit at
Drury Lane, and, commending his daughter to the pro-
tection and indulgence of the public, left the stage to
set on foot the British Inquisition.

Macklin intended to carry out a great scheme that had
evidently been revolving in his mind for some time. He
had visions of fame and fortune, and, to realize these, on
March 11, 1754, he opened a public ordinary, and com-
menced tavern-keeper. The sight of so famous an actor
drew the public when the place first opened, and, had
Macklin thought more of fortune than of fame, the thing
might perhaps have been a pecuniary success. But the
tavern was only his first step towards the lecture-room,
and his idea was to bring the wits, the Templars, and all
the literary loungers of London together, over the dinner-
table, that they might afterwards adjourn to listen to his
words of wisdom from the rostrum. There is something
touching in the sight of the great actor, the artist, as we

94 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

should now call him, standing behind the chairs of his
guests and ministering to their gastric wants in the vain
hope that they would afterwards listen with respect to
his lectures on the Comedy of the Ancients, and the
Stages of Greece and Rome. The conduct of his tavern
has been well described by Cooke, who had the account
he quotes from a " literary gentleman " who had dined
at Macklin's ordinary.

" Dinner being announced by public advertisement to be
ready at four o'clock, just as the clock had struck that hour,
a large tavern bell, which he had affixed to the top of the
house, gave notice of its approach. This bell continued
ringing for about five minutes ; the dinner was then ordered
to be dished ; and in ten minutes afterwards it was set upon
the table, after which the outer room door was ordered to be
shut, and no other guest was admitted.

" Macklin himself always brought in the first dish, dressed
in a full suit of clothes, etc., with a napkin slung across his
left arm. When he had placed the dish on the table, he
made a low bow and retired a few paces back towards the
sideboard, which was laid out in a very superb style, and
with every possible convenience that could be thought of.
Two of his principal waiters stood beside him ; and one,
two, or three more as occasion required them. He had
trained up all his servants several months before for this
attendance ; and one principal rule (which he laid down as
a sine gud non) was, that not one single word was to be
spoken by them whilst in the room, except when asked a
question by one of the guests. The ordinary, therefore, was
carried on by signs previously agreed upon ; and Macklin, as
principal waiter, had only to observe when anything was
wanted or called for, to communicate a sign, which the waiters
immediately understood and complied with.

"Thus was dinner entirely served up, and attended to,
on the side of the house, all in dumb show. When dinner
was over, and the bottles and glasses all laid upon the table,
Macklin, quitting his former situation, walked gravely up to

THE BRITISH INQUISITION. 95

the front of the table and hoped ' that all things were found
agreeable ; ' after which he passed the bell-rope round the
back of the chair of the person who happened to sit at the
head of the tableland, making a low bow at the door, retired."

But when he retired, it was only to read over the notes
of the lecture that he was soon to deliver to these same
guests. His ordinary, already in full swing, with its
complement of cooks and waiters, was now supplemented
by a lecture - room, and on November 21 the British
Inquisition, which was to teach mankind universal wis-
dom, with Macklin as professor of things in general,
opened its doors to a public that was at least able to
appreciate the humorous side of poor Macklin's self-
conceit. The following advertisement will explain the
project and the projector's measure of himself and the
public.

"At Macklin's Great Room in Hart Street, Covent Garden,
this Day being the 21st of November, will be opened

THE BRITISH INQUISITION.

This Institution is upon the plan of the ancient Greek,
Roman, and Modem French and Italian Societies of liberal
investigation. Such subjects in Arts, Sciences, Literature,
Criticism, Philosophy, History, Politics, and Morality, as
shall be found useful and entertaining to society, will there
be lectured upon and freely debated ; particularly Mr.
Macklin intends to lecture upon the Comedy of the Ancients,
the use of their masks and flutes, their mimes and panto-
mimes, and the use and abuse of the Stage. He will like-
wise lecture upon the rise and progress of the modern
Theatres, and make a comparison between them and those
of Greece and Rome, and between each other ; and he
proposes to lecture also upon each of Shakespeare's Plays ;
to consider the original stories from whence they are taken ;

96 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

the artificial or inartificial use, according to the laws of the
drama, that Shakespeare has made of them ; his fable, moral
character, passions, manners, likewise will be criticized,
and how his capital characters have been acted heretofore,
are acted, and ought to be acted. And as the design of this
inquiry is to endeavour at an acquisition of truth in matters
of taste, particularly theatrical, the lecture being ended, any
gentleman may offer his thoughts upon the subject.

" The doors will be open at 5, and the lecture begin
precisely at 7 o'clock, every Monday and Friday evening.

" Ladies will be admitted, price one shilling each person.

" The first lecture will be on Hamlet.

" N.B. — The questions to be debated after the lecture, will
be whether the people of Great Britain have profited by
their intercourse with or their Imitation of the French
nation.

"There is a public ordinary every day at four o'clock,
price three shillings. Each person to drink port, claret, or
whatever liquor he shall choose.

" N.B. — This evening the public Subscription Card-room
will be opened. Subscriptions taken in by Mr. Macklin."

The thing took with the town at first, and there
was a very large number of people present on the
opening night The simple went to learn, the witty to
laugh and sneer, the learned to wonder at Macklin's
folly. Indeed, at first it took too well — well enough to
cause imitation, and it was sufficiently popular to form
the basis of a burlesque satire, by Foote at the Hay-
market. ** The new madness," wrote Horace Walpole,
on Christmas Eve of the same year, "is Oratories.
Macklin has set up one under the title of * The British
Inquisition ; ' Foote another against him ; and a third
man has advertised another to-day." Foote's burlesque
of Macklin's lecture gives in a distorted, unfair, but
somewhat truthful way, the picture of what it was. The
chief characteristic of the whole thing was its conceit

THE BRITISH INQUISITION. 97

and this Foote would burlesque in his own inimitable
style, until even Macklin himself was driven to the
Haymarket to see what Foote was doing to, make his
Oratory so popular.

Foote used to represent Macklin in his armchair,
examining a pupil in classics.

" Well, sir, did you ever hear of Aristophanes ? "

"Yes, sir; a Greek Dramatist, who wrote "

" Ay ; but I have got twenty comedies in those drawers,
worth his Clouds and stuff ! Do you know anything of
Cicero ? "

" A celebrated Orator of Rome, who in the polished and
persuasive is considered a master of his art."

" Yes, yes ; but I'll be bound he couldn't teach Elocution."

" Perhaps not, sir."

" Perhaps, then, you have heard of one Roscius whom
Cicero praised 1 "

" Certainly, sir ; a very celebrated Actor."

" Stuff ! he couldn't have played Shylock."

This exhibition being laughed at and talked of greatly,
it was very natural that Macklin himself should go to
see it To escape observation, he placed himself in
a back seat in the boxes. The important scene came,
and, as Foote convulsed the house with his successful
mimicry, MackUn writhed and muttered, not knowing
whether to run out or upon the stage. Foote wound
up this display with a kind of charge to his pupil,

" * Now, sir, remember, I, Charles Macklin, tell you, there
are no good plays among the ancients, and only one among
the modems, and that is the Merchant of Venice, and there
is only one part in that, and only one man that can play it.
Now, sir, as you have been very attentive, I'll tell you an
anecdote of that play. When a Royal Personage, who shall
be nameless (but who doesn't live a hundred miles from
Buckingham House), witnessed my performance of the Jew,

H

98 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

he sent for me to his box, and remarked, ' Sir, if I were not
the Prince — ha — hum — you understand ? — I should wish to
be Mr. Macklin ! ' Upon which I answered, ' Royal Sir,

being Mr. Macklin, I do not desire to be the ' Macklin

could no longer contain himself, but, starting up, he stretched

his body forward, and shouted, ' No, I'll be d d if I did ! '

In an instant the audience turned and opened on him like
a pack of hounds. Hunted from the boxes, he speedily
descended the stairs, and, in the manner of Sir Anthony
Absolute, took six steps at a time."

The thing was a burlesque, and a cruel one, but it
served the people to laugh at, and probably did as much
as anything to bring Macklin's experiment to a speedy
termination. Foote, too, would sometimes attend Mack-
lin's lectures on purpose to tease and annoy him by
asking him ridiculous questions. There are many stories
told of his jests in the lecture-room at Macklin's expense.
On one occasion Macklin was lecturing on " Memory,"
and, as he enlarged on the subject, dwelt on the impor-
tance of exercising memory as a habit. He took occasion
to say that he himself could learn anything by heart on
once hearing it, so perfectly had he trained his memory.
Upon this Foote handed him up a piece of paper, on
which was written the following immortal nonsense, and
desired Mr. Macklin to read it, and afterwards repeat it
from memory.

" So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf, to
make an apple-pie ; and at the same time a great she-bear,
coming up the street, pops its head into the shop, 'What!
no soap ? ' So he died, and she very imprudently married
the barber ; and there were present the Picanninies and the
Joblilies and the Garyulies, and the Grand Panjandrum
himself, with the little round button at the top ; and they all
fell to playing the game of catch as catch can, till the gun-
powder ran out at the heels of their boots."

THE BRITISH INQUISITION. 99

How Macklin took this ridiculous jest history does
not relate. Probably he refused to read the paper, and
Foote handed it about afterwards ; but if he read and
repeated it, his system of memory must have been a very
complete one indeed.

While Macklin was thundering curses at Foote and
■ his follies from the platform of his great room at Hart
Street, or poring over books and papers to prepare his
lectures for the evening, his cooks and waiters plundered
their foolish easy master at every turn. The ordinary,
which might well have been a success in the hands of
a man of business, became a ruinous failure under the
management of the actor turned savant , and in the
beginning of 1755 Macklin was face to face with bank-
ruptcy. He had retired from the stage only to lose his
hard-earned savings, and to find that the world would
not take him as their philosopher and guide at his own
valuation. Macklin was an honest man, and, seeing
the condition of his affairs, he made no ineffectual
endeavour to continue his scheme at the expense of his
creditors. On January 25, 1755, he filed his petition,
or went through whatever was the then equivalent form,
and Charles Macklin, "vintner, coffeeman, and chapman,"
became, once more, an actor in search of an engagement.

ICO CHARLES MAC KLIN.

CHAPTER VII.

THE IRISH STAGE.

The Irish stage in the eighteenth century might form
the subject of a volume of stage history of considerable
interest. Dublin was highly favoured by the actors of
this age, and we find Garrick, Barry, Mossop, Macklin,
Peg Woffington, and a host of other celebrities, courting
the favours of Dublin audiences. The subject is by no
means foreign to a biography of Macklin, who not only
was an Irishman by birth, but spent several years of his
life as an actor in Dublin, was instrumental in building
the Crow Street Theatre in that city, and may be
regarded as the histrionic tutor of silver-toned Barry,
who was perhaps the greatest actor Ireland ever produced.
I propose, therefore, to sketch shortly the fortunes of
the Irish stage, with especial reference to the periods at
which Macklin took a leading part in making its history.
To begin as nearly as possible at the beginning, one
may mention that there was a Smock Alley Theatre in
Dublin soon after the Restoration. The house in Smock
Alley was built and rebuilt on many occasions, but it
dated back at least to 167 1, when it is recorded that the
gallery, being overcrowded, fell into the pit. The religious
portion of Dublin regarded the theatre with puritanical
suspicion ; the very alley in which it was built had been
named by them on account of the supposed character

THE IRISH STAGE. loi

of its fair inhabitants, and, for some years after the
accession of Charles II., the DubHn theatre does not
seem to have been much more than a successful pro-
vincial establishment. At first the Smock Alley play-
house was managed by Ashbury, an actor of some merit,
and afterwards by Tom Elrington. He was a great
actor in the estimation of the old Dublin playgoers, who
in a later age would shake their heads and say : "I have
known Tom Elrington in the part of Bajazet to be heard
all over the Blind Quay ; and I do not believe you could
hear Barry or Mossop out of the house." The Smock
Alley Theatre was opposed by a new house in Rainsford
Street, in the " Earl of Meath's liberty," beyond the
jurisdiction of the city, and afterwards by a theatre built
in Aungier Street. This theatre was built about 1733,
by a very large subscription of noblemen and gentlemen.
None of these, according to Victor, knew anything about
theatre-building, and the result was that they built "a
very sumptuous but a very bad theatre," in which, when
there was a full house, a great part in the galleries could
neither see nor hear. Bad, however, as the house was,
it served for Peg Woffington, her childhood being past,
to make her first appearance in the part of Ophelia, in
February, 1737.

The Dublin theatres were so ill-directed after the
deaths of Ashbury and Elrington, " that few performers
of any degree of eminence either arose or resorted
thither before the year 1740, and dramatic performances,
until about that period, were sunk into contempt and
almost wholly lost" In January, 1746, Garrick and
Sheridan were sharers at the Theatre Royal, Dublin —
the Aungier Street Theatre — and Barry was engaged at
a salary. Garrick left Dublin in May, 1746, and in
October of the same year Mr. Victor became treasurer

I02 CHARLES MACKLIN.

and deputy manager with Sheridan. From his " History
of the Theatres in London and Dublin," we are able to
gather much information about the Irish stage during
the next fourteen years.

In 1747, a great improvement was made in the conduct
of the Dublin theatre, mainly owing, if we may believe
his own account of it, to the stout heart and bold
conduct of Mr. Victor. It appears that the stage was
in danger of being ruined by the rowdyism of the young
gentlemen of Dublin, and though Victor, with his English
notions of law and order, exclaimed against the indecency
of the admission behind the scenes of "every idler that
had a laced coat," yet the custom continued ; so that,
Victor tells us, he has seen "actors and actresses re-
hearsing within a circle of forty or fifty of these young
gentlemen, whose time ought to have been better
employed." Victor proposed to the manager several
methods of protecting the theatre from the wanton
insults of this dissolute set, but they commonly met him
with the unanswerable argument, "You forget yourself;
you think you are on English ground ! "

However, in January, 1747, an incident occurred which
brought this nuisance to a termination. A young gentle-
man— and this status of gentleman seems to have been
the only defence ever urged for his conduct — went to
the pit of the theatre " enflamed with wine," as Victor
says. He appears to have climbed over the spikes on
to the stage, and made his way into the greenroom,
where he commenced to insult one of the actresses, " in
such indecent terms aloud as made them all fly to their
dressing-rooms," whither he pursued them with so much
noise that the business of the scene was interrupted.
Miss Bellamy, who was then wanted on the stage, was
locked in her room in fear of this young gentleman, and

I

THE IRISH STAGE. 103

Mr. Sheridan had to leave his character of ^sop for the
moment, while he and the guard and his servants restored
this young roysterer to his friends in the pit. From the
pit he began to hurl oranges at Mr. Sheridan, who had
to appeal to the public for protection ; and after the play,
he waited on Mr. Sheridan with the purpose of abusing
him, until Sheridan lost his temper, and broke the young
gentleman's nose for him.

It is needless to follow the course of events in detail.
A party was formed of the young gentleman's friends,
pamphlets and letters were written on both sides, the
theatre became a place of riot, and sober citizens who
came to enjoy their play were threatened with violence
if they supported Mr. Sheridan. The college students
seem to have taken the manager's part against this
particular offender, who was not one of their set, and
made matters much worse by executing a kind of lynch
law upon some of the rioters, whom they captured and
punished in the college precincts, with the approval, it
is said, of " their good provost."

Things came to such a pass that the Lord Justices
shut the theatre, and the scene of the dispute was now
shifted to the law courts. Sheridan was tried and
acquitted for assaulting the young gentleman; and on
the other hand, the judge having unpacked the jury, so
to speak, greatly to the surprise of the players and of
the young gentleman himself, he was found guilty and
sentenced to three months' imprisonment, and to pay a
fine of ;^5oo. *' This ample redress," says Victor, "was
procured for the manager by obtaining that respect to be
paid to the scenes of the Theatre Royal in Dublin which
no other theatre ever had the happiness to maintain;
for from that hour not even the first man of quality in
the kingdom ever asked or attempted to get on the

I04 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

scenes, and before that happy era every person who
was master of a sword was sure to draw it on the stage
doorkeeper if he denied him entrance."

In the winter of 1747 Woodward was engaged, who
was, among other things, a great harlequin and composer
of pantomimes, and from this class of entertainment the
managers expected great things. But though the new
pantomime was not produced until February 1748, after
much preliminary puffing in the newspapers, it was
played " to an audience under a hundred pounds." On
the second night, when it was played with the Fair
Penitent, in which Sheridan and Bellamy acted, there
was only ;^2o in the house ; from which facts, mournful
enough at the time, Victor draws wise conclusions of
the intellectual superiority of Dublin audiences, and the
folly of producing pantomimes before them. It is clear,
whatever value we may put on Victor's conclusions, that
Dublin at this time was a city of playgoers. The prices
they paid, the companies they supported, and the eager-
ness with which they took part in the politics of the
theatre, go to show the reality of the audience's enthu-
siasm. O'Keeffe gives the following interesting account
of Dublin audiences : —

" In my day there was no half price at a theatre in Ireland,
so that a noisy fellow, for paying his bd. after the third
act, as in the London theatres, could not drive a new comedy
for ever from the stage by a hiss (for a single hiss may do that) ;
neither could a critic come into the pit, or a man of fashion
into the boxes, for his \s. 6d. or 2s. 6d., and censure the fourth
and fifth act of a play, ignorant of the previous parts which
led to the dhiouement. In Cork and Limerick there was no
\s. gallery — only one gallery, and that 2s. ; so there was no
seeing any part of a play under that price. In Dublin no
females sat in the pit ; and none, either male or female, ever
came to the boxes, except in full dress. The upper boxes, in

THE IRISH STAGE. 105

a line with the 2s. gallery, were called lattices ; and over them,
even with the \s. gallery, were the slips called pigeon-holes.
The audience part of the Dublin theatre was in the form of
a horseshoe. In Dublin, oranges and nonpareil refreshed
the audience ; in Limerick, peaches, which were brought in
baskets to the box door. The price of a peach four inches in
diameter was a \dP

O'Keeffe can tell us, too, all about the habits and
customs of Dublin audiences ; how they brought down
the curtain by their applause on the stage death of a
" star," and would never listen to Horatio's " Farewell,
sweet Prince," or the moral of Romeo and Juliet ; how
the men of fashion used to invade the greenroom, and
how the house was filled on " Command nights," when
the viceroy was present in person. From all of which
we gather that this was a time of unexampled theatrical
prosperity in Ireland, which the actors failed to benefit
from, owing to their own vanity, jealousy, and unbusiness-
like extravagance.

Macklin's first theatrical visit to Dublin took place in
1748. Sheridan, in the spring of that year, came over
to London to engage new " stars " for the coming year,
and Mr. and Mrs. Macklin were secured for two years at
the very handsome salary of ;^8oo per annum. Several
disputes, however, took place between Macklin and his
manager, and he did not remain in the company for many
months. Macklin's own account of the matter is that
Sheridan dismissed him and his wife in the middle of a
season, without giving them any notice, or without
assigning any cause, and at the same time refused to pay
Mr. Macklin the money that was due to him, which was
^800, according to agreement. Congreve tells us that
Macklin had at this time run mad about " marketable
fame," that he used to measure the size of the letters in

Io6 CHARLES MACKLIN.

the playbills announcing himself and Sheridan, for fear
the manager should have a hair-breadth's advantage ;
and " at last, to show his thorough contempt for Sheridan
as manager, he went on the stage one night after the
play and gave out a comedy for his wife's benefit with-
out either settling the play or the night with the manager."
In the result Macklin filed a bill in Chancery against
Sheridan, who paid ;^3oo into court, which Macklin took
out rather than stay longer in Ireland, and returned to
England, commencing manager at Chester for a short
season prior to returning to Covent Garden. Sheridan
was a quarrelsome fellow, but Macklin probaby showed
his usual desire for mastery, which the manager had a
right to resent, and there is reason to suppose that
Macklin had no one but himself to blame for the loss
of his engagement Besides the loss of Macklin and his
wife. Miss Bellamy also left the company to play with
Garrick in London. Dublin in those days was regarded
as the nursery for London, and no player of any con-
sequence stayed there longer than they could help, their
ambition then, as now, being to appear in the metropolis.
Miss Bellamy was replaced by Miss Danvers, who appeared
with great success in the character of Indiana.

In 1749, the company was reinforced by Theophilus
Cibber, Mr. Digges, and Mr. Mossop. Cibber, of course,
was a well-known actor, but Digges and Mossop were new
to the stage. In the summer of 1 7 5 1 Mrs. Woffington came
over from England, and was engaged by the manager,
for the ensuing season only, at a salary of ;j^4oo. " The
happy consequences of that engagement," says Victor,
" are recent in the knowledge of every one who frequented
the theatre at that time ; " and, he adds, by way of
detail, that " by four of her characters, performed ten
nights each that season, viz. Lady Townly, Maria (in

THE IRISH STAGE. 107

The Nonjuror), Sir Harry Wildair, and Hermione there,
were taken above jT/ipoo — an instance never known in
any theatre from four old stock plays, and two of them
in which the manager acted no part." The next season
Mrs. Woffington's salary was raised to ;^8oo, but the
management had no reason to regret her engagement, and
at the end of the year found their profits within ;!^2oo of
the former season.

We may pass lightly over the affairs that preceded the
starting of the new theatre in Crow Street, in the foundation
of which Macklin was so intimately interested. Much
might be written of Mrs. Woffington, and the opening of
the Beef Steak Club in 1753 ; of Digges in Mahomet and
the Anti-Courtier riots, which drove Sheridan from the
stage for a while; of Foote's appearance in 1756, and
re-appearance in 1757 with Tate Wilkinson in his train,
and the various fortunes of the managers during these
years. But this would require a volume of Irish stage
history, and we must content ourselves with a few pages
on the subject, noting particularly the interest taken by
Macklin in the Dublin theatre, and the effect of his
occasional appearances and interferences among the Irish
managers.

Victor and Sheridan opened as usual in October, 1757.
Honoured by the patronage of his Grace the Duke of
Bedford, who was Lord Lieutenant, they looked forward
to a successful season. In hopes of thwarting Barry's
proposed plans of building a new theatre, they petitioned
to Parliament that the number of theatres might be limited
as in London. The opposition reminded the members
and the public, that these very petitioners had opened the
Smock Alley Theatre in 1733, in order that they might
trade against the Aungier Street Theatre, which was built
in 1728 by a subscription of the nobility and gentry; in

io8 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

fact, that they were petitioning against a crime that they
themselves had committed. Besides, many of the members
of Parliament were subscribers to the new theatre in Crow
Street, and they, together with the public approval of
the scheme, rendered useless the managers* attempts to
destroy it.

About the month of March, 1758,* it was reported that
Mr. Barry's agents " were actually seen signing with the
proprietors of the music-hall in Crow Street, for their
property there, to build a new theatre." Sheridan and
Victor were full of anxiety when they heard this rumoured
contract, and Victor posted off on April 20, 1758, with
intent to dissuade Mr. Barry from so rash an enterprise.
He offered Barry the sole proprietorship of the united
theatres in Aungier Street and Smock Alley, if he objected
to partnership with Sheridan. Any reasonable terms
would be granted him, if he would refrain from building
a theatre. However, there was no reasoning with the
headstrong would-be managers ; a new theatre they had
planned, and a new theatre they would have, be . the loss
what it might.

The circumstances under which the new theatre was
promoted were as follows. In 1757, Barry, who had tried
his strength against Garrick in Romeo, and again in
Lear, grew envious of Garrick's superiority of manage-
ment, and was ambitious, as all great actors are at some
periods of their career, to become manager. With this
ambition in his mind, he entered into negotiations with
the proprietors of the Crow Street Music-hall Dublin,
for the purpose of erecting a theatre there. Macklin,
who was now released from the duties of vintner and
chapman, was quite ready for any new project, and was
delighted to join with his friend and countryman Barry
* Genest says 1757.

THE IRISH STAGE. icg

in the new scheme. Barry was then at the height of his
reputation ; Macklin had, as it were, to begin the world
again ; and with these two enthusiastic Irishmen was
afterwards joined Woodward, the master of pantomime,
who completed the triumvirate.

Macklin now made it his business to gather together a
company, and in his house, under the Piazzas in Covent
Garden, he was at home to all the tyros of the profession,
who were waiting for an opportunity to display their
talents on the stage. From ten to twelve o'clock did the
veteran sit and give audience to the strangest folk, who
imagined they were the coming race of actors and actresses.
Foote spread some of his best stories about the town, to
torment his old preceptor Macklin ; of the aspirant who
offered for the Cock in Hamlet ; the leading tragedienne
who turned out to be a blackamoor; and the Othello
who, when Macklin was listening to his speech before
the Senate, " was observed to throw back his left arm
with great violence pretty constantly. 'Pray, sir,' says
Macklin, * keep back your left arm a little more ; you are
now, consider, addressing the Senate, and the right hand
is the one to give grace and energy to your enunciation.'
'Oh, sir,' replied the candidate, very coolly, 'it is only
the sleeve of my coat, which I forgot to pin back, as I lost
my left arm many years ago on board a man of war.' "
With these and many more stories did Foote amuse his
hearers. Meanwhile Macklin gathered together his
company one by one, and prepared to make a second
descent on Dublin.

Before the joint managers, Barry and Macklin, drew
up indentures, Macklin gave in a list of parts, which
roused Barry to pause on such an agreement. Besides
the parts which he was in stage possession of, such as
Shylock, Sir Paul PUant, the Miser, Ben in Love for Love,

no CHARLES MACKLIN.

Sir Gilbert Wrangle, Scrub, Trinculo, etc., he was for
articling to play Hamlet, Richard, Macbeth, etc., occa-
sionally. Seeing Barry rather surprised at this last pro-
posal, " Not, my dear Spranger," says he, " that I want
to take your parts from you, but by way of giving the
town variety. You shall play Macbeth one night, and I
another, and so on, sir, with the rest of the tragic cha-
racters. Thus we will throw lights upon one another's
performance, and give a bone to the lads of the college,
who, after all, form a part of the most critical audience
in Europe." Barry remonstrated with him in his most
silky and conciliating manner, but Macklin was not easily
shaken. Barry unfortunately suggested to Macklin the
" risk " of taking up new characters " at his time of life."
No sooner were these phrases out of his mouth than
Macklin was on fire, his dignity and self-conceit were
hurt. There was no risk ; in his view it was a certainty.

And " By G d, sir, let me tell you, I think I shall be

able to show the town something they never saw before ! "
Foote would have mockingly echoed, " Very likely," to
this boast of Macklin ; but Barry was too wise, and
valued the man too well, to break with him altogether.
The present engagement, however, was cancelled. Harry
Woodward and Barry agreed as joint patentees and
managers of the new theatre, and Macklin, through the
mediation of a third person, was softened, and allowed
himself to be engaged at a large salary, with the option
of playing twice a week in any of the comic characters
of the list that he had originally handed to Barry.

In the spring of 1757, Macklin went to Ireland along
with Barry, who was present at laying the foundation
stone of Crow Street Theatre. Macklin stayed in Dublin,
discoursing to the builders on the structure of the Greek
and Roman theatres, and possibly, in many other more

THE IRISH STAGE. ill

practical ways, carrying out the plans of Barry and
Woodward, who were now in England ; Barry having
left Ireland in September, 1757, and not returning until
the close of the summer of next year, when the theatre
was ready to open.

John O'Keeffe remembered the opening of the new
theatre, and probably could have told us, if he would,
of Macklin roaming about among the foundations, and
lecturing the bricklayers and hodmen. " On the site
where Crow Street Theatre was built," he writes, " once
stood a fabric called the Music-Hall. I recollect seeing
this building ; the front, with great gates, faced the end of
Crow Street, and here Handel had his sublime oratorio
performed, he in person presiding. I well remember
seeing the bill of Handel's concert on the gate of this
hall in 1758." I cannot but think his chronology here
is a little doubtful. "Whilst the foundations of Crow
Street Theatre were preparing on this spot, I, amongst
other boys, Romulus-like, got jumping over them, little
thinking that, on the very stage then erecting, would in
process of time rise my own fabric of the Castle of
Andalusia. Crow Street opened with Gibber's comedy
of She Would and She Would Not. A man was pressed
to death the first night going up the gallery stairs.
Woodward was the Trappanti" This is O'Keeffe's ac-
count of the new theatre.

The other side were by no means ill prepared. They
set their hopes on Digges, Mrs. Ward, a new pantomime,
which was coming out from England, and, if possible,
they intended to engage Mrs. Fitzhenry as leading lady.
Victor arrived in Dubhn on October 14, and was obliged
to open in honour of the anniversary of his Majesty's
coronation on the 22nd. The new theatre, which was
to have been completed in the summer, had still several

112 CHARLES MACKLIN.

workmen in it, but, nevertheless, the management had
advertised their first performance for October 22.
" They opened with the comedy of She Would and She
Would Not ; or, The Kind Impostor, to a house about
half full j " and the second night played the Beggar's
Opera, to a house of less than j£,'io. " This," continues
Victor, "brought the managers forward much sooner
than they had intended ; and when they performed,
the people must have wanted taste indeed not to have
crowded thither."

Mrs. Macklin, who was engaged by Barry and Wood-
ward, died about this time, before she was able to play
any part at the new theatre, and at her death Macklin
lost a faithful wife and the stage a very capable actress.
As soon as decency would permit, Macklin joined his
fellow-actors in DubUn ; but he soon quarrelled with his
friends, and retmrned to London in 1759. So deep was
his quarrel with his former allies, that we find him in a
few months in treaty with Victor, to play along with his
daughter, at the Smock Alley Theatre, an arrangement
which, owing to Miss MackUn's ill health, was never
carried out

The old managers might indeed have made headway
against the new theatre, but for a shocking accident that
befell some of the company on their way to Ireland.
The Dublin, Captain White, was driven by stress of
weather on the coast of Scotland, where she foundered
with all on board. Among the seventy passengers were
Theophilus Gibber, Maddox, and other English aux-
iliaries. ** Our loss of Maddox," writes poor Victor,
" was almost irretrievable, because with our Harlequin
went the music, and the business, and the plot of the
Pantomime ; as also, among the geniuses, the man who
played on the twelve bells fastened to his head, hands,

THE IRISH STAGE. 113

and feet, etc." However, the scenery of the pantomime,
which came by water from London, arrived in due course ;
Mr. Digges and Mrs. Ward, the originals of Douglas and
Lady Randolph, appeared in Mr. Hume's new tragedy ;
and the managers continued to struggle against their
ill fate and the opposition at Crow Street.

Mrs. Fitzhenry now agreed with the new managers,
and this was the final blow to the old managers' hopes.
They did indeed make some money out of their benefit
nights, but the tide was against them, and the new theatre,
if it had done very little for itself, effectually ruined the
old houses. In March, 1759, Victor began to renew his
correspondence with Macklin, about his coming over with
his daughter, but nothing came of it. This last disap-
pointment compelled the managers to close the season ;
and on April 20 Sheridan and Victor dissolved their
company. The actors, headed by Digges, strove in vain
to carry on the theatre by themselves, but gave up the
attempt after a few unsuccessful performances. As for
Victor, he returned to England, after fourteen years' ex-
perience of the sweets and bitters of a managerial life,
fairly driven from the field by the new management.

Barry and Woodward had now only one rival to dread,
namely, Henry Mossop ; and for fear he should start in
opposition to them, they engaged him for the season
1759-60, at a considerable salary. The name of Henry
Mossop is scarcely so well remembered as it deserves to
be, seeing that he was at this time, in popular estimation,
the rival of Garrick, playing, under his management,
such parts as Richard, Zanga, and Horatio in the Fair
Penitent, regularly, and on occasions, Macbeth, Wolsey,
and Othello. Perhaps never in England has there been
a time when the stage was so wealthy in tragedians of
the first rank, and never was any theatre outside London

I

114 CHARLES MACKLIN.

so bravely manned, as when Barry and Mossop alternated
leading parts on the boards of the Crow Street Theatre
in 1759-60. Though Mossop is almost forgotten, he
lives in the memory of some of us as a man of misfortune,
an actor, who, by his own undisciplined life, and through
his senseless vanity and conceit, brought himself from
the highest pinnacle of fame and good fortune, to miser-
able poverty, despair, and a wretched death- bed. Both
the man and the actor are important in connection with
the subject on hand, and some short account of Henry
Mossop will not be out of place.

He was born in 1729, was the son of the Rector of
Tuam, and was educated at Dublin, first at a grammar
school in Digges Street, and afterwards at Trinity College.
It is said that he was intended for the Church, but he
made his election for the stage, and through the influence
of an old schoolfellow, Francis Gentleman, then a member
of Sheridan's stock company, received an invitation to
appear at the Smock Alley Theatre in 1749. He was
announced to appear on November 28 of that year, in
the part of Zanga, in Dr. Young's tragedy of The Revenge.
" This character," says Mr. R. W. Lowe, in an interesting
sketch of Mossop, " was most judiciously chosen for
Mossop's first appearance. It is one of strong passion,
with little subtlety of characterization, but with an
abundance of striking effects ; and it is eminently suited
to a young actor who has fire and passion, but whose
method is unformed. This was precisely Mossop's
position, and he played the part with such beautiful
wildness, and with occasional flashes of such brilliant
genius, as clearly indicated his future greatness." He
was an immediate success, and, supported by his fellow-
collegian, he played Richard and other characters, so
much to the mind of the audiences, that at the end of

THE IRISH STAGE. 115

the season the managers found themselves ;^2ooo more
in pocket than in any preceding year.

Unfortunately, no sooner had Mossop made his success,
than his unconscionable vanity and self-sufficiency began
to stand in his way, and he quarrelled with Sheridan,
the first note of offence having been sounded by the
manager saying that the white satin, puckered, in which
he dressed Richard III., had a most coxcombly appear-
ance. Nothing would do but his leaving Sheridan, and
he appeared in England on September 26, 1751, in
Richard III. He remained at Drury Lane, playing
every season — except 1755-56, when he played in
Dublin under Victor and Sowdon's management — until
in 1759-60 he was engaged by Barry and Woodward for
the Crow Street Theatre.

Never had tragedies been produced in such a style
of magnificence, and we learn that " the mere guards
in Coriolanus cost ^£"3 lox. per night, and the guards
and chorus-singers in Alexander, ^8." At the end of
the season, however, Mossop, to the managers' chagrin,
informed them that he was going to start as manager
on his own account In vain they offered him the
enormous salary of ;!^iooo to remain with them, " * Auf
Ccssar, aut nullus.' There should be but one theatre
in Ireland, and he would be at the head of it."

Mossop entered on his career as manager in November,
1760, opening with Venice Preserved, the part 'of Pierre
being played by the manager, and Belvidera by poor
Mrs. Bellamy, who had left Dublin in the zenith of her
fame, to return a haggard, hollow-eyed woman, capable
of rousing nothing but the curiosity of the audience.
It was a miserable opening enough, and sealed Mrs.
Bellamy's fate. " She left Dublin," says Tate Wilkinson,
" without a single friend to regret her loss. What a

ii6 CHARLES MACKLIN.

change from the days of her youth ! and, as an actress
of note, her name never more ranked in any theatre, nor
did she ever again rise in public estimation." Mossop,
however, was somewhat more successful after this, and,
his cause being espoused by the Countess of Brandon,
who made it her peculiar charge to fill his theatre, there
was often money in the treasury. But what the countess
brought to Mossop by her patronage, he lost with interest
over the gaming-table, and many are the stories of the
straits in which the management found itself, and the
tricks adopted by the actors to obtain their salaries.
Such a management could only come to one end, but
for the time, though it is doubtful if Mossop ever made
much more than his expenses, he managed to beat his
adversaries from the field. Woodward left Barry in
1762, and Barry himself gave up the theatre in 1767,
when Mossop took both the houses. The public fancy,
however, grew fickle, and the audiences left Mossop in
1770, to follow Dawson, who reopened a little opposition
theatre in Capel Street, which had been closed for many
years. In 177 1 Mossop left Dublin, bankrupt in body
and estate. He hung about in London, a wreck of his
former self, too proud to ask Garrick for an engagement.
The smart eagle-eyed Zanga dragged on a weary exist-
ence, dejected, emaciated, and broken down, until in
November, 1773, he was found dead in his bed at his
lodgings in the Strand, with fourpence-halfpenny in his
pocket.

Poor Mossop must have been a great tragedian in his
prime, and a worthy rival of the greater Garrick. Thomas
Davies speaks of his fine full-toned voice, the warmth
and passion of his sentiment, and his excellence in
parts of turbulence, rage, regal tyranny, and sententious
gravity. He seems to have relied greatly on study, and

THE IRISH STAGE. 117

not, like Barry, upon inspiration and physical power,
and there is extant a speech of Wolsey, one of Mossop's
parts, minutely marked by himself with his own business
and directions. His chief fault as an actor, on which
Churchill, Garrick's panegyrist, remarks with such insist-
ence, was his stiffness and over-deliberation both in
speech and action. The phrase " Mossop's minute-guns "
expresses, in the language of the wits, the tendency to
a too syllabic utterance that undoubtedly marked his
elocution. Had he been more reasonable in his conduct
of life, and less eaten up by vanity and conceit, he might
have lived to rival Garrick in the memory of men, and
to be remembered now as an actor of great achievement,
rather than a man with a miserable history.

To return, however, to the part played by Macklin
himself in the annals of the Irish stage. Since his last
visit to Ireland, Macklin had married a second time,
his wife being a Chester lady. Miss Elizabeth Jones, to
whom he was married on September 10, 1759. He
did not return to Dublin until the season 1763-4, when
he agreed with Mossop to play against his old friend
Barry, with whom, it would appear, Sheridan was in
partnership, and we find him writing to his daughter on
November 18, 1763, of the state of affairs in Dublin.
*' Never," he writes, "were there greater theatrical con-
tests than at present, nor were parties among the ladies
higher, insomuch that they distinguish themselves by the
names of Barryists and Mossopians. The contention
is between Barry and Sheridan on the one part, and
Mossop and Sowdon on the other ; and between Dancer
and Abington — the other women are neglected."

In this season Macklin brought out his True-Born
Irishman, of which we shall say more hereafter. He
now resided in Drumcondra Lane, and was greatly

Jl8 CHARLES MACKLIN.

sought after by stage aspirants, and many of the new
actors and actresses, during these years, were pupils of
the veteran actor. In the season 1763-4, the celebrated
Ann Catley made her appearance at the Smock Alley
Theatre. She became a pupil of Macklin — sent to him,
maybe, by her lover. Sir Francis Delaval — and she made
her debut in Ireland under his auspices. We can gather
the theatrical news of the time, from the following
characteristic letter of Macklin to his daughter, dated
Dublin, February 21, 1764 : —

"Dublin, February 21, 1764.

"Dear Poll,

" Yours of the 28th of January, I received some time
ago, and this instant that of the i6th instant ; and am glad
to find that even the expectation of a new farce from me,
or the hopes of seeing me in London, to play for your benefit,
has had sufficient influence on you to make you punctual in
answering my letter. As to lending you a new farce, I
cannot pay so ill a compliment to you, the public, or my
own fame, as to send you one that I had not been nice
about ; nay, rather more so than if it had been for my own
benefit or emolument as an author. Your character has
been nicely conducted hitherto, even in your profession, as
well as in that of real life ; and I hope you will scorn to
offer the public a piece merely to fill your galleries or your
houses. No, you have been nicely conducted, I say, hitherto ;
continue it even about your benefits.

" I have always loved the conscious worth of a good
action more than the profit that would arise from a mean
or a bad one ; and, depend upon it, there is a wealth in that
way of thinking, and I feel the value of it at this instant,
and in every vicissitude of my life, but particularly in those
of the adverse kind. Had it been in my power to have sent
you a piece worthy of your might and fame, be assured I
would, but it was not in my power. I have written a great
deal this winter, but I find the more I write and the older
1 grow, the harder I am to be pleased. I do not know

THE IRISH STAGE. 119

whether I told you in my last that I am reduced in my
sustenance entirely to fish, herbage puddings, or spoon meait,
not being able to chew any meat harder than a French
bouille. And now I have told you, what am I the better ?
But old age and invalids think all their friends are obliged
to attend to their infirmities. I am mightily glad to think
that your house will be tolerable, at all events ; for I would
not have you have a bad one for more than the value of it.
Pray send me word what you think of taking for your benefit,
and your day, as soon as ever it is fixed. Do not miss a
post, and send me an exact account of the fate of ' Midas.'
Youare the worst correspondent in the world ; you sent me
no account of Miss Davis's illness, and of Miss Brent's ; nor
the causes or theatrical consequences ; nor of Miss Poitier's
engagement. Miss Haughton's leaving the stage. Miss
Bellamy's promotion to infamy with Calcraft — all this is
news — and such-like ; and all the theatrical tittle tattle and
squibble squabble. With us. Miss Catley is with child, is
in great vogue for her singing, and draws houses, and has
been of great service to Mossop.

" My True-Born Scotchman is not yet come out, but
it is highly admired both by the actors and some ladies and
gentlemen of the first taste and fashion, to whom I have
read it, for its satire, characters, language, moral, and fable ;
and indeed I think well of it myself, but not so well as
they do.

" On Monday, the 5th of March, I think it will be out
I have just read the Philaster that was done at Drury Lane ;
it is a lamentable thing. Oh, I had hke to have forgot !
The ship by which you sent the box is not yet come in.
Pray, in your writing, never write couldfCt, sharCt, wouldn't,
nor any abbreviation whatever. It is vulgar, rude, ignorant,
unlettered, and disrespectful : could not, shall not, etc., is
the true writing. Nor never write M, Macklin. Pray who
is M. ? It is the highest ill-breeding even to abbreviate any
word, but particularly a name ; besides the unintelligibility.

" Pray how does this look .'' * I am, sr., yr. mt. obt. um'ble
sevt.' Mind always write your words at length, and never
make the vile apologies in your letters about being ^greatly

120

CHARLES MAC KLIN.

hurried with business ; ' or, * and must now cofidude, as the
post is this instant going out.' Then why did you not begin
sooner ? You see, I am nothing with you if not critical ; and
so at full length,

" I am, my dear,

" Your most affectionate

" And anxious father,

" Charles Macklin.
" P.S. — Your account that you are in health and spirits
rejoices me. I never was better in health or content. If I
can contrive it, I shall be over with you, but do not depend
on anybody but yourself."

The following statement of accounts, too, said, by
Kirkman, to be taken from Mr. Macklin's memorandum-
book, is of considerable interest. It is to be noticed
that the Beggar's Opera seems to have been revived this
season with considerable profit, and it is said Mr. Macklin
played Peachum with success. I do not exactly under-
stand upon what principle Macklin's moiety is calculated,
but the document as it stands, even without the key,
throws considerable light on Macklin's popularity, both
as actor and playwright, as may be seen by glancing
at the receipts of February 6, December 22, and
December 2.

SMOCK ALLEY THEATRE,

The receipt

of the

theatre.

Macklin's
moiety.

1763.

Nov. 9

» 14
„ 18
» 21
,. 23

The Refusal, and True-Born Irish-
man
The Beggar's Opera
The Beggar's Opera
The Revenge ; True-Born Irishman
The Merchant of Venice, and
Saunders, Wire Dancer

£ s. d.

68 8 3
7411 9
7411 9
83 8 4

82 16 5

£ s. d.

H 4 i^
17 5 io|
17 5 10*
21 14 2

21 8 2|

THE IRISH STAGE.

121

The receipt
of the

Macklin's

theatre.

moiety.

1763-

£ s.

d.

£. s. d.

N0V.25

The Beggar's Opera

93 10

II

2615 si

„ 28

Double Dealer; True-Bom Irish-

man

76 IS

I

18 7 6i

Dec. I

The Beggar's Opera

45 16

6

218 3

» 2

Julius Caesar, Alderman

100 0

0

30 2 7J

» 7

The Brothers, Alderman

,. 9

The Beggar's Opera ; True-Born

Irishman

95 0

2

27 10 I

„ 22

By command, Lord Lieutenant,

Revenge and True-Born Irishman

113 2

0

36 II 6

„ 23

The Beggar's Opera, Saunders,

Wire Dancer

8614

s

23 7 2|

1764.

Tan. 2

Old Bachelor ; True-Born Irishman

40 2

9

I Ak

» 6

The Beggar's Opera, Wire Dancing

64 7

0

12 3 6

„ 20

The Beggar's Opera

97 13

3

28 16 7

» 27

Opera and Wire ...

91 16

9*

25 18 4|

Feb. 6

Merchant of Venice ; Love k-la-

Mode

121 6

8

4013 4

„ 10

Beggar's Opera, Wire Dancing ...

79 0

7

19 10 3J

M 13

Refusal; Love i-la-Mode

63 8

7

II 14 3J

M 17

Opera

7417

2

17 18 7

„ 26

Comus ; Love a-Ia-Mode ...

73 3

10

16 II 9

It was not to be expected that two such self-opinionated
men as Macklin and Mossop would work in harmony
for any length of time, and consequently it is not
surprising to learn, that they were the plaintiff and
defendant in a lawsuit, arising out of the profits of the
theatre in the past season, in which, Mossop having no
money, Macklin had the satisfaction of getting a verdict,
but nothing more substantial. Macklin, in 1764, went
back to England, where he had "the honourable dis-
tinction of instructing H.R.H. the late Duke of York in
the science of acting." Several plays were represented
at the Privy Gardens by eminent and distinguished

122 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

amateurs under Mr. Macklin's direction. " But," as
Kirkman eloquently says, " in the zenith of his distinc-
tion, and whilst he was basking in the sunshine of
royalty, and enjoying the beneficence of the noble duke,
Mr. Macklin's prosperity received a mortal wound, and
he had to deplore with the nation the sudden death
of his royal patron."

Under these circumstances, Macklin entered into an
engagement with Barry, who was now (1765-6) deserted
by Woodward, and produced The Man of the World,
under the title of The True-Born Scotchman. Macklin
acted on the same terms at Crow Street as he had at
the Smock Alley Theatre, and probably with more profit
to himself; for we find on one occasion, when The
Merchant of Venice and Love a-la-Mode were played, by
command of Lord Hertford, Macklin's moiety amounted
to no less than jT^^'] xs. o\d. After this season Macklin
spent the remainder of the year in study, and, we are
told, in the composition of dramatic works. What these
were it is impossible to say. The next year Barry left
Dublin, and Mossop, as we have said, took both the
theatres.

Macklin did not visit Dublin again until 1770. He
had been playing in Liverpool and Leeds, and arrived
at Dublin on November 1 1. He first played at the little
theatre in Capel Street. This theatre was built by a
man named Stretch to exhibit his puppet show. It was
known by the name of " Stretch's Show," and O'Keeffe
says that when very young he much delighted in the
puppets. The house was afterwards hired by Dawson
and Robert Mahon. " Tae stage was deep, and it had
pit, boxes, lattices, and two galleries, but no greenroom,
the former company (the puppets) not having required
one." The new company consisted, however, of flesh

THE IRISH STAGE. 123

and blood actors, to whom a greenroom was a necessity ;
they therefore hired the back parlour of an adjacent
grocer's shop. The company consisted, among others,
of Macklin; Thomas Holcroft, actor and prompter, after-
wards a successful London playwright ; Philip Glenville,
a pupil of Macklin; Miss Ambrose, and Miss Leeson,
afterwards Mrs. William Lewis, also his pupils ; and Miss
Younge, afterwards Mrs. Pope. Macklin brought with
him his own pieces in which he played, and a new
tragedy which no one ever saw. For this tragedy he
had brought some splendid dresses, made by the dress-
maker of the Opera House in the Haymarket, which
Dawson and Mahon bought up and used for the grand
procession in Garrick's. " Stratford Jubilee," so they were
not wasted.

In March, 177 1, Dawson removed his company from
the Capel Street to the Crow Street Theatre. Here
Macklin revised The True-Born Scotchman, instructing
Miss Younge in the part of Lady Rodolpha, which she
acted with success. At this time Miss Leeson was under
his tuition, and she accompanied Macklin to Limerick
and Cork, where he carried out advantageous engage-
ments. O'Keeffe says that " both in Limerick and Cork
the drama and actors were in very high estimation. If
a play, in its first representation in London, should be
driven from the stage, and an actor fail in a trial part,
and thereby be neglected, such play and such actors
were never brought either to Cork or Limerick." The
performers were generally rewarded by a free benefit,
which produced them three or four hundred pounds.
Garrick gave considerable offence by never leaving
Dublin to play at Cork or Limerick, but most of the
other leading actors and actresses paid a visit to these
places. Outside Cork and Limerick the drama seems to

124 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

have been little appreciated or understood, and there
does not seem at any time to have been a flourishing
provincial stage in Ireland.

The following playbill is too much of a curiosity not
to be printed at length. It tells us something of the
style of company that went on tour with Shakespeare in
provincial Ireland in the eighteenth century. Although
one would be rash in vouching for its genuineness,
nevertheless, even as a parody or burlesque, it is probably
as near to nature, in its way, as are the details of the
management of Mr. Vincent Crummies at the Theatre
Royal, Portsmouth.

" Bill of Kilkenny Theatre Royal

By his Majesty's Co. of Comedians,

The last night, because the Co. go to-morrow to Waterford.

On Saturday, May 14, 1793,

Will be performed, by command of several respectable
people in this learned metropolis, for the benefit of Mr.
Kearns

THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET.

Originally written and composed by the celebrated Dan
Hayes of Limerick, and inserted in Shakespeare's works.
Hamlet, by Mr. Kearns (being his first appearance in that

character), who, between the acts, will perform several

solos on the patent bagpipes, which play two tunes at

the same time.
Ophelia, by Mrs. Prior, who will introduce several favourite

airs in character, particularly ' The Lass of Richmond

Hill,' and 'We'll all be Unhappy Together,' from the

Rev. Mr. Dibdin's ' Oddities.'
The parts of the King and Queen, by the direction of
the Rev. Father O'Callaghan, will be omitted, as too immoral
for any stage.
POLONius, the comical politician, by a young gentleman,

being his first appearance in public.

THE IRISH STAGE. 125

The Ghost, the Gravedigger, and Laertes, by Mr. Sampson,
the great London comedian.

The characters to be dressed in Roman shapes.

To which will be added an Interlude, in which will be
introduced several sleight-of-hand tricks by Professor Hurst.

The whole to conclude with the farce of

MAHOMET THE IMPOSTOR.

Tickets to be had of Mr. Keams at the sign of the Goat's
Beard in Castle Street.

*^* The value of the tickets as usual will be taken (if
required) in candles, bacon, soap, butter, cheese, etc., as Mr.
Keams wishes in every particular to accommodate the
public.

N.B. — No person whatsoever will be admitted into the
boxes without shoes or stockings."

Passing from this eccentric document to more trust-
worthy and important matters, we must notice, in con-
cluding this somewhat spasmodic account of the Irish
stage, Macklin's last visit to Dublin in 1785. He was
now at least eighty-six years of age, and yet the then
manager of the Smock Alley Theatre, Mr. Daly, was so
assured of his worth and popularity as an actor, that he
was able to offer him the munificent salary of jC^<^o a
night, to which was added a clear benefit. Seldom, if
ever, in the history of the stage, has an actor of these
years gone through so arduous a task as that which
Macklin undertook. He played Shylock and Sir Archy
one night, and on another occasion. Sir Pertinax. On
August 22, his benefit night, he was advertised to
appear in these two last characters, and as soon as the
doors of the house were opened, it was thronged in every
part. Everything went well until the middle of the
second act, when, unfortunately, he was taken suddenly
ill, and had to be assisted off the stage. This was the

126 CHARLES MACKLIN.

first time his memory showed any symptoms of decay,
and a sympathetic audience were ready to accept a sub-
stitute through the rest of the performance. In a few
days he was sufficiently recovered, and the indomitable
old actor was again delighting the public in his favourite
parts. He always seemed to enjoy acting in his native
city, and some of his most hopeful years were passed in
Dublin, playing to audiences of his own countrymen.
At one time he had intended to live in retirement there ;
and as early as 1771 he writes to his son, "About the
latter end of this month I shall remove my goods to
Dublin, where I intend to settle for the remainder of my
life ; nor shall I in all probability return even as a visitor
to England for some years, if ever." These hopes were,
as we know, not to be realized. Necessity compelled
him to return to England, and he was never more than
a sojourner in his native city of Dublin.

( 127 )

CHAPTER VIII.

MACKLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT.

Although the education of Macklin was, as we have
seen, somewhat neglected in his early youth, there is no
reason to believe the stories that exist about his learning
to read at the age of thirty-five. There is evidence that
he was at a school for some considerable period. He
himself has left notes of reminiscences about his school-
master, and we may take it that in his early years he at
least learned how to read and write, if nothing more.
Macklin, too, was not a man to sit down beneath adverse
circumstances and indulge in indolent lamentations.
There was a good deal of intellectual pride about the
man, and, as he worked his way up in his chosen profes-
sion, we gather that he took advantage of the opportu-
nities that presented themselves, reading any volumes of
history, criticism, and poetry that fell in his way. An
absolutely ignorant man, however limitless his self-conceit,
would never have hit out the great Piazza scheme. But,
on the other hand, this is just the kind of project one
would expect, from a self-willed and self-educated man,
who, knowing that he had made a wiser use of his spare
moments than the men he associated with, and full of
knowledge and conceit, burned to impart to the universe
some crumbs of the information he had acquired with
such difficulty, and to receive in return the homage due
to a philosopher and a man of learning.

128 CHARLES MACKLIN.

If we are right in believing that his self-education was
gradual, and dated back to the early days of his theatrical
life, it is easy to understand his history as a playwright.
There was an interval of fifteen years between the pro-
ductions of Henry VII. and Love a-la-Mode, and during
that time Macklin tried his hand at several dramatic
compositions ; these were, without exception, failures.
It was not until 1759 that he discovered that to write a
play something other than mere plot, pen, ink, and paper
was required. His earlier attempts are mere sketches,
the work of a man who thinks he has only to sit down
and knock off a successful drama as he would a note of
invitation. And, indeed, Macklin's letters seem far more
studied compositions than his earlier dramas. But this,
again, is what one would expect from a self-educated,
vain man, who knew the stage well, and fancied his
literary powers were equal to his acknowledged acting
worth. It is not until he rids himself of this notion,
and applies to dramatic writing that insight, energy, and
painful care that he gave to acting, that he is enabled
to produce any composition that is really worthy of
criticism.

Macklin's first play was produced in 1746, the year
after the Scotch rebellion. Theatrical entertainments were
greatly deserted in this time of political excitement ; and
at Lacy's suggestion Macklin employed himself for six
weeks in producing a tragedy entitled King Hetiry VII. ;
or, the Popish Impostor. It deals with the story of Perkin
Warbeck, and, with unconscious humour, introduces
him as a Popish impostor at a date when, of course,
Protestantism was unknown. The tragedy was per-
formed for six nights at Drury Lane, Macklin playing
the part of Huntley. Mrs. Cibber, writing to Garrick
about this time, tells him of the straits the theatre is in.

MACKLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 129

" It is surprising," she says, " that Drury Lane playhouse
goes on acting ; one night with another they have not re-
ceived above £,\o ; the actors are paid only three nights a
week, though they play every night. But the top stroke of
all was Macklin's play ! It was entirely new dressed, and
no expense saved in the clothes. I shall say nothing of the
piece, because you may read it ; but be as vain as you will
about your playing Bayes, you never made an audience
laugh more than Henry VII. has done."

Quin had told him all along that his tragedy would
never succeed, and when the event justified his predic-
tion, Quin asked him what he thought of his judgment
now.

"Why, I think posterity will do me justice," said
Macklin.

" I believe they will," retorted Quin ; " for your play
now is only damned, but posterity will have the satisfac-
tion to know that both play and author met with the
same fate."

In the prologue to the piece, written and spoken by
Macklin himself, the only excuse put forward for the
tragedy was in the first couplet —

" The temporary piece in haste was writ.
The six weeks' labour of a puny wit."

The audience, however, very rightly refused to be cajoled
by such flimsy excuses, and the play was rightly and
speedily damned.

Tragedy having proved somewhat a failure, Macklin's
ubiquitous ambition led him to try his hand at satire.
Towards the close of the season 1746-7, the reputation
of Dr. Hoadley's Suspicious Husband, which was pro-
duced' at Covent Garden, disturbed the noble army of
greenroom wits, who fancied they were "thrown at," to
use Mr. Cooke's expression, and they retaliated as well

K

130 CHARLES MACKLIN.

as they could by abusing the play. Macklin, who at
that time haunted the Grecian Coffee-house, where a
select circle of young Templars held their court, and
who was probably welcome in many another similar
coterie, thought this a good opportunity to make his
mark as a satirist With this intention he produced a
farce entitled The Suspicious Husband Criticized ; or, the
Plague of Envy, which was produced at Drury Lane.
Satire, however, was no more successful than tragedy,
and the farce was never played a second time.

About this time, too, he wrote a little farce entitled
A Will or no Will; or, a Bone for the Lawyers, which was
played at Mrs. Macklin's benefit, but never afterwards ;
and in 1748 he produced another farce, called The Club
of Fortune Hunters ; or, the Widow Bewitched. This was
played two or three times for Macklin's benefit, but only
met with a tolerable reception. These non-successes
seem to have daunted Macklin's enthusiasm for dramatic
writing, and, with the exception of a dramatic spectacle
called Covent Garden Theatre ; or, Pasquin turned Draw-
cansir, acted at Covent Garden in 1752, Macklin did
nothing in the way of dramatic composition until after
ten years, when he produced Love a-la-Mode. One can-
not but regret, however, that one has to form an opinion
of these early dramatic ventures from hearsay, as, with
the exception of Henry VIL. ; or, the Popish Lmpostor, not
one of them seems to have been printed. Henry VLL.
was printed, it is said, in 1746, but I have not been able
to find a copy of the play.

Love a-la-Mode was the first play written by Macklin
that can be chronicled a success. The story of the piece
is simple enough, and its action purely conventional and
in a sense stagey, but it is a good acting farce full of
character and witty dialogue. Although it pretends only

MAC KLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 131

to be a farce, it is indeed a "comedy in little," and far
more deserving to be classed in the higher category than
many a more pretentious comedy, so-called, of recent
years.

Charlotte, a young lady of fortune, has four lovers, Sir
Archy MacSarcasm, a Scotchman ; Squire Groom, an
EngUsh country bumpkin ; Mr. Mordecai, a Jew ; and
the hero of the piece, Sir Callaghan O'Brallaghan, an Irish
soldier. The characters of the men are foreshadowed in
their names. We see their methods of love-making, and
are amused by their idiosyncrasies in the first act ; in the
second, Charlotte pretends to lose her fortune, when the
three first-named lovers desert her, and she falls into the
arms of the chivalrous Irishman, who finds he has married
not only a charming mistress, but an heiress as well.
Such is the plot, simple, conventional, belonging to the
stage ever since the stage was an institution, and only
remarkable in this case, for its novel presentment, its
capital acting characters, and its smart dialogue.

There is a story of the origin of this piece given by
Cooke, who has it from Macklin himself, which is perhaps
worth preserving. It is as follows : —

*' Some time before going to Ireland on the Crow Street
expedition, Barry and Macklin had been spending the
evening at a public-house in the neighbourhood of Covent
Garden, when they were joined by an Irishman who had
been some years in the Prussian service, and who from his
first appearance attracted their notice. In his person he
was near six feet high, finely formed, of a handsome manly
face, with a degree of honesty and good humour about him
which prejudiced everybody in his favour.

" He happened to sit in the same box where Macklin and
Barry sat ; and as Barry perfectly understood the Irish
character, could tell many agreeable stories in that way, and
was, beside, considered as no inconsiderable humbugger (a

132 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

species of wit very much attached to an Hibernian humorist),
he soon scraped an acquaintance with his countrymen, and
brought him out in the full blow of self-exhibition."

The Irishman seems to have told the actors all his
history in simple-minded honesty, while they, in return,
abused his good nature by raillery and practical joking.
It does not appear, however, that he had much in com-
mon with Sir Callaghan, except that he had been a soldier
in the Prussian service; but perhaps he suggested to
Macklin the notion of an Irish hero, which at this date
was a new one, Irishmen being then invariably pourtrayed
on the stage as designing and mercenary fortune-hunters.
Macklin was so keen about embodying this chance
Irishman as the hero of a comedy, that he instantly
communicated his idea to Barry, who was sufficiently
pleased with it to offer to play the hero, and sufficiently
eager for the piece to be written to wager Macklin a
" rump and dozen " that he would not produce a comedy
in the course of three months.

" The wager," it is said, " was accepted ; and Macklin,
according to his own account, produced a comedy of five
acts, sketched out in plot and incidents without having all
the parts of the dialogue filled up, in the course of six weeks,
which Barry was so pleased with that he paid him his wager,
Mackhn pledging himself, at the same time, to finish it
before the end of the season."

Macklin's earlier dramatic ventures had suffered, as we
have seen, from hasty writing and scamped workmanship.
He had learned at last that the dialogue of a play must
be crisp, pointed, and rapid, and he was so far convinced
of this as to be able to take the advice of his friends,
and cut down his five acts to two.

" His first design was to make it a play of five acts, and
he disposed the business of it in this manner. However,

MAC KLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 133

before he brought it before the eye of the public he deter-
mined to take advice ; and as there was nobody to whom
he could with more friendship and propriety address himself
than Mr. Murphy, who was, and is, considered as one of our
first dramatic writers, he wrote a letter inviting him to dine
with him on a certain day, in order to sit in judgment on
his comedy.

"This was in the summer of 1760 [this date should be
1759]. Murphy had country lodgings in Kew Lane, and
Macklin and his daughter lived upon Richmond Hill. They
met two hours before dinner for this purpose, when Macklin
began with great gravity to read his piece, first requesting
the critic ' to use the pruning-knife, if necessary, with an
unsparing hand.' Murphy accordingly called for pen, ink,
and paper, and as Macklin read he made his remarks. They
had not proceeded long in this manner, when Macklin (who
from the beginning was on the tenterhook of expectation)
called out, ' Well, sir, come, let's see what you have done ? '
' No, sir,' said the other ; ' read through, and then I will
show you my remarks.' Macklin's impatience could not
well brook this delay, and he talked ' of his having a rod
over him, and that he should like to have some presenti-
ment of his fate, and not perhaps be d d altogether.'

Murphy remonstrated upon this, and told him 'that as his
comedy could not be well judged of till it was entirely read,
so his criticism would be imperfect till the whole was equally
finished.' ' Well, sir,' said the growling author, ' I have
put myself in your power — go on ! ' He accordingly read
through his piece, when Murphy gave the following judgment.

" That he in general approved of the plot, the characters
and their appropriate discriminations, but that both plot and
characters suffered considerably from being drawn out into
five acts. From this extension the business lingered, and
that eclat which would be produced by the bustle and inci-
dent of a two-act-piece must suffer from a further continua-
tion."

Macklin, author-like, protested against so cruel a
decision. He made a long dissertation on comedy

134 CHARLES MACKLIN.

ancient and modern, pleading skilfully, but in vain,
for his five acts. Murphy was too much his friend,
and too honest a critic, to recant, and insisted on the
piece being cut down to a farce. Macklin took his
opinion in writing before they parted, determining to
think the matter over and consult some of his other
critical friends before he took further steps. With this
view, he laid his manuscript before Mr. Chetwynd, a
mutual friend of Murphy, Foote, Sir Francis Delaval,
and Macklin, and a well-known theatrical amateur.
Chetwynd, who seems to have possessed common sense
as well as learning, gave the same verdict as Murphy,
and Macklin, with considerable wisdom and self-denial,
turned his five-act comedy into a two-act farce.

The piece was first played at Drury Lane Theatre, on
Deceml^r 12, 1759. It was Macklin's first appear-
ance at Drury Lane for six years. The following was
the cast : —

Sir Archv MacSarcasm Mr. Macklin.

Squire Groom „ King.

Beau Mordecai „ Blakes.

Sir Callaghan O'Brallaghan „ Moody.

Sir Theodore Goodchild ... „ Burton.

and

Charlotte Miss Macklin.

As we have said, the characters are well drawn, and
we cannot understand how any one, reading the play,
could doubt that it would act well. Sir Archy Mac-
Sarcasm, though not a character of the weight and force
of Sir Pertinax MacSycophant, has his full share of
witty lines, and is, indeed, a lighter caricature of the
same character — the haughty, avaricious, clever Scotch-
man. Sir Archy's description of the Squire is at least

MACKLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 135

good farcical writing. *' Why, madam, the Squire is the
keenest sportsman in a' Europe : Madam, there is
naething comes amiss tull him; he wull fish, or fowl,
or hunt — he hunts everything — everything frae the flae
i' the blanket to the elephant in the forest." Better still
is his humorous lament about the law, which has added
a phrase to an Englishman's vocabulary that seems as
though it would outlast the law itself. " Oh, Sir, ye
dinna ken the law — the law is a sort of hocus pocus
science, that smiles in yer face while it picks yer pocket ;
and the glorious uncertainty of it is of mair use to the
professors than the justice of it."

The quarrel between Sir Archy, with " his abominable
Scot's accent, and his grotesque visage almost buried in
snuff," and the bold boisterous cavalier Sir Callaghan,
on the antiquity of their respective families, is almost
worthy of Sheridan, and certainly deserves to be quoted
as one of Macklin's happiest dramatic scenes. The
quarrel arises out of a letter which the Irishman has
written to Charlotte's father, and which he is reading
to Sir Archy. In it he makes an unhappy allusion to
the antiquity of his own family, and then proceeds —

" You see. Sir Archy, I give him a rub, but by way of a
hint about my family, because why, do you see. Sir Theodore
is my uncle, only by my mother's side, which is a little
upstart family that came in vid one Strongbow but t'other
day — lord, not above six or seven hundred years ago ;
whereas my family, by my father's side, are all the true ould
Milesians, and related to the O'Flaherty's, and O'Shaugh-
nesses, and the MacLauchlins, and the O'Donnaghans,
O'Callaghans, O'Geogaghans, and all the tick blood of the
nation — and I myself, you know, am an O'Brallaghan, which
is the ouldest of them all. •

" Sir A. Ay, ay ! I believe you are o' an auncient family,
Sir Callaghan, but ye are oot in ae point.

136 CHARLES MACKLIN.

" Sir C. What is that, Sir Archy ?

'^ Sir A. Whar ye said ye were as auncient as ony family
i' the tree kingdoms.

" Sir C. Faith, then, I said nothing but truth.

'■'•Sir A. Hut, hut, hut awa' man, hut awa' ! ye mauna say
that ; what the deel, consider oor families i' the North. Why,
ye o' Ireland, sir, are but a colony frae us, an ootcast ! a
mere ootcast, and as such ye remain tuU this hour.

" Sir C. I beg your pardon. Sir Archy, that is the Scotch
account, which, you know, never speaks truth, because it is
always partial ; but the Irish history, which must be the
best, because it was written by an Irish poet of my own
family, one Shemus Thurlough Shannaghan O'Brallaghan,
and he says, in his chapter of genealogy, that the Scotch
are all Irishmen's bastards.

'■'•Sir A. Hoo, sir ! bastards ! Do ye mak us illegeetemate,
illegeetemate, sir 1

" Sir C. Faith, I do — for the youngest branch of our
family, one MacFergus O'Brallaghan, was the very man
that went from Carrickfergus and peopled all Scotland with
his own hands ; so that, my dear Sir Archy, you must be
bastards of course, you know.

''Sir A. Hark ye. Sir Callaghan, though yer ignorance
and vanity wad mak conquerors and ravishers o' yer aunces-
ters, and harlots and sabines o' oor mithers — yet ye sail
prove, sir, that their issue are a' the children o' honour.

" Sir C. Hark'e, hark'e. Sir Archy, what is that ye men-
tioned about ignorance and vanity ?

" Sir A. Sir, I denoonce ye baith ignorant and vain, and
mak yer maist o't.

" Sir C. Faith, sir, I can make nothing of it, for they are
words I don't understand, because they are what no gentle-
man is used to ; and therefore you must unsay them.

" Sir A. Hoo, sir! Eat my words.? A North Briton
eat his words ?

" Sir C. Indeed you must, and this instant eat them.

''Sir A. Ye sgU eat first a piece o' this weapont. [Draws.

" Sir C. Poo, poo. Sir Archy, put up, put up — this is no
proper place for such work ; consider, drawing a sword is

MAC KLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 137

a very serious piece of business, and ought always to be
done in private. We may be prevented here ; but if you are
for a little of that fun, come away to the right spot, my
dear.

^^ Sir A. Nae equivocation, sir ; dinna ye think ye hae
gotten Beau Mordecai to cope wi'. Defend yersel', for, by the
sacred honour o' Saint Andrew, ye sail be responsible for
makin' us illegeetemate, sir, illegeetemate.

" Sir C. Then by the sacred crook of Saint Patrick, you
are a very foolish man to quarrel about such a trifle. But
since you have a mind for a tilt, have at you, my dear, for
the honour of the sod. Oho ! my jewel ! never fear us, you
are as welcome as the flowers of May. \They fight P

It is difficult to understand how Garrick, on reading
a piece with so humorous a scene in it, could have
expressed disapproval, but it is said that he declared
it would not do, consenting, however, to its represent-
ation if the author greatly desired it. It is not to be
supposed that Macklin was greatly depressed by Gar-
rick's unfavourable judgment, but it had this irritating
effect, that their players, taking the cue from Garrick,
publicly foretold its approaching destruction, and had
any one but Macklin been stage-manager, the piece
could never have succeeded. As it was, thanks to care-
ful drilling and his own clever performance of Sir Archy,
the piece was capitally received, and ran for several
nights. It is related that its popularity even reached
the ears of George II., who had for some time dis-
continued his appearance at theatres, and that, hearing
so much talk of Love a-la-Mode, " he sent for the
manuscript, and commanded an old Hanoverian officer
to read it to him. This person spent eleven weeks in
misrepresenting the author's meaning. The German was
totally void of humour, and was, besides, not well
acquainted with the English language. The King,

138 CHARLES MACKLIN.

however, expressed great satisfaction at the Irishman
getting the better of his rivals, and gaining the young
lady."

There was some shght objection to the farce at first,
on the ground that the author exalted an Irishman
above an Englishman in honour and valour. And there
is a pamphlet in the British Museum, formerly the
property of Toms's Coffee-house, in Devereux Court,
criticizing the farce from the point of view of an angry
Scot. The author naively informs us he has only been
in England a fortnight, and goes on to suggest that the
farce is " the impotent effort of the hard-bound brains
of a low plagiary, whose memory is filled with the shreds
and ill-chosen scraps of other men's wit." But this sort
of thing was soon voted down as national prejudice, and
English audiences welcomed a stage Irishman who was
something other than a cruel caricature of human nature.
Sir Callaghan is, we believe, one of the earliest Irish
stage heroes, the legitimate ancestor of Sir Lucius
O'Trigger and many another honest ridiculous fellow
of less note.

How carefully considered were all his characters, and
how greatly in earnest Macklin was in his dramatic
writing, may be gathered from the following letter,
addressed at a later date to Mr. Quick, respecting his
performance of Beau Mordecai. This letter, as it seems
to me, evinces serious thought upon all stage matters
which is of especial interest and value from being the
result of long experience. The letter, too, is characteristic
of the writer. It is polemical, crude, wanting in tact,
and pedantic, but, at the same time, clear, just, and well
considered in its terms and substance. It is copied
verbatim from the Monthly Mirror of January, 1798,
and begins without further preface thus :

MAC KLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 139

"In every profession or special community there exists
a moral principle of kindness and brotherhood. This
principle seems to me to be indispensable, and the man
who departs from it cannot be deemed a true brother.

" No profession can be more obliged to observe this prin-
ciple, in the exercise of it, than actors, as the amicably and
precisely settling at rehearsals what each actor in a scene
means to do in his character, how he will do it, and the
faithfully executing that, are the only means that can
methodize and carry the art of actors into a resemblance
of the characters and actions that the poet intended.

" When you first acted the part of Mordecai in Love d-la-
Mode, you thought yourself so young in the profession of an
actor, and so inexperienced, as to suffer yourself to be
directed by the author, how to dress, look, deport, and
speak that character, for your acting of which you had his
thanks, his praise, and his interest to get you retained in
Covent Garden Theatre.

" But such is the nature of your improvement in your
profession, in that part in particular, that you neither dress
it, look it, speak it, nor deport it as you were instructed,
nor as you used to do ; nay, you do not even speak the
words or meaning of the author. In short, friend Quick, you
have made it quite a different character from what the
author intended it, and from what it appeared when you
'first acted it, and for some years after.

" Actors often overrate their consequence in various
instances. One mark of that disorder is that they care not
whom they distress or injure in a scene, so they gratify
their own overbearing vanity and avarice of fame. Another
mark is that they are above being informed by their fellows
— they look upon it as an insult to their understanding, their
fame, merit, and consequence. This is a false principle ;
the true one is that an actor is never too wise nor too old
to be instructed, as the nature of his profession is to know
all that passes in the mind of man, with its influence upon
the body from the cradle to the grave, all which he is to
imitate, by looks, tones, station, attitude, gait, and gesture.

" Now, it is probable that no one actor has studied all

140 CHARLES MACKLIN.

these signs, or, if he has, that he has not retained them all ;
therefore he may probably be informed sometimes even by
an inferior brother.

" You, sir, seem to be so high in your profession as to
act in what manner you please, in a sense, without consider-
ing how your acting affects the person in the scene with you.
That is no affair of mine, unless it interferes with me as
a brother — in that case I am as tenacious to be relieved as
you are to offend ; and I think I am justifiable when I
resolve that no actor shall indulge his consequence or his
policy, by preventing the good effects of a scene, that I, by
fair brotherly means, am endeavouring to produce. This
prevention you have very often effected in Love d-la-Mode,
and likewise in the trifling scene that you have with me in
the Merchant of Venice, though often requested civilly to
alter your conduct in it. I shall request of the manager
that your scenes in Love d-la-Mode may be rehearsed before
that farce is acted again, to the end that the character of
Beau Mordecai may be restored to what it was intended to
be, to the spirit and humour that you used to enliven it with.
And that you may recollect distinctly what the character
and manner are, I take the liberty of giving you the follow-
ing outlines of each.

" The character is an egregious coxcomb who is striving
to be witty ; at the top of dress, with an awkward fancy of
his own, so as to be as ridiculous and as badly matched or
sorted as such a fellow ignorant of propriety can be.

" His manner is very lively — singing, conceited, dancing —
throwing out himself, body, voice, and mind, as much as
conceit and impudence and ignorance can effect.

" Instead of which, sir, you turn him into a fellow that
neither sings, capers, nor flutters ; his voice, his utterance,
his action, his everything, is shrunk into nothing but a dul-
ness that has no effect but a flattening every part of the
farce that he is concerned in ; all which is in your power to
avoid, or you would never have been troubled with the part
nor with this letter.

" Should any part of this letter carry the mask of impro-
priety of any kind, be assured I did not intend it ; my only

MACKLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 141

end in the expostulation is to carry on business with unity
and fairness. Show it to any of our brethren — I shall
implicitly submit to their determination ; but if we cannot
carry on business with mutual harmony, we must avoid
meeting in a scene as often as the service of the theatre
will admit of such an indulgence.
" I am, Sir,
" With great respect and good wishes,

" Your friend and fellow-actor,
« C. M."

The error of exalting the Irishman to the place of
hero, which offended some ultra-loyal and patriotic
theatre-goers in England, was perhaps the chief virtue
of the piece in Dublin. Macklin produced the play there
in the winter of 1762, with a really remarkable cast.
Barry as Sir Callaghan, Woodward as Squire Groom
Messink as Mordecai, and himself Sir Archy. Barry made
a great hit in the Irish hero. " It was partly the character
of the player himself in his convivial moments," as Mr.
Cooke says, and the whole performance so delighted the
town that " they followed it with unabating curiosity for
a whole winter as one of their never-failing dishes of
entertainment."

Love a-la-Mode became the rage in England as well as
Ireland, and we find in Tate Wilkinson's Memoirs a letter
from David Garrick, endeavouring to tempt Wilkinson to
play Sir Archy, and asking him " to study the part in all
haste and secretly," in order that they might spring a
surprise on Macklin by suddenly producing his piece.
This plot, however, came to nothing ; but Macklin had
at various times considerable trouble with strolling
companies, who chose to act Love a-la-Mode without
the author's permission. The following letter, written by
Macklin on May 18, 177 1, to his solicitor, is at least

142 CHARLES MACKLIN.

interesting as bearing on the condition of theatricals in
the provinces at this time : —

"Dear Sir,

" By the paper enclosed [a playbill] in this letter,
you will find that I must again call the law to my aid in order
to maintain my preclusive right to the property of Love d-la-
Mode. The offender is one Whitley, whose christian name
I know not. He is the master of a Strolling Company, and
generally acts at Manchester, Derby, and Leicester, so that
an acquaintance at any of those places might inform me of
his christian name, should it be necessary to the filing of a
bill, or, were I to write a letter to him, I suppose that would
draw it from him.

" The constitution of these Strolling Companies is that one
man generally finds cloaths and scenes, for which he has
four shares of the profits. Every performer is a sharer.
The number of performances about sixteen or eighteen.
The person who provides the cloaths and scenes is deemed
the master of the company, who makes all contracts for rents,
etc., and is responsible for all expenses and contingencies of
every kind incidental to the undertaking. This is the
character Whitley stands in."

Intent on the destruction of the said Whitley, Macklin
went down to Leicester, and indited a dignified ultimatum ,
to the offending manager, intimating that if he did not
give up the performance of Love a-la-Mode^ and promise
never to play it in future, he would invoke the powers of
the law against him and every individual member of his
company. To this Whitley, who was a clever rogue,
having been bred an attorney, and acquired a fine literary
style, sent the following delightful reply : -

" Sir,

MACKLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 143

" To Mr. Charles Macklin.

" Leicester, May 26, 1771.

" If misconception had not hurried you into a
labjrrinth of error, if your judgment was not jaundiced by false,
mean, wicked agents such as Connor and Kenna, — I think
you could not readily resolve to heap any kind of expense
upon people totally innocent of intentional transgression.

" If a man made invasion on my wardrobe, and sold a coat
of mine in Monmouth Street, and an harmless, innocent man
here bought it and paid honestly for it, I could not punish
him for wearing it ; nor, in the judicious eye, would it appear
that he invaded my property ; nor could any law condemn
him for it ; but this, and much more of rational inference
that might serve to convince, I shall waive and acquiesce with
your own propositions, as I would rather heal than irritate
grievances ; though, indeed, sir, I am as well persuaded I
can exculpate myself as I am that the sun moves the earth,
or the soul of man is immortal.

" I shall not recriminate, and though I must' perceive the
palpable pregnancy of some illiberal and unjust insinuations
in your letter, as I am conscious of my own integrity, I can-
not make the application to myself, but reply, qui capit tile
facit.

" I know that reason is the rock on which the law is, or
ought to be, founded, and that unerring guide tells me that I
have not invaded your literary property, or offended any part
or parcel of the law, in looking on the exhibition, or by not
preventing the performance of your farce. But, sir, my
nature and education soar above the concession of wrongs.
I should shudder at the shadow of an unprovoked injury ;
and, as I am impatient of bearing insult, am ever cautious of
affronting ; therefore, as a gentleman, born and bred above
meanness, I shall make you this concession— that I will
submit my conduct to the arbitration of any two sensible,
honest men, and, in the interim, to wipe away your anxiety,
solemnly promise that, as it disturbs your peace, Love d-la-
Mode shall never be performed in my company without your
concurrence.

144 CHARLES MACKLIN.

" Sir, were I single in this conflict, I could fearless face
every impending consequence ; but as the debate is compli-
cated, and you, like a gentleman, offer the alternative, I, as
a gentleman, and the parent and protector of my people, do
embrace the alternative, and shall be proud to meet Mr.
Macklin for the future as a friend.

" Consider, sir, the noble mind is above seeking for servile
submission, and the virtuous mind too exalted to make it.
" I am, with respect, sir,

" Your most humble servant,

"James Whitley."

Whether or not Macklin was taken in by this bit of
transpontine impudence, one cannot say. Perhaps the
bombastic style of the manager tickled his vanity. Any-
how, he was content to accept his promise, and did not
give his solicitors orders to file a bill.

The next play that Macklin produced was The Married
Libertine. This comedy was first played at Covent
Garden on January 28, 1761, Macklin playing Lord
Belleville, the libertine, and his daughter a madcap part,
evidently written to suit her abilities. The piece is
spoken of as having been well written and carefully
planned, but it was not a success. The plot, to modern
ears, sounds very objectionable, and, as the play was
never printed, we cannot learn how far the dialogue was
worthy of the author of Love a-la-Mode. There was a
determined opposition to the piece, partly on the ground
that Lord Belleville was intended for a portrait of a well-
known nobleman, then living. There seems no reason to
believe that this was so. In spite of a strong and continued
opposition, Macklin, with the assistance of an Irish party
that rallied round him, was enabled to play the piece for
the nine nights necessary to entitle him to his three
benefits.

MAC KLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 145

In 1763, Macklin produced in Dublin a very successful
play, entitled The True-Born Irishman. He himself played
with great spirit a hospitable Irish country gentleman of
unaffected manners. " The design of the piece," says
Cooke, *' was to ridicule the affectation of the Irish fine
ladies of fashion on their return from England (where
they are never supposed to reside above a month or two),
aping the pronunciation and manners of the English,
in contempt of their own native dialect and customs.
To this was added the character of a prejudiced English-
man, who saw everything in Ireland with so jaundiced an
eye 'that the fish was too ne^v for him, the claret too
light, and the women too fair.' "

Count Mushroom, the Englishman, was meant to ridicule
Mr. Hamilton (Single-speech Hamilton), then the secretary
to the Earl of Halifax, the Lord Lieutenant. Ryder
played the part, and it was recognized as a strong likeness.
Both parties, however, applauded the play, the opposition
from piu:e delight, the Government party, among whom
was Hamilton himself, to show that their withers were
unwrung. Some years afterwards Macklin attempted
to produce the piece in England, but it was only acted
for one night. The mixed idiom of the brogue and the
cockney, the personal ridicule of an Irish Secretary, had
no charms for an English audience, and the piece was
damned at Covent Garden November 28, 1767, in spite of
a very excellent cast. Macklin took this defeat with great
philosophy, saying in his downright manner, " I believe
the audience are right ; there's a geography in humour as
well as in morals, which I had not previously considered."
Macklin could well afford to withdraw this piece, for
he had already written his chef d'oeuvre. The Man of the
World, which had been produced in Dublin in 1766
under the title of The True-Born Scotchman. On this

146 CHARLES MACKLm.

piece he had bestowed great labour. For the last few-
years he had been altering and embellishing the dialogue,
and he refers in several letters of different dates to the
fact that he is at work upon it.

In the Monthly Mirror several extracts are printed
from Macklin's notebooks and journals, from which it
is seen how carefully he used to set down any idea as it
occurred to him, in a form suggestive of further elabora-
tion. Some of these refer to characters, others to
politics or history, but all are made with a view to
future literary use. Not a few of them relate to passages
in The Man of the World. Thus he writes of " Party."
"There is no reasoning with party or faction, for the
first thing they attempt is to make a slave of reason ; —
very implicitly do whatever party or faction commands ;
— tyranny, disorder, injustice, violence, and habituated
villany, are the political elements of all party and
factions, which, like the enraged elements of nature,
never leave off quarrelling till an ancient national officer
— old General Ruin — sends them all to the devil." And
again, of " Virtue and Vice " he says, ** We are prouder
of our follies and our vices that are applauded by the
ignorant million, than of our virtues that are praised only
by the thinking few." And of "Truth" he writes,
" The world is tired of truth ; it is so plain, so obvious,
so simple, and so old ; it gives no pleasure." These and
many other scraps of epigrammatic, if somewhat cynical,
common sense, we recognize in altered guise in his
plays, and it is evident that in his latter years he made
many sketches and models, as it were, in his study, before
he finally sat down to write an important passage in a
lecture or play.

The Man of the World had been undergoing this
polishing process since its original production in 1764,

MAC KLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 147

and it had also been somewhat extended. In its original
form it had been a great favourite in Dublin, and Sir
Pertinax MacSycophant was considered by every one a
strong and accurate portrait of a Scotchman. It is said
that Macklin received a note from a young Scotch
nobleman, with a suit of handsome laced dress clothes,
saying, " that he begged his acceptance of that present,
as a small mark of the pleasure he received from the
exhibition of so fine a picture of his grandfather." How
far this story is true, we cannot say, but it is clear that
in Dublin The True-Born Scotchman was as popular in
his day as The True-Born Irishman had been in his.

About 1770, Miss Younge, afterwards Mrs. Pope, was
engaged in the same theatre in Ireland with Macklin.
Macklin recom.mended her to study the part of Lady
Rodolpha, and Miss Younge put herself under his
tuition. The Scotch accent and the Scotch manner
were difficulties to be overcome, but Miss Younge proved
herself equal to them, and her Lady Rodolpha was con-
sidered, by all good judges, to be one of her finest
characters. In company with Macklin, she played the
part many times in Ireland, and when he produced The
Man of the World in London, at Covent Garden, on
May 10, 1 781, she was again the Lady Rodolpha.

The full cast of the comedy was as follows : —

Lord Lumbercourt

Sir Pertinax MacSycophant

Egerton (his son)

Sidney (tutor to Egerton)
Melville (father to Constantia)
Counsellor Plausible

Serjeant EiTHERSiDE

Sam

John

TOMLINS

Mr. Wilson.

„ Macklin.

„ Lewis.

„ Aikin.

„ Clarke.

„ Wewitzer.

„ Booth.

„ 7. Wilson.

„ Thompson.

„ UStrange.

148 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

Ladv Rodolpha LUxMBERCOURt ... Miss Younge.
Lady MacSycophant „ Piatt.

CONSTANTIA MELVILLE „ Satchell.

Betty Hint (a chambermaid) ... ... Mrs. Wilson.

Nanny „ Davenett.

It is an extraordinary thing for a man of eighty-two
to have produced what was to a great extent a new
play, and it is still more wonderful that the aged
author should be the actor of the chief character in the
comedy. The play would have been produced before,
but for the licenser, who fancied there was too much
criticism of courtiers in the text, to make it acceptable to
the reigning powers ; and the unpopularity of the ministry
at that time, gave double edge to the satire of the piece.
However, when the play was produced, it was, in spite
of an offended Scotch clique, a great success, and it has
held the stage down to our own time. Among Macklin's
papers was a copy of a note of protest, the substance of
which he laid before the Lord Chamberlain.

" The business of the stage is to correct vice and laugh at
folly, and the Lord Chamberlain has a right to prohibit ;
but such prohibition is not to arise from caprice, or enmity,
or partiality. What he prohibits must be offensive to virtue,
morality, decency, or the laws of the land.

" This piece is in support of virtue, morality, decency, and
the laws of the land. It satirizes both public and private
venality, and reprobates inordinate passions and tyrannical
conduct in a parent.

"The Lord Chamberlain, when called upon, ought in
justice to point out the passages that are offensive to Govern-
ment, or to individuals, or to society at large. No man, in
a public trust, should exercise his authority to the injury of
another, or to the privation of any public right.

" To seek the truth, to separate right from wrong, to de-
termine, according to sound judgment, equity and justice, is
the duty of a Chamberlain, and the end of his trust.

MAC KLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 149

" My copy being detained, I asked the Deputy, why ? or
by what right he deprived me of my copy ? For some time
he would not assign any reason. I told him that I should
resort to the laws of my country for redress ; upon which
he replied, ' That / should but expose myself, and that they
kept the copy by the usage of the office.^

" I told him that I knew the stage before that law existed ;
that it could not be by custom ; that it was the first time I
had ever heard of an author being deprived of his copy ; and
that I should not submit to it.

" I also informed the Lord Chamberlain that I had acted
the comedy in Ireland ; that they were as careful there as
here about anything that affected Government ; that the
Lords Lieutenants, who had seen it, laughed heartily at it,
and deemed the satire generally pleasant and just.

" Some little creatures in office, to make their court to
Lords Lieutenants, pronounced it offensive to Government ;
but their masters saw it again and again, and all the
emotions they showed were laughter and applause."

The reasoning of this is sound enough, and it is very
difficult nowadays to understand why any one should
have sought to keep the play off the stage. The cha-
racter of Sir Pertinax is in itself repulsive, and to thin-
skinned Scotchmen may have been irritating, but the
vice of parties is aimed at, of types rather than indi-
viduals, and the moral of the piece is excellent.

Cooke gives the following account of the play, and of
Macklin's performance of Sir Pertinax : —

"The plot of this piece is briefly thus. A crafty, subtle
Scotchman, thrown upon the world without friends, and
little or no education, directs the whole of his observation
and assiduity (in both of which he is indefatigable) to the
pursuit of fortune and ambition. By his unwearied efforts
and meannesses he succeeds, but, warned by the defects of
his own education, he determines to give his eldest son the
best that could be obtained ; and, for this purpose, puts him

ISO CHARLES MACKLIN,

into the hands of a clergyman of learning, integrity, and
honour, who, by teaching him good precepts and showing
him the force of good example, makes him the very reverse
of what the father intended, viz. not a man educated the
better to make his court to the great, and extend the views
of false ambition, but to make himself respected, inde-
pendent, and happy. Thus he defeats the views of his
father, who wants to marry him to a lady of rank and fortune
(Lady Rodolpha), but to whom he cannot direct his affec-
tions, and marries the daughter of a poor officer, little better
than a dependent on his mother, but who has virtues and
accomplishments to adorn any situation.

" Macklin's Sir Pertinax MacSycophant was only equalled
by his Jew ; neither his age nor appearance obstructed the
responsibility of the part. As the father of a grown-up
family, he did not look too old for it, and the natural im-
pression of his features corresponded with the cunning
hypocrisy and violent temper of the character. Neither did
the part, though long, suffer from want of his memory ; he
was in full possession of it through every scene ; and, indeed,
on the whole, exhibited a specimen of the human power
unequalled in the annals of the theatre."

There were certainly many scenes and passages in the
play well suited to Macklin's acting powers. He must
have taken especial pleasure in the delivery of all those
political hits with which the dialogue abounds. Of
these, none is more effectual than Sir Pertinax Mac-
Sycophant's estimate of the political value of an oath,
which he gives in a scene with Egerton, in the Fourth
Act:—

"Sir P. Why, you are mad, sir? You have certainly
been bit by some mad Whig or other. Oh, you are young,
vara young in these matters ; but experience will convince
you, sir, that every man in public business has twa con-
sciences— a religious and a political conscience. Why, you
see a merchant now, or a shopkeeper, that kens the science
o' the world, always looks upon an oath at a custom-house.

MACKLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT, 151

or behind a counter, only as an oath in business, a thing of
course, a mere thing of course, that has nothing to do with
religion ; and just so it is at an election : for instance, now I
am a candidate, pray observe, and I gang till a periwig-maker,
a hatter, or a hosier, and I give ten, twenty, or thraty guineas,
for a periwig, a hat, or a pair of hose, and so on, through a
majority of voters. Vara weel, what is the consequence ?
Why, this commercial intercourse, you see, begets a friend-
ship betwixt us — a commercial friendship — and, in a day or
twa these men gang and give their suffrages ; weel, what is
the inference ? Pray, sir, can you or any lawyer, divine, or
casuist, ca' this a bribe ? Nae, sir, in fair political reason-
ing, it is ainly generosity on the one side, and gratitude on
the other ; so, sir, let me have nae more of your religious or
philosophical refinements, but prepare, attend, and speak
till the question, or you are nae son of mine. Sir, I insist
upon it."

Equally expressive of the fierce honesty of Macklin's
hatred of the political corruption of the time, is the
following description of Lord Lumbercourt, which is put
in the mouth of Egerton : — •

" A trifling, quaint, haughty, voluptuous, servile tool ! the
mere lacquey of party and corruption ; who, for the prostitu-
tion of near thirty years, and the ruin of a noble fortune, has
had the despicable satisfaction, and the infamous honour, of
being kicked up and kicked down, kicked in and kicked out,
just as the insolence, compassion, or convenience of leaders
predominated ; and now, being forsaken by all parties, his
whole political consequence amounts to the power of franking
a letter, and the right honourable privilege of not paying a
tradesman's bills."

In a different strain, but not less powerful from the
fact that the words are put in the mouth of Sir Pertinax,
is his sarcastic description of a levee —

" Sir P. {with a proud, angry resentment). Zounds ! sir, do
you nat see. what others do .-' Gentle and simple, temporal

152 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

and spiritual, lords, members, judges, generals, and bishops ;
aw crowding, hustling, and pushing foremest intill the middle
of the circle, and there waiting, watching, and striving to
catch a look or a smile fra the great mon, which they meet
wi' an amicable reesibility of aspect — a modest cadence of
body, and a conciliating co-operation of the whole mon ;
which expresses an officious promptitude for his service, and
indicates that they luick upon themselves as the suppliant
appendages of his power, and the enlisted Swiss of his
poleetical fortune ; — this, sir, is what you ought to do, and
this, sir, is what I never once omitted for this five and thraty
years, let who would be minister."

The great scene of the play is that in which Sir Per-
tinax explains to his son how he rose in the world to his
present position, and expatiates upon the philosophy of
"booing." The scene is so excellent in itself, and so
characteristic of the author, that no apology is needed for
quoting it at length.

ACT III.

Scene I. — A library.

Enter Sir Pertinax and Egerton.

Sir P. Zounds ! sir, I will not hear a word about it ; I
insist upon it you are wrong ; you should have paid your
court till my lord, and not have scrupled swallowing a
bumper or twa, or twenty, till oblige him.

Eger. Sir, I did drink his toast in a bumper.

Sir P. Yes, you did ; but how, how ? — ^just as a bairn
takes physic — with aversions and wry faces, which my lord
observed ; then, to mend the matter, the moment that he
and the Colonel got intill a drunken dispute aboot religion,
you slily slunged away.

Eger. I thought, sir, it was time to go, when my lord
insisted upon half-pint bumpers.

MAC KLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 153

Sir P. Sir, that was not levelled at you, but at the Colonel,
in order to try his bottom ; but they aw agreed that you and
I should drink oot of sma' glasses.

Eger. But, sir, I beg pardon ; I did not choose to drink
any more.

Sir P. But, zoons ! sir, I tell you there was a necessity for
your drinking main

Eger. A necessity ! in what respect, pray, sir ?

Sir P. Why, sir, I have a certain point to carry, indepen-
dent of the lawyers, with my lord, in this agreement of your
marriage — aboot which I am afraid we shall have a warm
squabble— and therefore I wanted your assistance in it.

Eger. But how, sir, could my drinking contribute to assist
you in this squabble ?

Sir P. Yes, sir, it would have contributed, and greatly
have contributed, to assist me.

Eger. How so, sir ?

Sir P. Nay, sir, it might have prevented the squabble
entirely ; for as my lord is proud of you for a son-in-law, and
is fond of your little French songs, your stories, and your
don-mots, when you are in the humour ; and guin you had but
stayed, and been a little jolly, and drank half a score bumpers
with him, till he had got a little tipsy, I am sure, when we
had him in that mood, we might have settled the point as I
could wish it, among ourselves, before the lawyers came ;
but now, sir, I do not ken what will be the consequence.

Eger. But when a man is intoxicated, would that have
been a seasonable time to settle business, sir .?

Sir P. The most seasonable, sir ; for, sir, when my lord is
in his cups, his suspicion is asleep, and his heart is aw jollity,
fun, and guid fellowship ; and, sir, can there be a happier
moment than that for a bargain, or to settle a dispute with a
friend ? What is it you shrug up your shoulders at, sir?

Eger. At my own ignorance, sir ; for I understand neither
the philosophy nor the morality of your doctrine.

Sir P. I know you do not, sir ; and, what is worse, you
never wuU understand it, as you proceed. In one word,
Charles, I have often told you, and now again I tell you once
for aw, that the manoeuvres of pliability are as necessary to

J 54 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

rise in the world as wrangling and logical subtlety are to rise
at the bar; why, you see, sir, I have acquired a noble fortune,
a princely fortune, and how do you think I raised it ?

Eger. Doubtless, sir, by your abihties.

Sir P. Doubtless, sir, you are a blockhead. Nae, sir, I'll
tell you how I raised it : — sir, I raised it — by booing {pows
very low) — booing : sir, I never could stand straight in the
presence of a great mon, but always booed, and booed, and
booed — as it were by instinct.

Eger. How do you mean by instinct, sir ?

Sir P. How do I mean by instinct ! Why, sir, I mean by
— by — by the instinct of interest, sir, which is the universal
instinct of mankind. Sir, it is wonderful to think what a
cordial, what an amicable — nay, what an infallible influence
booing has upon the pride and vanity of human nature.
Charles, answer me sincerely : have you a mind to be con-
vinced of the force of my doctrine, by example and demon-
stration ?

Eger. Certainly, sir.

Sir P. Then, sir, as the greatest favour I can confer upon
you, I'll give you a short sketch of the stages of my booing,
as an excitement, and a landmark for you to boo by, and
as an infallible nostrum for a man of the world to rise in the
world.

Eger. Sir, I shall be proud to profit by your experience.

Sir P. Vary weel, sir ; sit ye down then, sit you down
here {they sit, c.) ; and now, sir, you must recall to your
thoughts that your grandfather was a man whose penurious
income of captain's half-pay was the sum total of his fortune ;
and, sir, aw my provision fra him was a modicum of Latin,
an expertness in arithmetic, and a short system of worldly
council ; the principal ingredients of which were a persever-
ing industry, a rigid economy, a smooth tongue, a pliability
of temper, and a constant attention to make every mon well
pleased with himself.

Eger. Very prudent advice, sir.

Sir P. Therefore, sir, I lay it before you. Now, sir, with
these materials I set out, a raw-boned stripling, fra the North
to try my fortune with them here, in the Sooth ; and my first

MAC KLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 155

step into the world was a beggarly clerkship in Sawney
Gordon's counting-house, here in the city of London, which
you'll say afforded but a barren sort of prospect.

Eger. It was not a very fertile one, indeed, sir.

Sir P. The reverse, the reverse : weel, sir, seeing myself
in this unprofitable situation, I reflected deeply ; I cast about
my thoughts morning, noon, and night ; and marked every
man, and every mode of prosperity. At last I concluded that
a matrimonial adventure, prudently conducted, would be the
readiest gait I could gang for the bettering of my condition,
and accordingly I set about it. Now, sir, in this pursuit,
beauty ! beauty ! — Ah ! beauty often struck my een, and
played about my heart, and fluttered, and beat, and knocked,
and knocked ; but the devil an entrance I ever let it get ;
for 1 observed, sir, that beauty is, generally, a — proud, vain,
saucy, expensive, impertinent sort of commodity.

Eger. Very justly observed.

Sir P. And therefore, sir, I left it to prodigals and cox-
combs that could afford to pay for it ; and in its stead, sir,
mark ! I looked out for an ancient, weel-jointed, superannu-
ated dowager ; a consumptive, toothless, phthisicy, wealthy
widow ; or a shrivelled, cadaverous piece of deformity in the
shape of an izzard, or an appersi — and — or, in short, ainy
thing, ainy thing that had the siller — the siller ; for that, sir,
was the northstar of my affections. Do you take me, sir ?
was nae that right ?

Eger. Oh ! doubtless, doubtless, sir.

Sir P. Now, sir, where do you think I ganged to look for
this woman with the siller? Nae till court, nae till play-
houses, or assemblies ; nae, sir, I ganged till the kirk, till
the anabaptist, independent, bradlonian, and muggletonian
meetings ; till the morning and evening service of churches,
and chapels of ease, and till the midnight, melting, con-
ciliating love-feasts of the methodists ; and there, sir, I at
last fell upon an old, slighted, antiquated, musty maiden,
that looked — ha, ha, ha ! she looked just like a skeleton in a
surgeon's glass case. Now, sir, this miserable object was
religiously angry with herself and all the world ; had nae
comfort but in metaphysical visions and supernatural deli-

156 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

riums — ha, ha, ha ! Sir, she was as mad — as mad as a
Bedlamite.

Eger. Not improbable, sir ; there are numbers of poor
creatures in the same condition.

Sir P. Oh, numbers, numbers. Now, sir, this cracked
creature used to pray, and sing, and sigh, and groan, and
weep, and wail, and gnash her teeth constantly, morning and
evening, at the Tabernacle at Moorfields : and as soon as I
found she had the siller, aha, guid traith, I plumped me down
on my knees, close by her — cheek by jowl — and prayed, and
sighed, and sung, and groaned, and gnashed my teeth as
vehemently as she could do for the life of her ; ay, and
turned up the whites of mine een, till the strings almost
cracked again. I watched her motions, handed her till her
chair, waited on her home, got most religiously intimate with
her in a week, married her in a fortnight, buried her in a
month, touched the siller, and with a deep suit of mourning,
a melancholy port, a sorrowful visage, and a joyful heart, I
began the world again. And this, sir, was the first boo —
that is, the first effectual boo — I ever made till the vanity of
human nature {rise). Now, sir, do you understand this
doctrine ?

Eger. (£•.) Perfectly well, sir.

Sir P. (r. c.) Ay, but was it not right ? Was it not ingeni-
ous, and well hit off?

Eger. Certainly, sir ; extremely well.

Sir P. My next boo, sir, was till — till your ain mother,
whom I ran away with fra the boarding-school ; by the
interest of whose family I got a guid smart place in the
Treasury, and, sir, my very next step was intill the Parlia-
ment, the which I entered with as ardent and as determined
an ambition as ever agitated the heart of Caesar himself.
Sir, I booed, and watched, and barkened, and ran about,
backwards and forwards, and attended, and dangled upon
the then great mon, till I got intill the very bowels of his
confidence ; and then, sir, I wriggled, and wrought, and
wriggled, till I wriggled myself among the very thick of
them. Ha ! I got my snack of the clothing, the foraging, the
contracts, the lottery tickets, and aw the political bonuses :

MAC KLIN THE PLAYWRIGHT. 157

till at length, sir, I became a much wealthier mon than one-
half of the golden calves I had been so long a-booing to ;
and was nae that booing to some purpose ?

Eger. It was indeed, sir.

Sir P. But are you convinced of the guid effects and of
the utility of booing ?

Eger. Thoroughly, sir.

Sir P. Sir, it is infallible. But, Charles, ah ! while I was
thus booing, and wriggling, and raising this princely fortune,
ah ! I met with many heart-sores and disappointments fra
the want of literature, eloquence, and other popular abeeleties.
Sir, guin I could but have spoken in the hoose, I should have
done the deed in half the time, but the instant I opened
my mouth there they aw fell a laughing at me ; aw which
deficiencies, sir, I detearmined, at any expense, to have sup-
plied by the polished education of a son, who I hoped would
one day raise the house of MacSycophant till the highest
pitch of ministerial ambition. This, sir, is my plan ; I have
done my part of it ; Nature has done hers ; you are popular,
you are eloquent, aw parties like and respect you, and now,
sir, it only remains for you to be directed — completion
follows.

That a man of eighty-two years of age should imper-
sonate such a character as Sir Pertinax MacSycophant is
almost marvellous \ for, as has been well said, the cha-
racter is essentially one calling for both energy and
elaboration of detail. A slovenly Sir Pertinax would be
impossible ; no audience would tolerate it. The author
has not given him one popular speech ; he has not one
graceful phrase, nor one redeeming point. The resources
of the theatre have not been called in to aid the situa-
tions of the character, or to enforce its points. " It is a
character with which nothing can be done but by the aid
of the purest art. It tests the actor in every word ; it
demands in every line the consummate performer. It
is admirably drawn, and contrives to rivet the attention

IS8 CHARLES MACKLIN.

for five acts, and to supply the place of plot, sentiment,
and action." Such was the character which Macklin
created ; and since his day only one or two actors have
attempted it with success. Edmund Kean attempted it
in 1822, but is said to have robbed it of its dialect.
The performance of George Frederick Cooke in 1802
was one of great merit, and, in our own day, Phelps,
who revived The Man of the World in 185 1, must have
nearly rivalled the author, in his emphatic and cha-
racteristic impersonation of the part. Although Sir
Pertinax remains to-day without a representative, it can-
not be supposed that so admirable a comedy as The
Man of the World has been laid on the shelf for ever.

( 159 )

CHAPTER IX.

CONSPIRACY (1773).

Macklin, always changing and restless, wrote, on
December 22, 1772, to Colman, who was now acting
manager of Covent Garden, to offer his services to that
theatre. Mr. Colman was only too ready to agree with
Macklin, who, now in his seventy-fourth year, was from a
manager's point of view, a certain " draw " in Shylock,
Sir Archy, and other favourite parts. He therefore asked
Macklin to be kind enough to dictate his own terms. On
February 17, 1773, Macklin sent him his proposals,
informing him, with a touch of buoyant egotism not
unpleasing in a man of seventy-three, that "he had
thought of Richard IH., Macbeth, King Lear, and other
parts, such as would suit his time of life." Colman, prob-
ably, passed laughingly over these suggestions of new
parts, as the vain foolishness of an old man, and, glad to
obtain so good an actor, agreed in a general way to the
terms proposed. Macklin, however, regarded his debut
in Macbeth and Richard III. in a very different light,
and the question as to his right to these parts became a
public matter of burning interest, owing to the following
circumstances.

It appears that in the spring of 1773, Mr. William
Smith, comedian, disagreed with Mr. George Colman,
manager of Covent Garden, and gave formal notice that

i6o CHARLES MACKLIN.

he should not act in the following season. Mr. Smith
and Mrs. Yates then attempted to obtain a licence for
the Opera House in the Haymarket, but failed. It was
during Smith's absence from the company that Colman
made this agreement with Macklin. In September, the
disappointed Smith desired to return to Covent Garden,
and then it was seen that there would be a difficulty
about Macbeth and Richard IIL, for these parts had
belonged to Mr. Smith. MackUn himself said that it
would not be " a pleasing circumstance " to him, to per-
form the parts of a fellow-actor, but, as these very parts
had been his chief inducement to enter into this agree-
ment, he would not resign them wholly. He then pro-
posed that he and Smith should play Macbeth and
Richard alternately, as Barry and Garrick had done, and
to this Mr. Smith agreed. Mr. Smith having played
Richard III., Mr. Macklin, on October 23, 1773,
appeared as Macbeth.

There is no doubt that, in the political circle that sur-
rounded the theatres at this day, Macklin's right to play
Macbeth had been much discussed. Macklin must have
had plenty of enemies, within and without the theatre,
and these saw an opportunity, as they thought, of bring-
ing him low. His straightforward obstinacy, his tactless
honesty, his indomitable energy, and strong self-conceit,
were not qualities likely to make him much beloved, and
the toads and tadpoles that hopped around the stage
doors and made heroes of the smaller histrionic fry,
thought that they would try a fall with this fine old actor,
who came out of another generation, as it were, to invade
the domains of their pigmy favourites.

Macklin's Macbeth had nothing about it to rouse the
animosity of the theatre-goers, unless, indeed, it was his
kilt. But audiences were, we think, longing at that time

CONSPIRACY. i6i

for a little more reality in the staging of the play and the
dressing of the characters, and no exception seems to have
been taken to his mode of dressing the part. And yet the
change must have been a startling one. For at this time
English audiences were content with the suit of scarlet
and gold, with a tail wig, that we may see in Zoffany's
portrait of Garrick in this character. But actors and
managers were beginning to be exercised in mind about
accuracy of costume, and as early as 1757, Digges, on
December 26 of that year in Edinburgh, produced Mac-
beth " with the characters entirely new dressed after the
manner of the ancient Scots." Nevertheless, if John
Taylor is right, there had been no such revival in London,
prior to Macklin's performance, for he says that : —

"The character of Macbeth had been hitherto performed
in the attire of an English general ; but Macklin was the
first who performed it in the old Scottish garb. His ap-
pearance was previously announced by the Coldstream
March, which I then thought the most delightful music I
had ever heard ; and I never hear it now without most
pleasing recollections. When Macklin appeared on the
bridge he was received with shouts of applause, which were
repeated throughout the performance. I was seated in the
pit, and so near the orchestra that I had a full opportunity
of seeing him to advantage. Garrick's representation of
the character was before my time ; Macklin's was certainly
not marked by studied grace of deportment, but he seemed
to be more in earnest in the character than any actor I have
subsequently seen."

This is Taylor's record of the performance, in which we
can certainly find nothing that could tend to outrage the
feelings of a critical and, at the same time, fair-minded
audience. Arthur Murphy called his interpretation a
"black-letter copy of Macbeth," and Cooke, his bio-
grapher, says it was rather " a lecture on the part than

M

l62 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

a theatrical representation." But every one crowded to
see the performance, and George Stevens wrote to
Garrick, " One hour I was squeezed to death at the
door in Bow Street ; another spent I in the pit among half
the blackguards about town ; and for the space of three
and a half more, I was imprisoned to hear the lines of
Shakespeare, elaborately pumped up from the bottom of
a well as deep as that in Dover Castle." I doubt very
much if his enemies cared what kind of a representation
it was. They disliked the man, not the actor, and, egged
on by Smith and his friends — some say by Garrick as
well — determined to make an example of him.

The Press of the day seemed to have damned his
efforts before they saw them, and their after-criticisms are
mostly jeers and gibes and paragraphs of ridicule and
contempt. The Morning Chronicle does, indeed, give an
interesting critical estimate of the performance, which
ratifies the epigrams of Murphy and Cooke; and this
journal notes especially the dresses, which it says " are
new, elegant, and of a sort hitherto unknown to a London
audience." The Evening Post makes an elaborate jest
about poor Macklin mistaking Shakespeare's instructions,
and as early as the first scene of the second act murder-
ing Macbeth instead of Duncan ; while the St. James's
Chronicle sets out a list oi jeune premier characters which
it understands Mr. Macklin intends to enact, informing
the public that he proposes to play Ranger " when he
has learned to dance, and, when his years shall be suited
to such characters, to play Master Stephen, Tony Lump-
kin, the Schoolboy, and to conclude his theatrical life
with playing the Fool,"

After the first performance, Macklin's friends wrote to
the papers, openly charging Garrick with instigating the
opposition, and during the contest much appeared in

CONSPIRACY. 163

the papers to lead the public to believe that Garrick
was not unconnected with the conspiracy. There is no
doubt that, whether Garrick had anything to do with it
or not, his friends thought to please him by stirring
up the public against Macklin. The following from the
Monthly Mirror is an excellent example of the kind of
flattery by abuse of his rivals, that the anti-Macklinites
poured out in copious libations at the feet of Garrick.
Whether the great little actor smiled at his sycophants
and th-eir adulations it is hard to say; but if he did
not, it is difficult to understand why their manufacture
continued.

Lines written during the Macklinite Controversy

BY AN ANTI-MaCKLINITE.

Eight kings appear and pass over in order, and Banquo
the last.

" Old Qm'n, ere fate suppress'd his lab'ring breath,
In studied accents grumbled out Macbeth.
Next Garrick came, whose utterance truth imprest,
While every look the tyrant's guilt confest :
Then the cold Sheridan half froze the part,
Yet what he lost by Nature sav'd by art.
Tall Barry now advanced towards Birnam Wood,
Nor ill performed the scenes — he understood.
Grave Mossop next to Forres shap'd his march ;
His words were minute-guns, his actions starch :
Rough Holland too, but pass his errors o'er,
Nor blame the actor when the man's no more.
Then heavy Ross essayed the tragic frown,
But beef and pudding kept all meaning down.
Next careless Smith tried on the murderous mask,
While o'er his tongue light-tripped the hurried task.
Hard Macklin late guilt's feelings strove to speak,
While sweats infernal drench'd his iron cheek,

l64 CHARLES MACKLIN.

Like Fielding's kings * his fancied triumph past,
And ail he boasts is that he falls the last."

The newspapers had plenty of acrid stuff of this kind,
for the iron-cheeked Macklin, before the 23rd of October,
when he first played Macbeth, but the audiences did not
as yet take it up. The anti-Macklinite party were hardly
strong enough, and though the first performance was
noisy, it was not a failure. The party appeared, how-
ever, in great force on October 30, when Macklin played
Macbeth for the second time. Macklin, before the
commencement of the piece, appealed to the public for
protection ; and the public, always pleased by a direct
appeal to its powers, sat through the performance quietly,
and left the most heated anti-Macklinites to express their
disapproval in somewhat solitary anger. It appears that ,
on the first evennig a Mr. Sparks-, the son of an actor,
with Reddish, the best stage villain of the day, were in
the house, and Macklin was told that they hissed him.
Whether or not it is " the birthright of Englishmen to
hiss and clap," it was a clear breach of professional
etiquette, for an actor of a rival house to come and hiss
another actor, and when Macklin, in his appeal to the
audience for protection, mentioned what Reddish and
Sparks had done, it gave rise to considerable indigna-
tion. Reddish and Sparks, however, denied the impu-
tation, going the length of inserting affidavits of their
denial in the newspapers; and on November 6, Macklin,
in somewhat brutal taste, came forward with proofs of
Reddish and Sparks' guilt in his hand, instead of an
apology to them on his tongue. These proofs were
affidavits of people who swore that they saw and heard
Reddish and Sparks hissing. It afterwards appeared

* In "Tom Thumb."

CONSPIRACY. 165

that these witnesses were in all probability mistaken in
their men. The audience was enraged, the party was
delighted, disturbance arose in every part of the theatre,
and the performance went through with difficulty. The
town was now in a state of ecstatic frenzy ; the party was
reinforced by friends of Reddish and Sparks. Macklin
was told if he did not prove his assertion against these
men, he would be expelled the stage. As for Macklin
himself, we can imagine him not wholly mournful at the
stir he had raised. He knew he was rights — he always was
right in his own estimation, — he knew he could fight these
adversaries, and, on the whole, rather enjoyed the prospect
than otherwise. On November 13 he appeared again
as Macbeth, but the party was too strong for him. They
would not hear him, and the evening passed in riot and
disorder. The leadership of this business, as far as we
can now make it out, appears to have fallen into the
hands of one Thomas Leigh, a tailor, a brother-in-law of
Sparks, and the landlord of the house where Reddish
lodged. Two men, named Aldus and James, having
been attacked by some women in the theatre on one of
these riotous evenings, were also very prominent in the
band of anti-Macklinites ; and a Mr. Miles or Mr. Clarke
seemed to have been drawn into the affair, as doubtless
many others were, from a spirit of riot and devilry. Leigh
collected a band of tailors and others from the neigbour-
ing alehouses, to whom he distributed drink, and " they
were told that besides all this comfortable preparation,
they should each of them have a shilling a piece for the
night's work ; and after the work should be completed,
and this old unknown villain of the name of Macklin
should be driven to hell, these men should go to the
Bedford Arms and have supper." This was the kind of
rabble, and these were the leaders who, in these riotous

i66 CHARLES MACKLIN.

nights, formed the great majority of the audience in
Covent Garden Theatre. Macklin and the manager
hoped that by his giving up Macbeth the angry pubUc
would be appeased, and the bills announced him for
November i8, 1773, in his favourite characters oi Shy lock
and Sir Archy MacSarcas?n. They must have been
shaken in their belief when they saw the faces of the
crowd ranged in battle array from pit to gallery, impatient
for the riot. We may continue the account of the scene
in the graphic language of Mr. Dunning, Macklin's
counsel in the trial that arose out of this night's work.

" If I could describe the Managers, I would attempt a
little description of their situation upon this occasion. I
conjecture, from the knowledge I have of some of them, that
they were all by this time trembling alive in the greenroom,
for they foresaw that, whatever might be the conquest, or
whoever might be the victors, they were sure to profit little,
and they were sure to be defeated, whoever might be
triumphant. They looked at their chandeliers, probably
wistfully, foreseeing that they were looking at them for the
last time ; they looked at their benches, apprehending and
fearing that those benches would soon come much nearer
in contact with them, than while they remained in the
situation in which they placed them. They kept off the
important signal which was to commence hostilities. They
kept the curtain down as long as they could, but persisting
in the purpose of keeping the curtain down would equally
have disobliged every part of the audience ; and after they
yielded to the invincible necessity of the occasion, and the
curtain arose, then the battle began. Gentlemen, you under-
stand enough of the performance to know that Shylock does
not make his appearance in the first scene. Other performers,
who had offended nobody, nor meant to offend anybody,
came forward to act their parts ; they were instantly saluted
with a strong denunciation of this body of conspirators,
' that if they would consult their own safety they had better
get out of their reach.' When this vengeance was announced,

CONSPIRACY. 167

they were not in a humour to stay ; they hurried away, and
probably overturned some of the managers in their escape.
That threat being understood to go to Mr. Macklin, he, the
delinquent, came forward with such feelings as I leave to
better description ; — he came forward with those feelings
which others feel at other places where they are to perform
for the last time.

" Mr. Macklin, however, came forward, and he tried, by
all means that occurred to him to be proper, to deprecate
the vengeance to himself, to excite their compassion, and to
call for the protection of those that had called themselves or
had been called by Aldus, ^ the candid, impartial audience.'
He put himself in all the humiliating and supplicating
postures he could ; he endeavoured to throw as much
complacency in his countenance as his features would permit
of. He tried to make himself heard, but he tried to still
less purpose than I sometimes try when speaking in an
audience like the present. No, hearing was not the busi-
ness at all ; will soothing do? Will looking as you like do ?
Why, none of these things will do. Well, what will do ?
* Why, you old whoring rascal, you superannuated villain,'
and abundance of epithets of that sort. * You must go to
hell ; if you will consent to go there, all is well ; peace will
be restored provided you will be the voluntary sacrifice for
that peace.' Now, Mr. Macklin has never yet held himself
forth to perform the part of Theseus, or of going to hell ; if
that should ever be the case, it was the business of another
time — it was not the business of the night. It was not the
intention of Mr. Macklin to submit to the pleasure of the
public in that trifling particular. Mr. Macklin retired ; the
clamour increased. Mr. Macklin advanced ; the clamour
increased still higher. Mr. Macklin all but kneeled — I do
not know whether he did not go down upon one knee ; — this
procured a momentary approbation ; but, as the other knee
did not accompany it, the uproar increased. Mr. Macklin
still had courage enough to distinguish himself from those
performers who had preceded him and retreated, but he was
speedily told that this was not a business of words — that
noise was not all he had to apprehend. This intimation

l68 CHARLES MACKLIN.

was given him by an apple which hit him full in the face.
Gentlemen, you need not be told that when one apple begins
to fly in this place there are a thousand ready to fly, and
the storm began to be genera!. It was time Mr. Macklin
should consult his safety ; he did as many heroes before him
have done — he thought running away was no bad policy, for
then he might live to fight another day ; but if he stayed,
the business would end there.

" Those spectators that were disposed to see, remained
for something to be seen and heard. The clamour at length
grew distinct enough to point out to those within the sound,
what it was that was expected and insisted upon — the
dismission of Mr. Macklin was called for ; the managers
were called out in order to consent to that dismission. The
managers, who had, I believe, as little taste for apples as
Mr. Macklin, thought it still right to be snug, but thought
it prudent still to acquiesce, and they called for the assistance
of one of the performers first. He painted a large board
black, as a signal of the funeral occasion that produced it ;
upon that there were in large legible white characters these
words expressed: 'AT THE COMMAND OF THE
PUBLIC, MR. MACKLIN IS DISCHARGED.'

" One would have imagined that this should have been
enough. No, even this was not enough ; ' for who knows
who it is that has painted this black board and the white
inscription upon it ^ ' All this while, Afacklin might not
possibly be discharged. ' Let us, while we are in the
moment of victory, see that that victory be complete ; that
it be decisive : don't leave it to chance, and for them to tell
us, by-and-by, that we shall have this battle to fight again.'
The helter-skelter people, the light-horse troops that came
forward, they and Macklin, the more formidable body, had
been routed, but still the managers were skulking and hiding
themselves. ' Let us make use of our victory with a
deliberation, a coolness, and circumspection that becomes
great officers,' as I have described them. They peremptorily
insisted that the managers should come forth, and they were
not content with the assurances that they had received, but
they distinguished a worthy friend of mine, Mr. Cohnan,

CONSPIRACY. 169

and they insisted that he should come forth, Mr. Colman,
with a reluctance which I do not wonder at, which in the
same situation I should have felt, — Mr. Colman was dragged
forwards, and obliged to make his appearance. Some of the
benches had begun to be torn up ; one of the chandeliers
had been attempted to be broken ; the mischief was instant,
the ruin was inevitable. Nothing but an occasion so press-
ing as that could have drawn my friend from his hiding-
place ; that occasion did draw him ; out he came to receive
the sentence of this public. He was the principal of those
defendants that Mr. Aldus had made such, by his declara-
tion filed in the Morning Post that morning ; he came to
know what was their pleasure respecting him ; it seemed it
was just that which Mr. Aldus hinted at in his letter in the
morning ; namely, that he was to give that satisfaction to
Mr. Aldus, for the injury he had received, that a candid, in-
dependent audience should think him entitled to. This
candid, independent audience thought Mr. Aldus entitled to
that satisfaction, which consisted of a perpetual dismission
of Mr. Macklin. Mr. Colman, finding that this was the
sense of this impartial part of the audience, as soon as
he was permitted to be heard, repeated that Mr. Macklin
was dismissed ; that it was their object always to please
the public, and their happiness to conform to their pleasure,
when they knew what their pleasure was.

" I don't wonder that my little friend did not distinguish
the public from these people, who raised this clamour ; it
was not a moment for nice distinctions, because, if they
had been distinguished, it would have produced some
personal outrage to himself, and some injury to his property.
He found himself unable to contend with the stream, and
Mr. Macklin was dismissed. This was the purpose for
which this army was collected together. This purpose they
completed ; therefore when this object was accomplished,
they are dismissed ; the business was at an end ; the public
went without any entertainment for the night."

There was no doubt of the public victory and of
Macklin's defeat. Leigh, the tailor, and his forces from

170 CHARLES MACKLIN.

The Dog and the Fhcenix, had driven Macklin from the
stage, and a second time in his life he found himself an
exile from the playhouse. But Macklin never recognized
defeat, and promptly appealed to the strong arm of the
criminal law to protect him, and in the next year, 1774,
proceeded in the King's Bench against James, Clarke,
Aldus, Miles, Leigh, and Sparks for conspiracy and riot.
No cause being shown except in the case of Sparks, the
information was duly exhibited against the other five,
and they were convicted on February 24, 1775, Clarke
of riot only, the rest of the whole information.

But though it takes but two or three lines of print to
express the judgment of the law on Macklin's enemies,
it was no less than eighteen months between the day that
Macklin was hissed off the stage and the day on which
he was able to return. It had been his annual custom
to play at his daughter's benefit, but even this had to be
given up, until the slow delays of the law allowed the
conspirators to be convicted of their crime. How irk-
some this compulsory retirement from the stage must
have been to a man of his nature may be gathered from
the following letter to his daughter : —

"March 14, 1774.
" My Dear,

" I could not answer your request sooner about
your benefit. I have felt much more pain for you on that
point than from all the losses and vexations besides, that
have arisen to us from the malice of my persecutors. My
counsel being out of town, my anxiety for your interest, my
eager inclination to play for your benefit, and the fear of
giving my enemies an advantage by a false step, perplex
me greatly. I think I need not make use of any argument
to convince you, or those who know that your welfare has
ever had a place in my heart. You have a right to it by
nature, which right you have established by a much dearer

CONSPIRACY. 171

tie, in my opinion — that of an irreproachable and amiable
conduct, which never has cost me a pang, or even an
apprehension. From hence, you must feel that I do my
own peace a severe violence when I deny myself the satis-
faction of contributing to your emolument. But so it is ;
if I play at your benefit, I shall, as I am informed, be
insulted again by my enemies, and my kindness to you will
be turned into an argument against me in my pursuit of
justice. Under these apprehensions, my dear, I cannot,
as matters stand at present, attempt to assist you at your
benefit. The loss of my not playing will, no doubt, be con-
siderable— near ;^2oo, a great sum in a player's revenue.
But consider what a disgrace it would be to you to have a
disturbance at your benefit. Consider how it would distress
your friends, and those who regard you, and the whole
audience, my persecutors excepted ; and let me add, that
I would not, on your account, contribute to such a disturb-
ance for any sum that a theatre would afford. I was in
hopes that those who had injured me would, before this
time, have seen the inhumanity of their conduct, have
repented, and have taken such measures as would have
extenuated the odium of their unparalleled, unprovoked,
and cruel outrage. Such a step would in my opinion have
been pleasing to the public, and what men, guilty of such
an enormity, owe to their own reputation ; but so far are
some of them from such a humane measure, that, with
menace and defiance, they have told me that I shall be
pursued with greater resentment than before, for my having
dared to mention some of their names in a court of justice,
and in support of this resentment they plead the power of
the law itself, which, they say, entitles them to hiss and
explode, so as to drive whomsoever they please from the
stage, by the law of custom. This is a point that I shall
not dispute with them ; all I can do is, to keep it out of their
power, till it is settled by those who have a right to adjust
those matters. In the mean time I advise you to write to
Mr. Colman ; let him know how you are circumstanced, or
enclose my letter and send it to him ; that will inform him
thoroughly of your situation and mine. Request him to

172 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

defer your night to the 27th of April, by which time some-
thing may happen to be determined that may give a favour-
able turn to my affairs, so as to enable me to play for you,
which will be a greater satisfaction to me than either my
tongue or pen can express.

" I am, my dear,

" Most afTectionately yours,

"Charles Macklin.

" To Miss Macklin."

Judgment was at length moved for in the King's
Bench on May 11, 1775. The matter had already come
before Lord Mansfield, the presiding judge, on a former
occasion, and he had then given the defendants a strong
hint that they would do well to make Mr. Macklin a sub-
stantial offer, and let the matter drop by pleading guilty ;
but no notice had been taken of this suggestion, and the
defendants now found his lordship in no very merciful
humour. He was eager to refer the matter to the Master
for compensation to be awarded, and if Macklin had
not intervened, and suggested another course, it would
have gone hard with the defendants indeed.

"For," said Lord Mansfield, "there is ^1260 besides
implied damages ; and this, in the sight of the public, is a
very heinous offence. For, as I took care to say before, to
be sure every man that is at the playhouse has a right to
express his approbation or disapprobation instantaneously,
according as he hkes either the acting or the piece ; that is
a right due to the theatre — an unalterable right ; they must
have that. The gist of the crime here is, coming by con-
spiracy, to ruin a particular man — to hiss, if they were ever
so pleased — let him do ever so well, they were to knock him
down and hiss him off the stage. They did not come to
approve or disapprove, as the sentiments of their mind
might be, but they came with a black design, and that is
the most ungenerous thing that can be. What a terrible
condition is an actor upon the stage in with an enemy, who

CONSPIRACY. 173

makes part of the audience ! It is ungenerous to take the
advantage ; and what makes the black part of the case
is — it is all done with a conspiracy to ruin him ; and if the
court were to imprison and fine every one of them, Mr.
Macklin may bring his action against them, and I am
satisfied there is no jury that would not give considerable
damages ; but it is better for both sides to refer them to the
Master, and I shall direct him to make a liberal satisfaction."

With a judge in this humour about the business, the
defendants may well have wished their victory of eighteen
months ago had not been so easily won ; but Macklin,
who was an old campaigner, understood stage effect as
well as any man, saw his opportunity, and then saved
them. I do not wish for a moment to discount the
generosity of Macklin's conduct, but no one can read
the account of the closing scene of the trial without
seeing its effectiveness from a stage point of view.

There has been a long argument before Lord Mans-
field, about sending the matter before a Master on the
question of damages, and the judge and counsel for
Macklin, and for the defendants, having had their say,
without coming to any sensible conclusion about the
matter, the actor himself at length intervenes to the
following effect : —

" Mr. Macklin : My Lord, I shall always be happy in obey-
ing any advice that comes from this court, but there is one
circumstance that I think demands an explanation. What-
ever falls from the tongue of an advocate is easily transferred
to the report, and the credulity of the public. A gentleman
has thrown out that I want revenge. My Lord, I have no
such idea. I never had. If this matter had been submitted
to me, they would have found me a far different kind of man.
Not a man of revenge. In every stage of this business, my
Lord, from the first to the last, I have felt a resentment, but

174 CHARLES MACKLm.

I have always felt a compassion, even for the people I vvas
prosecuting.

" I solicited them, my Lord, in every method that was in
my power — with all humanity, and even with a meanness of
spirit, my Lord, and now I am told that I want revenge.

" My Lord, it has been said, too, by the advocate, that he
has affidavits ; this is an imputation, my Lord, an innuendo,
unwarrantable in a liberal mind.

" My Lord, if he talks of affidavits, I have affidavits of a
tremendous nature ; not affidavits, but witnesses, to show
that this cause has not yet been bottomed. But, my Lord,
I do not rise to contend, or for revenge. I never prosecuted
for vengeance : I despise the idea. Let them here, in the
circumstances that they stand in, produce me but an ordinary
safety.

" I prosecuted from the first law of nature, self-defence,
and a public example. My Lord, I have a feeling and
resentment too, but I have compassion. My Lord, I defy
them to make me an offer, liberal in an ordinary degree,
that I would not accept of, without troubling the Master.
I have only my expenses in view. Besides, my daughter
has suffered to the amount of ;^25o. I have now proposals
from Scotland ; I have proposals from Ireland ; I could get
money here ; but, if I am sent before the Master, I must
lose all that opportunity, and more money than will, perhaps,
arise from the interview with the Master. Therefore, with
humble submission to the court — it is difficult to speak,
circumstanced as I am, without impertinence, without
digression — I am aware that no man, but he that has
travelled in the paths of this court, knows what to say in
it correctly ; but, in contradiction to the learned gentleman
now in my eye, who says that I want revenge, and to show
that he is ignorant of my disposition in this point, let any
man of honour be appointed immediately. I will abide by
everything that he suggests of justice. I want no revenge.
And, my Lord, I have something further to say. This man
before your Lordship, this Taylor, within these few days, has
dared to tell me, before many witnesses — responsible trades-
men, in Covent Garden, with an insolence unbecoming his

CONSPIRACY. 175

situation or character, 'Ah, ah, ah ! you will send me to
gaol, then. It may be against the law to hiss, but it is not
against the law to laugh ; for, depend upon it, when you
play tragedy, you will have a very merry audience. Ah,
ah, ah ! '

" I assure your Lordship, that this man, though he is but
a Taylor, has a very sharp tongue, and a very quick mind.

" My Lord, were I to utter his bon-mots upon me and
my circumstances, you would laugh heartily indeed ; but of
him I shall say no more.

" The advice that fell from the Court, when the rule was
m.ade absolute, though directed to the defendants, made a
very deep impression on my mind. I felt the humanity,
I felt the awfulness of that advice ; and from that moment,
I solicited, with all the anxiety of my power, to bring them
to a composition. Money was not my object then ; it is not
my object now.

" My Lord, I have gentlemen in court to prove that I laid
a plan of general accommodation, and I will reveal it now.

{Mr. Macklin here addressed himself to the defendants.)

" Pay me my expenses — you have injured me as a man ;
make some compensation to the managers of the theatre ;
make some compensation to my daughter, whose benefit is
depending.

" My Lord, thus I projected it, as a means of general
reconciliation ; with these gentlemen I would have contrived
it, and I stated it to my advocate. I suggested it to the
defendants, that the proposal might come from them, and
that, consequently, they might obtain a general popularity.

" But how is this compensation to be made ? What was
the mode I suggested? It is this :

" Let them take one hundred pounds' worth of tickets
for Miss MacklitHs benefit ; she has lost £,1^0. Let them
take one hundred pounds' worth of tickets for Mr. Macklin,
and let them take one hundred pounds' worth of tickets,
upon some night that he plays, as a kind of compensation
to the managers. This was of no advantage to me. I can
fill my house without it ; but I meant to give them the
popularity of doing a justice to the man they had injured,

176 CHARLES MACKLm.

and of convincing the public that they would never do the
like again, and that they were in amity, and not in enmity,
with me. My Lord, I have nothing more to say.

" Lord Mansfield: Then I think you have done yourself
great credit, and great honour by what you have now said ;
and I think your conduct is wise too, and I think it will
support you with the public against any man that shall
attack you. I think it highly becoming on your part ; for
now what he proposes is, to give up all this litigation, only
to be paid his costs, which, in a double sense, he ought to
be paid — I say a double sense, because the prosecution was
well founded, and particularly, because the defendants
would not stop it when it was recommended to them — and
a small satisfaction in this way to his daughter for her
benefit. I think some single person has already offered
more for his own share.

" Mr. Macklin, you have done yourself great credit by it ;
and the public, I am satisfied, especially in this country,
love generosity. You will do more good by this, in the eyes
of the public, than if you had received all the money that
you had a right to receive.

" I think you have acted handsomely, honestly, honourably,
and done yourself great service by it. I think it is a most
generous conduct. Mr. Blake, you will be able to settle it.

"Mr. Macklin : If Messrs. Clarke, Aldus, and James will
meet me ; I will not meet the Taylor, for it is impossible to
confine his tongue.

" Lord Mansfield : Mr. Macklin, see whether I cannot
make peace between you. Now, suppose he undertakes to
be bound by a rule of court, to stand committed if he ever
so much as, by look or word, puts you in a passion.

" The proposal, then, is to pay him his costs, and to take
three hundred pounds' worth of tickets, in the way that he
has mentioned. Let it be so.

"Mr. Macklin, the house will receive so much benefit
from it, perhaps they will pay you the arrears.

" Mr. Macklin : My Lord, I never did quarrel with a
manager for money yet ; I never made a bargain with a man ;
whatever they offer me, 1 take.

CONSPIRACY. 177

''Lord Mansfield: You have met with great applause
to-day. You never acted better P

One can imagine something of the " bated breath and
whispering humbleness" with which MackHn addressed
the court, explaining his sense of the humanity, nay, the
awfulness, of the advice he had received from the Bench.
Nor can one believe that his generous offer to the defend-
ants in the trial was given without some knowledge
of the stage effect to be produced by his words. Even
the judge himself seems to have been overwhelmed by
the theatricality of the atmosphere, and to have delivered
the * tag ' to his judgment as though it had been the
blessing of a heavy father. But in all seriousness,
Macklin had done the right thing, and the drama in the
law courts was well ended in accordance with the
dictates of poetic justice. The persecuted Macklin was
once more restored to popular favour, and the wicked
conspirators defeated.

178 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

CHAPTER X.

THE SEVENTH AGE.

Peace was no sooner concluded with the conspirators than
Macklin entered into an engagement with Mr. Harris, in
the spring of 1775, and made his appearance for his
daughter's benefit, meeting with a very gratifying reception.
This so pleased him that he afterwards played Richard
III., but his success in- this character must have sprung
from the special circumstances under which he attempted
the part, and the performance was soon relinquished.

During the next season, 1776, he performed but
seldom. Even at this advanced age, his head was full of
daring schemes, and plans that would have been con-
sidered venturesome in a man of half his years. He
seriously considered the advisability of taking a farm
of three or four hundred acres near Cork, and applied
to several Irish gentlemen to aid him in the matter ; but,
finding nothing that exactly suited his wants, gave up
the idea, not without regret.

About this time, Henderson was brought to the father
of the stage, who granted him an interview. He was still
a young man destined for greater honours than those he
had already attained. Macklin gruffly acknowledged his
genius, but bade him unlearn all he had learned, that he
might hope to learn to be a player. He played Shylock
for the first time during the season of 1777. He is

THE SEVENTH AGE. 179

remembered as a great Shylock, and created some
dissension among the critics by abolishing the phrase,
" many a time and oft," and pointing the line thus :

" Signer Antonio many a time, and oft on the Rialto."

During the next year Mack] in gave an unnecessarily
brutal interpretation of Sir John Brute, but otherwise
made but little stir upon the stage, busying himself with
his writing, and some preparation for a provincial tour.
He was very anxious to play at Edinburgh, and with that
view wrote to Tate Wilkinson :

" I wish you would, in legible characters, and plain, clear
common sense, let me know upon what terms I may play with
you at Edinburgh. I shall have a new farce or two and a
new comedy, with the London stamp of approbation or
disapprobation upon them, to offer to the Edinburgh audience,
before whom I have sincerely the warmest inclination to
appear, for, sans compliment, I think that the purest, that is
the most correct, audience now of the empire. Dublin,
perhaps, from national partiality, or fair candour, may be on
a par with them ; for the body of the law there, as in Edinburgh,
is the bulk of the audience, and surely that is the most sensible
part of an audience, if not of the nation.

" Bad houses at both the theatres. Henderson has not had
half a house yet — all the American War. Did I not say so it
would be .''

" The Lord Chamberlain has refused to license a comedy
of mine, being seasoned too highly respecting venality, and
the other I have withdrawn, or rather suspended for a private
reason."

This was the Man of the Worlds which was, as we have
seen, satisfactorily produced in 1781.

Although this proposed journey to Edinburgh came to
nothing, it is interesting to know that MackHn and the
other great actors of the date considered a provincial tour

i8o CHARLES MACK LI N".

almost as valuable to their pockets and reputation as it is
considered by " stars " of to-day. Dublin as a dramatic
centre we have already spoken of, and Edinburgh, as
readers of Mr. Dibdin's excellent "Annals of the Edinburgh
Stage " will know, was no mean second ; York, under
Tate Wilkinson, was a flourishing dramatic stronghold,
and long remained so ; and even Manchester was at that
date not unknown. Writing in the preface to The
Modish Wife in 1775, Francis Gentleman gives Man-
chester audiences much the same character that Charles
Matthews and other actors of our own time have given
them.

" Manchester," he writes, " I have already mentioned as a
place of opulence and spirit. The upper class are not very keen,
yet they are very sensible and very candid critics ; they would
rather praise than find fault, yet they expect somewhat more
than bare decency. Attention is the chiefest part of their
applause, and, indeed, the best any audience can give ; that
cannot be obtained by puffing. The lower class, freed from
their industrious avocations, are willing to receive relaxation
in the most agreeable manner."

Francis Gentleman once met Macklin at Chester, and
not improbably acted there in his company. His
reminiscences of the occasion are sufficiently interesting.

"I reached Chester," he writes, "at a time when Mr.
Macklin had brought an excellent company to that city.
Knowing several of the members, and wishing to know others,
I protracted my journey a matter of three months, which
passed pleasantly and rationally, saved too great expense,
loss of time, and a near chance of matrimony, which would
then have been peculiarly indiscreet."

He tells us, too, writing of Chester audiences, " that
they are rather to be taken with a Theatre Royal name,
than real merit without that very honourable addition."

THE SEVENTH AGE. l8i

Chester in those days was a stopping-place on the high-
road to Dublin, and probably the Chester people from
time to time saw all the great actors of the day. Macklin,
of course, made several journeys to Dublin, and probably
played at Chester on several occasions. He and his wife
are known to have played there soon after their marriage.

However, no provincial tour was arranged on this
occasion, and Macklin remained in London, busying
himself, among other things, with a Chancery suit against
Harris, which commenced in 1776, and was not settled
until 17 8 1. During these years Macklin lost many dear
friends. Silver-toned Barry, his pupil and colleague,
passed away in 1777; and two years later the remains
of the great Garrick were carried to his resting-place in
Westminster Abbey. Now in 17 81 his daughter died,
after a painful illness.

After the production of The Man of the World, and his
visit to Ireland in 1785, Macklin returned to London,
and, it is said, spent some time in endeavouring to
prepare a " History of the Stage." It is greatly to be
regretted that he had not, at some earlier period of his
life, set himself to this work. No man could boast a
longer experience, no man had lived among so many
generations of actors, no man's judgment and discrimina-
tion in matters theatrical were more to be relied on than
his. However, at eighty-five it was too late to commence
such a task, and his unique reminiscences were left to
decay in his fading memory, and to be handed down to
us through the medium of tavern hearsay.

During these years he had in a great measure with-
drawn from the stage, but, pressed by his friends to
appear, he announced for the character of Shylock on
January 10, 1788. All went well until the second act,
when his memory failed hina. He was deeply affected,

l82 CHARLES MACKLm.

but managed to step before the audience, and address
them somewhat as follows : —

*' Ladies and Gentlemen,

" Within these very few hours I have been seized
with a terror of mind I never in my Hfe felt before ; it has
totally destroyed my corporeal as well as mental faculties.
I must therefore request your patience this night, a request
which an old man may hope is not unreasonable. Should it
be granted, you may depend that this will be the last night,
unless my health shall be entirely re-established, of my ever
appearing before you in so ridiculous a situation."

Upon this, the applause of a sympathetic audience so
roused Macklin that he was able to continue the part to
the end. It was sad that a man of his age should have
been compelled still to earn his living on the stage, but
he could not afford to live in idleness as long as he was
able to walk the boards. On October lo, 1788, he played
Shylock and Sir Archy MacSarcasm, apparently without
breaking down ; on November 26, he appeared as Sir
Pertinax, but his memory failing him, he addressed the
audience and retired; and on February 18, 1789, The
Merchant of Venice was announced, but a handbill was
issued stating that Macklin was ill and that the pro-
gramme would be changed.* His last performance was
on May 7, 1789, and the following account of this mourn-
ful end to his theatrical career is given by Cooke : —

" His last attempt on the stage was on the 7th of May
following, in the character of Shylock, for his own benefit.
Here his imbecilities were previously foreseen, or at least
dreaded, by the manager ; but who, knowing the state of
Macklin's finances, gave, with his usual liberality, this
indulgence to his age and necessities, and, to prevent the
disappointment of his audience (who, he knew from long

* These facts are placed beyond dispute by the Covent Garden
playbills in the British Museum — a complete set.

THE SEVENTH AGE. 183

experience, were always ready to assist in those liberal in-
dulgences to an old and meritorious servant), he had the
late Mr. Ryder under-studied in the part, ready dressed to
supply Macklin's deficiencies if necessary. The precaution
afterwards proved so. When Macklin had dressed himself
for the part, which he did with his usual accuracy, he went
into the greenroom, but with such a ' lack-lustre looking eye'
as plainly indicated his inability to perform ; and, coming up
to the late Mrs. Pope, said, ' My dear, are you to play to-
night .-" ' ' Good God ! to be sure I am, sir. Why, don't you
see I am dressed for Portia .'' ' ' Ah ! very true ; I had
forgot. But who is to play Shylock ?' The imbecile tone of
his voice, and the inanity of the look, with which the last
question was asked, caused a melancholy sensation in all who
heard it. At last Mrs. Pope, rousing herself, said, ' Why
you, to be sure ; are you not dressed for the part ? ' He then
seemed to recollect himself, and, putting his hand to his head,
exclaimed, ' God help me ! my memory, I am afraid, has left
me.' He, however, after this went on the stage, delivered two
or three speeches of Shylock in a manner that evidently
proved he did not understand what he was repeating. After
a while he recovered himself a little, and seemed to make an
effort to rouse himself, but in vain ; nature could assist him
no further ; and, after pausing some time as if considering
what to do, he then came forward, and informed the audience,
' That he now found he was unable to proceed in the part,
and hoped they would accept Mr. Ryder as his substitute,
who was already prepared to finish it.' The audience
accepted his apology with a mixed applause of indulgence and
commiseration, and he retired from the stage for ever."

On April 4, 1790, Macklin lost his only son, John
Macklin, who had long been in a state of ill-health,
brought on by his own reckless mode of life. John
Macklin's career was a source of constant misery and
anxiety to his father, who seems to have done all in his
power by precept, education, and material assistance to
render his son's life a prosperous one. He is said to

i84 CHARLES MACKLIN.

have been a young man of superior talents, but his
conduct was marked throughout his life by selfishness
and indolence. Perhaps Macklin did not sufficiently
take into his consideration, when he mapped out his
son's career, the weakness of his character and his want
of self-control ; but it must be remembered that Macklin
was ambitious, eager for his son to make a figure in the
world, and too convinced of his own talents for com-
merce and business to have any doubt about his son's.

Having given his son an excellent education, he
obtained for him the situation of a writer in the East
India Company's service at Fort St. George. Thither
he went towards the end of 1769, under the warm
patronage of Mr. Hastings, and with smiUng prospects of
good fortune before him. There are several letters from
Macklin to his son during the next few years, which
are printed in Kirkman's biography. They represent
Macklin in a very amiable light. He is the fond but
reasonable father, exhorting and admonishing his son in
earnest and touching words, to lead a life worthy of him-
self. There is deep pathos in his remonstrances, when
his son draws upon him for money, which Macklin can
ill afford to let him have, or, with even greater selfishness,
neglects opportunities of writing to his father. It would
be pleasing to print these at length, as letters always
suffer from being published in extracts. However, space
not permitting this, I have taken some characteristic
passages, by way of exhibiting the personal character of
Macklin in his relations towards his son. The letters
range over a period from December, 1769, to November,

1771-

In his first letter, Macklin desires his son to pay his
court to Mr. Hastings. " I repeat it," he writes, " let
Mr. Hastings be your example and your guide, for his

THE SEVENTH AGE. 185

character is immaculate, his heart is good, and his under-
standing solid — a composition seldom to be met with in
one man in these times." In this year (1769) Warren
Hastings was appointed second in Council at Madras,
and in 1772 he attained the highest office in the Com-
pany's service, namely, President of the Supreme Council
in Bengal. Such a man was worth following, and young
Macklin's fortune would have been made if he could
have obtained his favour.

No young man in the eighteenth century attempted
to make his way in life without attaching himself to
a patron. A patron was a necessity of custom; but
Macklin is careful to advise his son not to join in parties
and cabals. In the same letter he writes, with the
earnestness of one who has learned his lesson by bitter
experience : —

" But do you not enter into any party or cabal whatever.
Be of no party but that of gaining knowledge and making
yourself useful to your employers ; that is a party that can
offend none, and a party that can never forsake or betray
you. Depend upon it that every other party will do one or
other, or both. I have lived long in the world, have had
much experience in parties in my own sphere, have observed
upon those in the state and other societies, and I declare
that I never yet met with a man or woman in theatrical
parties that was not perfidious ; nor have I seen a party in
the great world that has not made a sacrifice of them who
ought to have been most supported ; so that I beg that you
never will let any man know what your judgment is of the
parties of the company. Enter into none ; pursue your
study of making yourself useful ; you will then depend upon
what cannot desert you."

Writing of the vanity displayed in argument and con-
versation, Macklin gives some good advice to his son,
which has, at the same time, an autobiographical interest :

1 86 CHARLES MACKLIM.

" I have myself this disputatious desire to an offensive
degree, and I believe that it has made me more enemies
than all my follies or vices besides. I have at last seen my
error, and I can/iow sit in company for hours, hear men of
letters and high character in the world contend for the most
false judgments, and which they believe in too — I say, I can
now hear such conversations with great tranquillity, and
never contradict or side with either party ; nay, I find a
secret pleasure in my neutrality that gratifies even the vanity
of men in public conversation, because everybody is fond of
excelling in knowledge and eloquence. It is a long time
before men learn the wisdom of neutrality in conversation,
especially men of parts or information ; but it is wonderful
how soon dull men and cunning men see the policy of it."

The first letter that John Macklin writes home is a
sore disappointment to his father. There is no mention
of Mr. Hastings in it ; there is no mention of the journal
which his father had charged him to keep, and '* made
him a book for that purpose ; " but there are complaints
that his living is expensive, and that he has no prospect
of making money. These are embodied in a letter
" blotted and scratched, with words omitted, sense imper-
fect, and so deficient in matter, and incorrect in every
respect," that his parents were ashamed to show it to
their friends. A little later Macklin learns that his son
gambled away much of his money on the outward voyage,
and, as time runs on, his letters become less frequent,
though more importunate in their demands for further
supplies of money.

In August, 177 1, Macklin writes —

" The only account or hint of your being even alive, is a
report which comes from Madras that you were about to
come home. I asked the cause of your coming home, and
was given to understand that it was your whim or caprice.
Do you not think that this is a most alarming report to me

THE SEVENTH AGE. 187

and your mother ? You could not surely be so mad as to
think of such an unpardonable, such an impolitic step — an
indiscretion never to be atoned for."

In this very letter mention is made of a draft for
;^ioo forwarded to his son, and this is the indulgent
way in which Macklin meets a request for ;^5oo for his
son to trade with, hoping against hope that the request
is evidence of a genuine desire on his son's part to make
his way in the world.

" I did desire you to get Mr. Hastings, or any grave
gentleman in the Council, if you have deserved such a friend,
to say in a letter to Mr. Sayer, or to any friend here, that
you may be trusted with ^500 to trade with, and you shall
have it though I were to borrow it. But were you to draw
from me such a sum under the hypocritical pretext of trading
with it, and game it away or dissipate it, it would be the
greatest act of cruelty that a child could be guilty of to a
parent. Age is advanced on me ; sickness and debility are
its attendants ; and to strip me of that little which is to sup-
port your mother and me in that day when age and debility
cannot have any succour but from past labour and economy,
would be a disgrace to you, that would wound my heart
deeper than asking alms would my pride ; therefore think —
ask your heart, ask your firmness — can you be trusted with
that which is to support your mother and me in the hour of
age's debility ? "

He then speaks of his wife's illness, and continues —

"... But she is recovering, to my great, great happiness ;
for if ever a woman deserved the sincerest and warmest
esteem as wife and mother she does. Take her blessing —
she sends it to you. But pray, my dear, do not afflict us by
not writing ; it is unkind, cruel. What can be the cause of
it? If it be indolence. Heavens ! what must I think of you?
It can be nothing else; for you have as many opportunities
as any other person in the settlement."

Soon after this, John Macklin, to his father's intense

l88 CMARLES MACKLIN.

disappointment, returned to England. During the rest
of his life he made several fresh starts in new professions,
but no one could help him to any self-control or power
of application. Law he treated in the same spirit as
commerce ; and the hours of work itt the Temple were
entirely subservient to the more flattering amusements
of Covent Garden. Having neglected the study of the
law for some time, he is said to have gone into the army,
and served in the American War. Cooke says he was
in the army in India, but this is more than doubtful.
It is not to be supposed that his early habits left him ;
and there are several stories of his eccentricity and wilful
folly while serving in the army. For some years he
lived on his father, who tried every possible method of
reclaiming him, all, unfortunately, to no purpose, and he
ultimately died of a complication of disorders, some of
which were directly attributable to his careless mode of
life. His story was the common one of a young man
of talents with excellent prospects, ruining his own life,
and embittering the lives of his parents, to gratify his
own selfish tastes.

After his son's death, Macklin, who was over ninety,
began to sink into decay. Unhappily, he was in
straitened, almost indigent circumstances, scarcely able
to satisfy his narrow wants. Although he had always
received good salaries, and been well paid as actor and
writer, yet his expenses had been heavy, he had engaged
in several lengthy lawsuits, his son had dissipated what
savings he had, and now in his old age he was extremely
poor. About this date there came a time when he
discovered that his whole fortune consisted in about
^do in money, and an annuity of about ;^io. At this
crisis his friends were consulted, and it was at first
suggested that he should have a benefit at Covent

TITE SEVENTH AGE. 189

Garden. This plan was afterwards changed, and,
instead, it was decided to publish a subscription edition
of The Man of the World and Love a-la-Mode, which
Mr. Murphy was kind enough to edit for his old friend.
This edition of his two plays, which was delivered to
subscribers in 1793, produced no less than ^1500,
which was invested in an annuity of ;;^2oo for himself
and ;^75 for his wife in case she survived him, and thus
he was free from absolute want for the remainder of
his life.

Of his life during these last years, in his brighter and
more collected moments, there are many reminiscences.
He was always to be found at the taverns and the
theatres, and was looked upon as a marvel and a show.
A writer in the Monthly Mirror describes how, about
this time —

" Macklin came into Mr. Williams's coffee-house in Bow
Street one night last winter after the play, and, having seated
himself in the public room, he called lustily on the waiter
to furnish him with a pint of white wine, a pint of water,
some sugar, milk, and a basin of mashed potatoes. With
these ingredients he went to work, emptied them all into a
large bowl, and, having mixed them together for about a
quarter of an hour to bring them to a proper consistency,
he proceeded to take his supper. A few spoonfuls of this
extraordinary dish soon gave him spirits, and he chatted
with great humour with all the gentlemen present. But his
conversation betrayed every moment the decay of his intel-
lect ; he confounded terms, repeated sentences, and mingled
subjects so perpetually, that it was nearly impossible to
discover his meaning. He talked entirely of himself, of his
acting, of his theatrical squabbles ; but, above all, his ex-
amination at Westminster Hall before Lord Mansfield some
years ago, and congratulated himself exceedingly on the
shrewdness he evinced on that occasion. About one o'clock
the company retired, and the old gentleman was escorted to

I90 CHARLES MACKLIM.

his residence in Tavistock Row, ' hot with the Tuscan grape,
and high in blood.' "

Cooke somewhat cruelly compares his condition in
these last years to that of Swift's Struldbrugs, and,
indeed, during the last three years of his life, his exist-
ence must have been very melancholy to his friends,
though he himself was too incapable to realize his own
sad condition. But, insensible as he was to what was
passing around him, he still crawled about the theatre,
more perhaps from force of habit than from any other
cause.

" On these occasions," says Cooke, " the audience vene-
rated his condition. On his appearance at the pit door, no
matter how crowded the house was, they rose to make room
for him, in order to give him his accustomed seat, which was
the centre of the last bench near the orchestra. He generally
walked home by himself, which was only on the other side
of the Piazza ; but, in crossing at the corner of Great Russel
Street, he very deliberately waited till he saw the passage
thoroughly cleared of coaches."

In these days he frequently imagined that he was
opposed or injured, and he often made application at
Bow Street for redress of his fancied wrongs. The
magistrates used to hear him with compassion, but, even
while they were talking to him about his wrongs, the
whole subject would fly from his mind, and he was
unable to recall the original causes of his application.

In 1795, some over-zealous friends of the actor
suggested that he should speak a congratulatory address
from the stage to the Prince and Princess of Wales, on
their first appearance at Covent Garden after their
marriage. A short interlude was written, in which the
characters were Time, Hymen, Cupid, and Macklin.

THE SEVENTH AGE. 191

It was a foolish piece of snobbery, and luckily Macklin's
more sensible friends dissuaded him from attempting to
play in it, and the little piece was never performed.

The accounts of his last hours differ slightly in detail,
but Cooke's account is perhaps as likely to be accurate
as any other.

"The hour at last arrived," he writes, "which was to
number the days of this extraordinary old man. Some
Httle time before this took place, he grew weaker and
weaker ; he was unable to go downstairs, and contented
himself with walking about his room, and resting himself on
his bed (or rather his couch, where he generally slept with
his clothes on night and day for many years). In one of
these reposes some friends were talking of him in the room,
thinking, from his state of insensibility for many days before,
that he was incapable of hearing or understanding them,
when he suddenly started up and ^answered with some
sharpness. This was thought to forebode some recovery ;
but it was only the last blaze in the socket. The evening of
that day he composed himself, as it was thought for sleeping,
but in this sleep he made his final exit without a groan."

Thus died Charles Macklin, actor and playwright, on
Tuesday, the nth of July, 1797.

When one examines in detail Macklin's works and
days, one cannot but admit that he had a good influence
on the stage, both morally and theatrically. It is very
tempting for a biographer to rate this too highly, to see
in the records of the time but one figure, to make that
figure, and that alone, the centre of all the movements
with which it is in any way connected. To guard
against this, I have, wherever it seemed feasible, given
the exact words of those who knew and lived with the
man, in preference to any paraphrases of my o\vn. If
I am right in my estimate of Macklin's life, his chief
and most important character was that of dramatic tutor.

192 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

Many laymen, among them, it is said, Edmund Burke
himself, owe their powers of elocution to Macklin's
guidance of their first steps; and, as we have seen,
numerous actors were successfully introduced to the
stage through his means.

Not only was he a sound teacher, but he did much to
introduce a more natural intonation and mode of delivery
in stage elocution. Dr. Hill gives a very just account
of the services he rendered to the stage in this respect.

" There was a time, indeed," he says, " when everything
in tragedy, if it was but the delivering a common message,
was spoken in high heroics ; but of late years this absurdity
has been in a great measure banished from the English as
well as the French stage. The French owe this rational
improvement in their tragedy to Baron and Madam
Cauvreur, and we to that excellent player Mr. Macklin. The
pains he took while entrusted with the care of the actors at
Drury Lane, and the attention which the success of those
pains acquired him from the now greatest actors of the
English theatre, have founded for us a new method of the
delivering tragedy from the first-rate actors, and banished
the bombast that used to wound our ears continually from
the mouths of the subordinate ones, who were eternally
aiming to mimic the majesty that the principal performers
employed on scenes that were of the utmost consequence,
in the delivery of the most simple and familiar phrases,
adapted to the trivial occasions which were afforded them
to speak on.

*' It is certain that the players ought very carefully to
avoid a too lofty and sonorous delivery when a sentiment
only, not a passion, is to be expressed ; it ought, also, as the
excellent instructor just mentioned used eternally to be
inculcating into his pupils, to be always avoided when a
simple recital of facts was the substance of what was to be
spoken, or when pure and cool reasoning was the sole
meaning of the scene ; but, though he banished noise and
vehemence on these occasions, he allowed that on many

THE SEVENTH AGE. I93

others, the pompous and sounding delivery were just— nay,
were necessary, in this species of playing, and that no other
manner of pronouncing the words was fit to accompany the
thought the author expressed by them, or able to convey it
to the audience in its intended and proper dignity."

Of his powers of acting, of the parts he acted, and
of his position as a playwright, enough has been said.
Of his personal character it is difficult to form a just
estimate. His enemies vilified him, his friends flattered
him ; but, with a knowledge of the conduct of his life,
and with the strongly painted portraits of the man before
us, one is able in some sense to realize the man and his
manners. Congreve seems to us to draw a not inaccurate
picture of Macklin, the man, in the following words: —

" In his person Macklin was rather above the middle
height, not corpulent, but of a robust make of body. The
lineaments of his countenance were strongly marked, and
highly expressive of sensibility ; his complexion was cada-
verous, and much resembling that of the Right Honourable
Charles James Fox. His friend Fielding, who may be
allowed to be a judge of physiognomy, has characterized
him under the title of ' that sour-face dog Macklin.' There
certainly was an austerity, if not moroseness, in his looks,
which, however, seemed to change into complacency on
a closer circumspection. He was remarkably upright in his
stature, both off and on the stage, and disdained all that
' turning of arms and tripping of legs,* etc., which modern
actors make use of to aid their delivery."

This being an honest but at the same time a friendly
picture of Macklin, one can understand the following
somewhat unkindly remarks of Lee Lewis, and discount
them to their fair value : —

"If a painter," says Lewis, "wanted a stern, sour counte-
nance for the left-hand of a Resurrection piece, Macklin was
always a fine subject. In his manner he was brutish ; he

o

194 CHARLES MACKLIN.

was not to be softened into modesty either by sex or age.
I have seen his levity make the matron blush ; beauty and
innocence were no safeguard against his rudeness — ' At
which the soft-eyed virgin has been cruelly obliged to shed
the tender tear.'

" When he entered the list of controversy (for he was one
that would dispute on any subject with Sir Isaac Newton),
he could only defend his opinions by dogmatic argument,
and then so oratorically clumsy, as showed he could neither
polish a paradox nor illustrate truth. What Danton said of
Marat may be applied to him, ' He was volcanic, peevish,
and unsociable.' "

Yet, side by side with this, we should remember
O'Keeffe's estimate of his character — and he knew him
at least as well as Lee Lewis — when he tells us that his
' ' conversation among young people was always perfectly
moral, that he hated swearing, and discountenanced
vulgar jests.

Of the intellectual side of his character it would be
easy to speak too highly. Dr. Johnson is said to have
referred to Macklin when he spoke of one whose con-
versation was a " perpetual renovation of hope with
a constant disappointment." In truth, like many self-
educated people, he overrated the value of his know-
ledge. There was a want of humility about him that
is seldom found in the really learned. He dogmatized
with the freedom of Dr. Johnson, but without his
authority. Nevertheless, he had amassed a considerable
amount of knowledge in his time, was an observer
of human nature, studied character, but from a some-
what narrow and theatrical point of view, and was
thereby enabled, as we have seen, to produce two plays
much above the average in writing and construction.
Strong minded, honest in purpose, keen to reform
abuses, but, at the same time, hot headed, impetuous,

THE SEVENTH AGE. 195

and conceited, Macklin made many warm friends and
many bitter enemies. Every one, however, speaks
highly of his judgment, and many hail him as *' Nestor,"
or as " Father of the Stage." If he could not himself
enact the various characters of tragedy, he could inspire
others and show them how to perfect their impersona-
tions. As his friend the Inspector said of him, " He
knows the foundation of the art better than them all ;
he designs it, less beautifully than some, more accurately
than any. He better understands the nature of the
human frame, and the situation and power of its muscles,
than any man who ever played ; nor has any man ever
understood it like him as a science." In character and
in comedy he was great, and in all he attempted earnest
and intelligent.

" Dark was his col'ring, but conception strong;
If hard his manner, still it ne'er was wrong.
Warm'd with the poet, to the part he rose ;
His anger fir'd us, and his terror froze.
And more ; where quaintness shut out meaning's day,
Macklin threw light with fine discernment's ray ;
If these are truths which envy's self must breathe,
Applause should crown him with her greenest wreath." ,

196 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

LIST OF PLAYS WRITTEN BY CHARLES
MACKLIN.

1. King Henry the Seventh ; or, The Popish Impostor.

Tragedy. 8vo. 1 746.

2. A Will or No Will ; or, A Bone for the Lawyers. Farce.

1746, (Not printed.)

3. The Suspicious Husband Criticized ; or. The Plague of

Envy. Farce. 1747. (Not printed.)

4. The Fortune Hunters ; or. The Widow Bewitched. Farce.

1748. (Not printed.)

5. Covent Garden Theatre. Dramatic Satire. 1752. (Not

printed.)

6. Love k-la-Mode. Farce. 1760. 4to, 1793.

7. The Married Libertine. Comedy. 1761. (Not printed.)

8. The True-Born Irishman. Farce. 1763. (Not printed.)

This was afterwards acted under the title of" The Irish
Fine Lady." Farce. 1767. (Not printed.)

9. The True-Born Scotchman. Comedy. 1766. (Not

printed.) Afterwards acted at Covent Garden, under
the title of " The Man of the World." Comedy. 1781.
4to, 1793.

CHARLES MAC KLIN.

197

THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS PERFORMED
BY MACKLIN IN LONDON, FROM 1733 TO
1781.*

Drury Lane, 1733-34.

Captain Brazen
Marplot

Clodio

Teague

* Colonel Bluff

Brass ...

Lord Lace

Marquis

Lord Foppington

Recruiting Officer.

Busy-Body.

Love Makes a Man.

Committee.

Intriguing Chambermaid.

Confederacy.

Lottery.

Country House.

Careless Husband.

* Squire Badger

Haymarket, 1734.
Don Quixote in England.

Poins ...
Abel ...
Ramilie
Mustacho
Captain Strut .
Sancho ...
Clincher, junr.
Thomas Appletree
Petulant

* Manly (Petruchio)
Whisper

Snip

Sancho

* Wormwood ...

Drury Lane, 1734-35.
Henry IV.
Committee.
Miser.

Tempest (Dryden's).
Double Gallant.
Love Makes a Man.
Constant Couple.
Recruiting Officer.
Way of the World.
Cure for a Scold.
Busy-Body.
Merry Cobbler.
Trick for Trick.
Virgin Unmasked.

* This list is founded on those given by Kirkman and Cooke,
amplified and corrected by reference to Genest. A few obscure
characters, which cannot be verified, are omitted. The characters
marked with an asterisk are those which Macklin "created."

198

CHARLES MACK LI fT.

Drury Lane, 1735-36.

* Cheatly Connoisseur.

Snap Love's Last Shift.

Second Gravedigger Hamlet.

Caliban (?) Tempest.

Drury Lane, 1736-37,

Young Cash Wife's Relief

Razor Provoked Wife.

* Captain Brag Darby Captain.

Jeffery Atnorous Widow.

Cheatly Squire of Alsatia.

* Captain Weazel Eurydice ; or, Devil Hen-

pecked.

Subtleman Twin Rivals.

*Asino Universal Passion.

Quaint

Lord Froth
Francis
Poins ...
Jerry Blackacre
Osric
Peachum
Count Basset ...
Cutbeard

Face

Lory

Coupee ...
Orange Wench

Jeremy

Sir Hugh Evans
Lord Foppington

Scrub

Setter

Tattle

Drury Lane, 1737-38.

jEsop.

Double Dealer.

... Henry IV.
Henry IV. {VTixtW:).

... Plain Dealer.

..: Hamlet.

... Beggar's Opera.

... Provoked Husband.

... Silent Woman.

... Alchemist.

... Relapse.

Virgin Unmasked.

Man of the Mode.

Love for Love.

... Merry Wives.

... Relapse.

... Beaux' Stratagem.

... Old Bachelor.

... Love for Love.

CHARLES MACKLIN.

199

Poet

♦Bays

Beau Mordecai

Man of Taste (Martin)

Roxana

Mother-in-Law.

Coffee-House.

Harlofs Progress.

Man of Taste.

Rival Queans (burlesque).

Drury

Ben

Sir Polidorus Hogstye
Trappanti

Numps

Squib ...

Teague ...

Sir Philip Modelove ...

Don Choleric ...

Beau Clincher

Old Mirabel

Sir Fopling Flutter ...
Mad Welchman

John Moody

Foigard

Second Citizen

Butler

Lane, 1738-39-
. . . Love for Love.
... JEsop.

. . . She Wotid and She Wot^d
Not.

Tender Husband.
... Tunbridge Walks.

Twin Rivals.
... Bold Stroke for a Wife.
... Love Makes a Man.
... Constant Couple.
. . . Inconstant.
... Man of the Mode.
. . . Pilgrim.
. . . Provoked Husband.
... Beaux' Stratagem.
... fulius CcEsar.
... Drummer.

Drury

Sir William Belfond ...

Bullock

Trincalo

Jacomo

* Drunken Man

Lovegold

Tom

Trim

Sir Novelty Fashion ...
Sir Jasper Fidget
Sir Francis Wronghead
Clodpole

Lane, 1739-40.

... Squire of Alsatia.

... Recruiting Officer.

Tempest (Dry den's).

... Libertine Destroyed.

... Lethe.

... Miser.

... Conscious Levers.

... Funeral.

... Love's Last Shift.

... Country Wife.

. . . Provoked Husband.

... Amorous Widow.

CHARLES MAC KLIN.

Drury Lane, 1740-41.

Fondle wife

... Old Bachelor.

Sir John Dawe

... Silent Woman.

Higgin

... Royal Merchant.

Malvolio

... Twelfth Night.

Shylock

... Merchant of Venice.

Toby Guzzle

... Rural Sports.

Drury

Lane, 1741-42.

Old Woman

... Rule a Wife.

Sir John Brute

... Provoked Wife.

Touchstone

... As You Like It.

Gomez

... Spanish Friar.

Clown

... Alls Well.

Corvino

... Volpone.

Sir Paul Plyant

... Double Dealer.

•Zorobabel

... Miss Lucy in Town.

Dromio of Syracuse (?)

... Cotnedy of Errors.

Queen DoUalloUa

Tom Thumb.

Rigdum Funnidos

... Chrononhotonthologos.

Drury

Lane, 1742-43.

Mock Doctor

... Mock Doctor.

Noll Bluff

... Old Bachelor.

First Gravedigger

... Hamlet.

Brazen

... Recruiting Officer.

* Mr. Steadfast

... Wedding Day.

Gloster(?)

... Jane Shore.

Haymarket, 1744.

lago ...

... Othello.

Loveless

... Relapse.

Ghost

... Hamlet.

Drury

Lane, 1745-46.

* Huntly

... Henry VIL

Stephano

... Tempest (Shakespeare's)

CHARLES MAC KLIN.

Sir Roger

Storm

Lucio

Sir John Airy ...
Major Cadwallader

Scornful Lady.
Lying Lover.
Measure for Measure.
She Gallants.
Humours of the Army.

Drury Lane, 1746-47.

Sir Gilbert Wrangle Refusal.

Gripus Amphitryon.

Witch Macbeth.

Pandulph King John.

Pandolfo
Captain Flash
Fluellin...
* Faddle
Sciolto ...
Strictland
Meleander (.'') .

Drury Lane, 1747-48.

Albumazar.

Miss in Her Teens.

Henry V.

Foundling.

Fair Penitent.

Suspicious Husband.

Lover's Melancholy.

CovENT Garden, 1750-51.

Mercutio
Polonius

Vellum ,

Don Manuel ...

Sir Oliver Cockwood .
Sir Wilfred Witwould

Romeo and Juliet.

Hamlet.

Drummer.

She Wou'd and She Wou^d

Not.
She Would if She Could.
Way of the World.

CovENT Garden, 1751-52.

Barnaby Brittle Amorous Widow.

Lopez ... ... ... ... False Friend.

Lopez Mistake.

Mad Englishman Pilgrim.

202 CHARLES MAC KLIN.

CovENT Garden, 1752-53.

Renault Venice Preserved.

Buck ... ... ... ... Englishman in Paris.

Drury Lane, 1759-60.

* Sir Archy MacSarcasm ... Love d-la-Mode.

Covent Garden, 1760-61.

* Lord Belville Married Libertine.

Smock Alley, Dublin, 1763-64.

* Murrough O'Dogherty ... Irish Fine Lady {True- Born

Irishman).

Covent Garden, 1773-74.
Macbeth Macbeth.

Covent Garden, 1776-77.
Richard III Richard III.

Covent Garden, 1780-81.

* Sir Pertinax MacSycophant Man of the World.

INDEX,

Abington, Frances, I17
Aikin, — (actor), 147
Aldus,—, 165, 167, 169, 170, 176
Amber, — , 82, 86
Ambrose, Miss, 81, 123
Ai^le, John, Duke of, 23
Ame, Thomas, 27, 29
Ashbury (Dublin manager), loi

Barrowby, Dr., 77, 78

Barry, Spranger, 82, 85, 87, lOO,
loi, 107-110, 112, 113, 115-I17,
122, 131, 141, 160, 163, 181

Bedford, Duke of, 107

Bellamy, Miss, 46, 87, 102, I04,
106, 115, 119

Bennet, Mrs., 75

Berkeley, Bishop, 6

Bernard, John, 67, 92

Berry (actor), 62, 74

Betterton, 34, 56

Blakes (actor), 74, 134, 176

Boheme (actor), 24

Bolingbroke, Lord, 65

Booth, Barton, I, 24, 34, 35, 59,

147

, Mrs., 23

B')wen, William, 45

Bracegirdle, Mrs., 56
Brandon, Countess of, 116
Brent, Miss, I19
Bridgewater (actor), 24
Buckingham, Duke of, 55
Burbage, Richard, 57
Burke, Edmund, 192
Burton, — (actor), 134

CasheH, — (actor), 62
Catley, Ann, 118, 119
Cauvreur, Baron, 192

, Madame, 192

Chapman, — (actor), 62

Charles II., loi

Chetwood, W. R., 33

Chetwynd, 134

Churchill, 117

Cibber, Colley, i, 24, 26, 44, 54,

59. I"

, Mrs., 87, 128

, Theophilus, 24, 25, 28, 29,

106, 112
Clarke, — (actor), 147, 165, 170,

176
Clive, Mrs., 24, 58, 61-63, 74
Coffey, 61
Coldham (surgeon), 28

204

INDEX.

Collier, John Payne, 57

Colman, George, 159, 160, 168,
169, 171

Congreve, Francis Aspey, 2, 21

, William, 35, 193

Conyngham, Earl, 42

Cooke, George Frederick, 158

, William, 3, 6, 21-23, 53, 54,

59, 64, 67, 86, 94, 129, 131, 141,
145, 161, 162, 188, 190, 191

Cumberland, Richard, 41

Daly, — (manager), 125
Dancer, Mrs., 117
Dan vers, Miss, 106
Davenant, Sir William, 56'
Davenett, Mrs., 148
Davies, John, 34,^ 41, 44

, Thomas, 78, 116

Davis, Miss, 119
Davy (actor), 85
Dawson, — , 123
Delaval, Sir Francis, 88, 89, 118,

134

, John, 88

, Mr., 88

Dibdin, Rev., 124

, James C, 180

Digges, 106, 107, III, 113, 161
Dobson, Austin, 70
Doggett (actor), 56, 57
Dryden, 20, 56
Dunkin, Rev., 83
Dunning, — , 166

Elrington, Tom, loi

Fielding, Henry, 21, 25, 26, 30,

54, 70, 164, 193
Fitzhenry, Mrs., ill, 113
Fleetwood (manager), 25-27, 29, 35.

37. 39. 40. 60, 61, 63, 70, 73-77-

82
Foote, Samuel, 3, 79, 80, 82, 88,

91, 96-99, 107, 109, 134
Foster, Sir Michael, 30
Fox, C. J., 54, 193

Garrick, David, i, 3, 19, 35, 3^.
41, 42, 44, 47, 48, 50, 52, 59, 66,
67. 69, 70, 74-78, 81, 83, 85-
87, 100, loi, 106, 108, 113, 116,
117, 123, 128, 137, 141, 160-163,
181

Gentleman, Francis, 67, 69, 114, 180

George II., 67, 137

Glenville (actor), 81, 123

Goldsmith, Oliver, 31

Grace, Mrs. Ann, 23

Grafton, Duke of, 74, 75

Green, 82, 86

Guthrie, William, 75

Halifax, Earl of, 48, 145
Hallam, Thomas, 26, 27
Hamilton, — , 145
Handel, 11 1
Harper, — , 20
Harris, — , 178, 181
Hastings, Warren, 184-187
Haughton, Miss, 119
Havard (actor), 62
Hayes, Dan, 124
Henderson, 67, 178, 179
Hertford, Lord, 122
Higgins, Belvill, 56
Highmore (manager), 24, 25
Hill, Dr., 79-82, 192
Hippisley, John, 18, 19
Hoadley, Dr., 86, 129
Holcroft, Thomas, 123
Holland (actor), 163

INDEX.

205

Horton, Mrs., 24
Howard (actor), 74
Hume, 113

James, — , 165, 170, 176
Jenkins, Richard, 18
Johnson (actor), 62

, Charles, 33

, Dr., 3, 61, 62, 86, 194

Jones, Dr., 32

, Miss Elizabeth (M.'s second

wife), 117

Kean, Edmund, 158

Kearns, — , 124, 125

Kemble, John, 67

King (actor), 134

Kirkman, James Thomas, I, 3-6,

10-13, 15. 17. 19, 22, 23, 30, 54,

71, 83, 88, 89, 120, 122

Lacy, James, 82, 85, 86, 128

Lansdowne, Lord, 55-58, 61, 63

Lawrence, Frederick, 70

Lee, 20, 90

Leeson, Miss. See Lewis, Mrs. W.

Leigh, Thomas, 165, 170

Lewis, Lee, 193, 194

(actor), 147

, Mrs. William, 123, 147

Lillo, 26

Lowe, R. W., 114

L'Strange, 147

Macaulay, Lord, 69

Macklin, Charles, his biogra-
phers, 2, 3 ; ancestors of, 4 ;
birth — different theories concern-
ing date of his birth, 5-10 ; boy-
hood, 10-14 5 early performance
of Monimia, 12 ; first visit to

London, 15 ; party to Fleet-
marriage, 16 ; badgeman at
Trinity College, 16 ; second ex-
cursion to London, 1 7 ; plays at
Hockley-in-the-Hole, 17 ; goes
to Bristol, 18 ; first performances
at London theatres, 20 ; returns
to Bristol, 21 ; changes his name,
22 ; converted to Protestantism,
22 ; marriage, 23 ; birth of Miss
Macklin, 23 ; comes to Drury
Lane, 24 ; joins Fielding's com-
pany at Haymarket, 25 ; returns
to Drury Lane under Fleetwood,
25 ; manslaughter of Thomas
Hallam, 26-30 ; first meets Quin,
35 > epigram on Quin and Mack-
lin> 37 ; Quin's witticisms on,
37 ; quarrel with Quin, 38-40 ;
his Shylock, 52-68; former
Shakespearian parts, 52, 53 ;
parts played 1737- 1 740, 53, 54;
his Lovegold and Sir Francis
Wronghead, 54; character of
audiences in 1741, 58-61 ; cast
of Merchant of Venice, 62, 63 ;
performance described, 64, 65 ;
portrait by ZofFany, 66 ; criticisms
of his Shylock, 67, 68 ; compari-
son with Garrick, 69 ; plays with
Garrick, 1 742, 70 ; prologue of
the Wedding Day, 71-73, attri-
buted to Macklin, 70 ; strike of
actors against Fleetwood, 74-78 ;
mean conduct of Garrick, 75 ;
surrender of the actors, 76 ;
Macklin banished from Drury
Lane, 76 ; riots at D. L., 77, 78 ;
M. opens Haymarket in 1744,
79 ; introduces Foote, 79 ; Dr.
Hill's account of this company,

2o6

INDEX.

79, 80; M.'s lago, 80; his
method of instructing pupils, 81 ;
returns to Drury Lane, 1 744, 83 ;
introduces Barry, 85 ; first
attempts as author, 86 ; life with
Garrick and Mrs. Woffington,
86 ; description of Barry's and
Garrick's Romeo, 87 ; gives
lessons on elocution, 88 ; manages
amateur performance for Sir F.
Delaval, 88, 89 ; educates his
daughter, 90; retires from stage,
I753> 93; opens British Inquisi-
tion, 93 ; account of scheme, 93-
99 ; burlesque by Foote, 97, 98 ;
M.'s bankruptcy, 99; connection
with Dublin, 100 ; first visit to
Dublin, 1748, 105; Chancery
action against Sheridan, 106 ;
partnership with Barry and
Woodward, 108; Crow. Street
Theatre, 108 ; enlisting company
for, 109 ; M. leaves the partner-
ship, lio; in Ireland in 1757,
1 10 ; Crow Street Theatre opened,
III ; death of Mrs. M., 112; M.
returns to London, 1759, 112;
second marriage, 117; returns to
Dublin, 1763, 117; letter to his
daughter, 1 18-120; M.'s receipts
at Smock Alley Theatre, 120 ;
engagement with Barry, 122;
revisits Dublin, 1771, 122; in-
structs Miss Young, 123 ; last
visit to Dublin, 1785, 125 ; writes
Khig Henry Vl/., 128; writes
Love h-la-Mode, 130; first played,
1759, 134; read by George II.,
137 ; letter to Mr. Quick respect-
ing his Beau Mordecai, 139;
Love ci-la-Mode pirated, 141 j

production of The Married
Libertine, 144 ; production of
True- Born Irishman, 145 ; writes
The Man of the World, 145 ;
produced at Covent Garden, 1781,
147 ; protest to the Lord Cham-
berlain, 148 ; his Sir Pertinax
MacSycophant, 150 ; agrees
with Colman to act at Covent
Garden, 1773, 159 ; plays Mac-
beth, 160; press criticisms on
performance, 162 ; anti-Mack-
linite riots, 164-177 ; trial of
rioters, 1 70 ; judgment of Lord
Mansfield, 172; plays Richard
III., 1775, 178; proposes pro-
vincial tour, 179; death of his
daughter, 181 ; last performance,
1789, 182 ; death of John Mack-
lin, 183; M.'s letters to his son,
184-187 ; ill health and poverty,

188 ; publication of 7 hi Man of
the World and Love h-la-Mode,

189 ; death, 1797, 191
Macklin, John (M.'s son), 183, 186,

187

, Mrs., 53, 105, 112

, Miss Mary, 23 ; sketch of

career, 90-93, 112, 134, 175, 181
Macready, 16
Maddox, 112
Mahon, Robert, 122
Mansfield, Lord, 61, 172, 173, 176,

177, 189
Matthews, Charles, 180
Messink, — , 141
Miles, — , 165, 170
Mills, — , 29, 33, 62, 74
Milward, — , 62
Montagu, George, 49
Moody (actor), 134

INDEX.

207

Mossop, Henry, icxD, loi, 106, 113-

117, 121, 122, 163
Murphy, Arthur, 3, 70, 133, 134,

161, 162, 189

Newton, Sir Isaac, 194
Nicholson, — (M.'s schoolmaster),

II, 12
Norris, — , 24

O'Callaghan, Rev., 124

O'Keeffe,- John, 81, 104, 105, iii,

122, 123, 194
Oldfield, Mrs., 24
Omeally, Luke, 11
Opie, John (artist), 8
Orford, Lord, 89

Pierson, — , 73
Pilkington, Mrs., 13
Pine, Sim, 88
Piatt, Miss, 148
Poitier, Miss, 119
Pope, Alexander, 65, 66

, Mrs., 123, 147, 183

Prior, Mrs., 124
Pritchard, Mrs., 63, 70, 74
Purvor, Grace, 23

Quick, — , 138, 139

Quin, Mark (Quin's grandfather), 31

, James, birth, descent, and

early days, 31, 32; first appear-
ance in Dublin, 32 ; first appear-
ance in London, 33 ; his Falstaff,
34 ; his Cato, 35 ; receives ^500
a year from Fleetwood, 35 ; first
meets Macklin, 35 ; receives
;^looo a year at Covent Garden,
36 ; last performance, 37 ;
epigram on Macklin and Quin,

37 ; his witticisms about Ma
lin, 37 ; quarrel with M., 38-40
style of acting, 41 ; criticism by
Smollett, 42, 43 ; criticisms by
Davies and Horace Walpole, 44 ;
anecdotes of his wit and humour,
45-50 ; manslaughter of William
Bowen, 45 ; fatal fight with
Williams, a fellow - actor, 46 ;
death, 50; epitaph byGarrick, 51
Quon, Mrs., 89

Rathband, Charles, 5

Reddish (actor), 164, 165

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 3

Rich, John (manager), 26, 29, 33-

37, 76, 82, 87
Ridout (actor), 62
Rochester, Earl of, 55
Ross (actor), 163
Rowe, Thomas, 33, 55, 57
Ryan, 29, 33, 50
Ryder (actor), 183

Sampson, — , 125

Sayer, — , 187

Sheridan, — (manager), 83, 87,

101-108, 113, 115, 117, 163
Smith, William (actor), 159, 160,

162, 163
Smollett, — , 42
Sowdon, — , 117
Sparks, — , 164, 165, 170
Stephen, Mr. Justice, 30
Stephens, Captain, 88
Stevens, George, 162

, Mrs., 89

Swift, Jonathan, 190

Taswell, — (actor), 62, 82
Taylor, John, 3, 53, 59, 92, 161

2o8

INDEX.

Taylor, Mrs., 53
Thompson (actor), 147
Thomson (poet), 46
Turbutt, Richard, 29, 62

Victor, 101-104, 107, 108, 111-113

Waller, Edmund, 55
Walpole, Horace, 44, 49

, Sir Robert, 68

Warburton, Bishop, 49
"Ward, Mrs., in, 113
Ware (actor), 6, 7
Wewitzer (actor), 147
White, Captain, 112
Whitehead, Paul, 26, 75
Whitley, James, 142, 144
Wilkinson, Tate, 107, 115, 141,
179, 180

Wilks (actor), 24, 59
Williams (actor), 46
Wilson, — , 147

. F., 147

, Mrs., 148

Winstone (actor), 62

Woffington, Peg, 70, 86, 87, 100,

loi, 106, 107
Woodward, Harry, 104, 109-113,

115, 116, 122, 141

Yates, Mrs., 160

York, Duke of, 121

Yorke, — , 80

Young, Dr., 114

Younge, Miss, 123, 147, 148

Zoflfany (artist), 66, 161

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DATE DUE

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